Feels like I’ve been standing right at the bottom of the steps with these hoes for a while. Some of them look embarrassed for me; shaking their heads, they start for the front door. The desperate hoes start grabbing arm fulls of my clothing. Then I hear Chuey starting up the steps.
“Come on, man,” Chuey grabs some Manolo’s and throws them back in my room. He tries to grab a pair of Chloe sparkly shorts from Lorenzo, but Lorenzo throws a haymaker his way. And I just stand there as bitches fight for my beautiful designer items…
Chapter 51
CHUEY
I could see the embarrassment on Rocky’s face when the argument started. That shit just kept escalating because Lorenzo doesn't have no brakes. This had me hoping they would be done for good. Yet, when I saw the tears in Rockwell’s eyes I had to react.
Now I'm tussling with this muthafucka. Lorenzo is half bent already; he had been drinking when calling everybody over for a party, so I can tell the nigga ain’t even on when he punches me in the gut. I go straight for this nigga’s eye. The hit is hard, but ol’ boy is too drunk to give a fuck. I’m ready to fire on Lorenzo, and that muthafucka stays ready, but Rockwell appears.
“Stop, stop,” she steps in front of Lorenzo, her hands to his chest.
“Now you wanna touch me, huh, ma?” Lorenzo asks, looking down at her.
“Nope. I want you to stop fighting with your fam, asshole. I don’t want shit to do with you.”
As Lorenzo wipes the blood from his eyebrow, Rocky goes into her bedroom and locks the door really quick.
~~~
Around one am the house is quiet. Lorenzo finally took his ass to sleep and those hoes have gone, empty-handed. I made them bitches put everything they had down. I know Lorenzo is pissed at Rockwell for not believing him about Olivia’s baby and some other shit about them hooking up at the hospital or something. But I’m just glad the nigga is passed out.
So after trying the master suite doorknob, shoulda known it was locked, I go outside around back. Hands on the fencing against the wall, I make sure it will hold my weight before I climb onto the balcony. Rapping quietly on the sliding glass window, I wait.
Dressed in a peach silk short pajama set that stops just below that fat ass and hips, Rocky turns on the light beside her bed, and gets up quickly. Her hair is in a braid over one shoulder, falling on one of those sexy breasts that I’ve been waiting to suck on. My dick is on swole instantly. After opening the glass door, her eyes adjust to the dark. She pushes me in the chest and whispers, “The fuck, Chuey? I thought you were Renzo…”
“You've been crying.” I step into the room and touch her cheek. Before I can kiss her, Rockwell steps back.
“Chuey stop, man it doesn’t matter if I ever cry, that ain’t got nothing to do with you,” Rockwell shakes her head.
“Come here.” I hold her close. “Damn, Rocky bae... You know how I feel about you, Mommi. Look Lorenzo is drunk. He sleep.”
“No,” Rockwell shakes her head. “Doesn't matter. I don't feel anything for you Chuey. You are confusing the fuck outta me, dude. One minute you acting all intellectual, knowing the arts and fashion, the next you’re running after pussy like the hoeing ass nigga I’ve always known you for. Chuey it ain’t ever happening. Just get out.”
“Rocky, you got me wrong, mommi. You don’t even know the half,” I say. Damn, if lil mama would even look into my eyes, she’d see the love. But it’s dark. I step close and glare down at her. Ready to tell her exactly how I feel, but Rockwell’s hand comes up.
“Step off. I understand. You will fuck over your blood for one night.”
She doesn’t even know, one night just won’t do. But the look in Rockwell’s eye lets me know she needs more time to realize just how much I’ve been checking for her. Looking after her. Wanting her. So I start for the door.
“Nah, nigga, go the way you came. Don’t look back,” she snaps, under her breath. Since Rocky’s so angry, and off her game, I step up to her and kiss her with the quickness. Her lips are softer than I expected, and her mouth taste so good. My tongue twirls around hers, enjoying the sweetness she has to offer.
A second later Rocky leaps back, and touches her lips in a daze. I know she enjoyed it.
“A’ight, Rocky, I’ma step off for now,” I say, licking that good, good off my lips. Rocky looks ready to test me, to remind me again that ain’t no way in hell, but I start for the balcony. The hell if she thinks I’m done with her yet. Never wanted something so much in my life. As a child, before I realized my father would never love me, I would try hard to be the best son. Since then, I got what I wanted and ain’t nothing stopping me now.
Chapter 52
BLU
Maybe there’s something in the air. “Fuck a nigga” elixir must be mixed in the water system because me and Rocky are hating on our dudes. And I know fasho’ Moms is hating on that old sexy ass Miguel, because I heard dude used to be the one.
Don’t remember what I said to set Popeye off the other day when looking for Rockwell, but I know it was a low blow. I just wanted to get under his skin a little, make him tick. He's the old fashion type. The only type of nigga that actually wants to take care of home. That damn near killed Popeye when Phillip was born and he was handicap because of the drive by.
Now Popeye won’t even talk to me. Won’t even look my way. When it sounded like a function was going on around the way, and I heard female voices, I suspected Rockwell would pop off soon. But either way, I waited for Popeye to even think his ass was going to go over there and party. Then the music kept cutting on and off, so I took my position posted by the kitchen door, waiting for Popeye to try me. After a while, I wondered if he had snuck around another way to the party. I got up and hurriedly ascended the staircase.
Nope. There’s a thin line of light from underneath his bedroom door, and I can hear him talking on the phone. Eyes narrow, I step to the door to listen.
He asks, “What's the next flight to Hoover, Illinois…? Okay, your airline doesn’t go to that airport, how ‘bout Chicago?”
My eyes narrow. I know this nigga ain't leaving without saying a word? I know for a fact. The sound of footsteps makes me rush away and back down the stairs toward the living room to pretend like I was watching TV, but Popeye calls me.
“Aye, Blu.”
“What?” I look up from the bottom step.
He has the cell phone to his ear, but holds it up saying, “Blu, I'm on my way home. Do you want to keep Phillip for a little while longer till school starts in the States?”
“How about… nah,” I fold my arms, “Phillip ain't going back to USA. My moms has him ready to start kindergarten next year.”
“Blu, I ain't even finna fuck with you like that ma. So stop saying stupid shit. I asked you a simple question. How much more time do you want with our child?” He starts to come down the stairs. “Blu, I have the airline person on mute, so just gimme an answer.”
Rolling my eyes, I ask, “Why you wanna go home? What happened with your bitch?”
Popeye takes a deep breath and stops a foot away from me. “So I’ma just take Phillip back with me. Tomorrow morning then?” Popeye looks me in the eyes, like he really just wants me to answer his question.
“Nope,” My lips pop with that syllable. “Phillip se está quedando aquí– is staying here, undastand? He staying till he’s old enough to make choices himself.”
Popeye waves me off, shakes his head and starts back up the stairs. He unmutes the phone saying, “Sorry ‘bout that, I need two tickets.”
Moving at the speed of light, I step up behind him and slap the back of his head. Okay, this is a Rockwell move–hitting a dude while his back is turned– but unlike my girl I stand tall, waiting, wishing this nigga would. I’m tall for a chick, but Popeye is even taller, and I’m not liking the three-inch height difference as he stands a step above me.
“Blu,” he speaks in a tone so hard, I feel it all. “I'm over it okay. You want me gone. I’ma go.”
/>
“Then take ya black ass on, but Phillip is staying here!” I shout. Why won't this nigga fight for me? Popeye used to fight for me! Even when all was said and done. Hell, a half year ago he got rid of Lauren and was chatting me up all hopeful before I went to rehab.
“Phillip is coming with me,” he continues up the steps.
“Why, because I suck as a mom? Huh? You can go run off and find him a replacement.” I follow him up stairs. “I bet you could Mr. Player, Mr. E’erbody think you nice and shit.”
Popeye waves me off.
“Nigga my kid ain't leaving.” I push him, but he doesn't budge. Just keeps walking to his room. “Nigga come on,” I shout, “get your lick back!” I push him again, but Popeye just laughs, steps in his room and locks his door.
He starts to call back the airport to get two tickets.
“No!” I shout through the door.
“What the hell is going on here?” Moms is behind me, and I hadn’t even heard her come up the stairs.
“No!” I shout as she grabs me from beating down the door.
“Damn it, Blu, I just came over here to watch some TV without being bothered, and y’all just as loud as the main house. Look at me, Blu.”
“What you think I'm on that shit?” I shout as she looks in my eyes while tussling with me.
“This muthafucka is tryna go home! He’s leaving me!”
“It's okay Blu. You're a grown ass woman,” Rita snaps.
“Nah, he ain't leaving.” I kick out toward the door, but my moms is too strong.
“Blu, you need to go sit down somewhere and open a Bible.”
For a second I think about all my praying. But I'll do that later. Right now Popeye needs to know that his ass is staying in Colombia I shout, “You hear me? You and my kid is staying here!”
I could go crazy. What if I die of HIV tomorrow? I need Popeye here. I need him. I love him. He can't be with me. But he sho’ ain't going nowhere!
Bet.
Chapter 53
ROCKWELL
Bright and early as usual, I make sure Lorenzo is out of the house, grab an apple and quickly come back upstairs to dress up for exercising. The goon that sometimes silently runs with me isn’t ready. Since he never speaks, I can tell it's hard for him to try and get me to slow down my pace while he trudges through the sand, trying to put his socks and shoes on.
My Nike’s take flight. Only half the time can he catch up with me, holding his sides and breathing all funky like. About a mile out, I know that the thug gave up.
As usual, Chuey catches up with me about two miles down the shore. In only Jordan basketball shorts, and his bare chest showing I look away. He doesn’t have not one tattoo, so it’s easy to get lost in all those chocolate muscles. Still mesmerized at how intently he stares at me. I look up. He’s about two inches shorter than Lorenzo’s 6 feet, and still so much taller than my 5 even. Looks so much like my nigga that it must be the reason I can’t stop staring. Then I glare and cut my eyes away from him. Today I don’t even feel like being bothered with his ass. Maybe the nigga got me confused. He was always running after a hoe when we first met, but making me his next conquest, that he is not. So I run harder.
“That’s a good look, Rocky,” he says not even the least bit out of breath.
Still running hard, I turn my head, already feeling like he’s burned holes through my ass while watching me run.
“I don’t appreciate– Ouch!” I almost twist my leg where the sand dips further than I anticipated and fall straight on my ass. My hands, which had come out to brace myself, are embedded with jagged seashells and bleeding a little.
“Mommi,” he kneels down before me and gently takes my wrists, looking intently at the little cuts on my palms.
“Stop, Chuey.”
“Look,” he says, touching them softly with his fingertips.
“Chuey…”
His hands go to my left leg, he tenderly grazes down my thigh to my ankle as he checks it. “Oh mommi, you’re hurt.”
“Do you understand how long I’ve loved Renzo?” The question barely comes out, as my teeth grit with pain. I try to get up though it’s difficult to support myself with my hands, and my left ankle is killing me. But the way Chuey touches me is uncomfortable. Then he scoops me into his arms.
“Put me the fuck down!” I command through gritted teeth.
“But you’re hurt.” He jogs with me, and my arms go around his neck to make sure I don’t fall even though he has a good grip, I keep just bouncing around.
“Chuey, I can’t fucking stand you!” I try to ball up my fist to punch him, but it hurts. When I notice us coming up a staircase nearby, I ask, “Where are you taking me, stupid?”
“Stop it, this is my place.”
I stop struggling, because we’ve made it up at least 50 steps and if we both go falling back down that won’t be a good look. The steps seem to continue on forever. Chuey isn’t breathing hard in the least as we make it up a thousand stairs.
Lush green tropical trees and some type of plant garden surrounds us.
“Chuey, who lives here?” I ask, finding it hard to believe this is his spot.
But he stops at the door to the big villa and pulls out a key ring with a bunch of keys.
“If you have that apartment in the city that you took me too, and this place only a few miles away from Lorenzo’s, why are you hanging around my nigga’s place?”
“You know why,” He looks me straight in the eye and pushes the door open.
Chuey places me on a navy blue suede couch in the living room and says he’s going to get a first aid kit. I look around, and sure enough there are a few pictures of this muthafucka. He’s in tailor made suits and looking different. Not hood, not at all. One is even with him in a cap and gown, wearing glasses.
“Damn boy, you look intelligent. Where did you graduate from?” I ask. The 8 by 10 looks a little too extravagant for high school, but we are in Colombia so I wouldn’t know.
“Columbia.”
“That’s a dumb name for a high school. We don’t have a high school of United States… at least I don’t think,” I chuckle as he starts dabbing an alcohol wipe on my palms, then I grimace at the pain.
“No, Columbia University, see the insignia at the bottom of the frame.” Then he points to another framed photo. “And that’s New York University for my masters. Summa Cum laude.”
“Damn, for real?” My eyebrows rise as he blows softly on my skin and begins to dab a peroxide pad on the jagged tears on my palms His eyes apologize, but he says, “Yes, Rocky.”
I don’t want to be interested; not one bit, but I’m still remembering us at the fashion show. This nigga is like two people. So I just ask a general question. “When you have time to do that?”
“Took me three years, Political Science major. Another year and a half for a masters, but mostly online tho.”
“Chuey,” I make him stop working and look at me. “Who the fuck are you?”
He busts up laughing at that.
“Nah nigga, I’m just… you cook like a chef, you can handle a gun, you slang dope, and you had enough time to get a fucking advanced degree. Why don’t…”
“I brag? Rocky where I’m from nobody gives a fuck about an education. But you do.”
Before I can deny it, Chuey kisses me on the lips. The magnitude of it. Like it’s the end of the world again, like he had done the other night. My mind is on alert mode, reminding me why I had tried to run harder, run away from this nigga, then I got hurt. Each time I run away from Chuey’s advances, something goes wrong; like us ending up in the rain after the hotel club, and this fucking throbbing ankle. But pain is second to desire as he leans into me. His big strong hands grip my breast. A ribbon of desire ripples through my nipples. He pushes up my t-shirt, and works his hands beneath my bra.
“Oouuu,” I pull away from him.
“It’s okay.” He gets on his knees before me, and deftly takes off my shoes, then my socks. Kis
ses my ankle and then upwards, pulling my shorts down delicately. Touching me like I’m worth more than anything in the universe.
“Chu…” I can’t even speak his full name, to tell him to stop as his lips work their way up my bare thigh, then to my pussy. He kisses my other two lips as if they are so delicate.
“Mmmm, I’ve been waiting so long to have you, Rocky,” Chuey tells me like this is the only truth….
Got damn, this is even worse than that one time I thought me and Lorenzo got down after freak dancing when I was sixteen. Trina’s song “My neck, my back…” had been on and we were dancing, the next thing I knew, me and my nigga was getting it in. He was licking my asshole and all kinda shit. That was so vivid. So muthafuckin’ real!
So anyway, soon as Chuey kissed me for the second time, I almost really brake my ankle getting up. The kiss was so strong I had a vivid image of him kissing on my chocha and was ready to take flight. I kept reminding myself that just like the first time he kissed me in my bedroom, I shut him down really quick. Yet, this time he kissed me so fucking hard that I imagined us having sex. Anyway, with only one good ankle, I fly straight out of his secret home. Now that kiss will forever be embedded within my mind. I cussed that nigga out and true to his word, this nigga with his “secret” house, quickly bandaged me up, and put me in a BMW I have never seen him driving and drove the few miles to my home.
I give Chuey a look that could kill as he gets back in the roaring BMW M-6, I thank the Lord it’s still early in the morning and slowly step inside with a slight limp. I shake the daydream of him trying to make love out of my mind. Allowing that desire to go shooting somewhere into oblivion, because I will never even imagine anything like that again.
“What the fuck is wrong with my child?” Mama Rita says, coming in from the side door. “Tried to sleep over at Blu’s place, but she was acting a fool.”
“Oh…”
“Don’t you run for hours?” she asks. “You’re back early.”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 2 (Loving a Columbian Cartel Thug) Page 13