by Nikki Carter
Dilly shakes his head. “That was when you were dating Sam, and he was tripping. Now he’s not telling you what to do, so I want the American Music Award winner to go to my prom.”
“By the time of your prom, I’ma have some Grammys too,” I say with a giggle.
“All right then, Grammy winner. I’ll take that too.”
DeShawn steps to us. “Dude, can I get a dance in with my date?”
Dilly throws his hands up. “You get rid of one dude and scoop up another, huh? You’re still going to my prom, even if this hardhead is your new boo.”
“DeShawn is my friend, Dilly, so you still have a prom date.”
Dilly seems satisfied with this and bounces off to dance with another pretty girl who’s standing next to the dance floor. I almost thought he was going to ask Bethany, but I should’ve known better than that. Dilly and Bethany have too much history.
“So this is how the rich and famous get married, huh?” DeShawn asks.
I shrug in time to the music. “I guess.”
DeShawn smoothly wraps one arm around my waist and takes my hand. It’s a mid-tempo Mystique cut, not a slow song, but DeShawn is sure making it feel like one. I catch Sam glare over in our direction, which completely annoys me. He doesn’t get to be mad about me and DeShawn. Even if I had moved on already, which I haven’t, Sam doesn’t get to have any emotional meltdowns about it. He had his chance.
He. Blew. That.
DeShawn says, “So, did I tell you how much I appreciate you inviting me to this? I’ve got about fifteen business cards, and I got invited to do a video shoot next month. Good looking out.”
I beam a smile at him. His mood is so good that it’s contagious. “I’m so glad to hear that, DeShawn! Got to pay that tuition, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. You hooked a bruvah up, for real.”
“Bruvah?”
“You like? I’m practicing my British accent. I might need it for one of my projects.”
I laugh out loud. “Okay, boo. You might end up being the first black James Bond or something.”
“I like the way you said that.”
“What?”
“Okay, boo,” DeShawn says. “You called me boo. I can roll with that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, DeShawn! I just . . . well . . . never mind. Nothing I say is going to convince you that I don’t want you to be my boo.”
“You’re right, Sunday. Because you do want me to be your boo. You just don’t know it yet.”
DeShawn spins me around and wraps his arms around me from behind. I must admit I’m enjoying this attention, but it’s really not fair because most of my pleasure comes from the fact that Sam is about to lose his mind. Good.
“How long are you planning to keep me out?” DeShawn asks. “I have to get in at a respectable time, you know. I’m a student.”
“We can leave now, if you want. I think they’re just gonna eat some cake and call it a night.”
Just when I think this wedding is going to be a peaceful affair and all love, hugs, kisses and bunnies, the drama hits the fan.
“Who in the world is that?” DeShawn asks.
The who he’s referring to is a totally random chick who just stepped into the reception dressed like a video vixen-slash-stripper. She’s got on a silver halter half top that bares her belly button and a pair of nearly sheer leggings. Does she realize that it is wintertime outside? I’m surprised she doesn’t have an icicle hanging off her belly button. Her body is enough to make all of the men in the room catch their breath. Even DeShawn squeezes my hand a little tighter as if he has no control over it.
The scene-stealing chick has with her a little boy, about two or three years old. The second question after who is she, is how did she get into this reception, ’cause I dang sure can tell from the looks on Mystique’s and Zac’s faces that she was not on the invite list.
It’s almost like time stops as she strides across the room with wide open steps, practically dragging the baby, who is trying to take twenty steps to one of hers. Zac’s jaw drops when the girl stops directly in front of him and Mystique, who are walking around to all of the guest tables thanking people for coming. Everyone and everything is silent. You can hear a pin drop in the room. The DJ even stops spinning his record.
“Why wouldn’t you want your son to be at your wedding, Zac?” the girl bellows at the top of her lungs.
It’s clear now the answer to question number one. This chick must be the alleged baby mama whose existence actually made Zac pop the question to Mystique. I take one side-eyed glance at my cousin, and the satisfied smirk on her face gives me the answer to question number two. She may not have let the girl in (’cause she hasn’t left her seat), but she must’ve given the girl the wedding reception venue.
Mystique’s face contorts into an evil snarl. It actually scares me a little bit, even though it’s not directed toward me.
“Get her out of here, Zac. Right now.”
The girl laughs in Mystique’s face. “You don’t have to get me out of here! I will leave willingly. I just thought that Zac would want his son to be a part of his big day. You can’t erase him, Zac. And you can’t erase me. But as long as you keep sending me those checks, you don’t have to worry about me being too much of a problem.”
The girl turns to leave, but does not take the boy’s hand.
“Aren’t you forgetting someone, Nya?” Zac asks.
“Nope. You can arrange for a sitter when you go on your honeymoon, but I think it’s time for Zac Jr. to spend some quality time with his daddy.”
“You c-can’t just do this!” Mystique protests.
Nya ignores Mystique and the little boy as he starts to whimper. She strides right out of the reception hall as disruptively as she came in.
The poor little boy is in full-fledged scream mode. “Mommy! Mommy!”
All those years of taking care of my little cousin Manny has given me a bit of experience in the diffusing of tears in little boys. I let DeShawn go and run to the little tot and scoop him up in my arms.
“Hey, little man!” I say as his screams turn back to whimpers. “This is a party for your daddy! You like parties?”
The little boy nods.
“Well, this is a big ol’ party too! They have all kinds of cookies and cakes over there on that table. You want to get some?”
“Cake?” he asks, his tears almost forgotten.
“Yep! As much as you can eat.”
I glance over at Zac and Mystique and mouth, I got this. I take little baby Zac over to the table and let him fill up a plate of every goodie imaginable. Then, I take him to the table where Zac and Mystique’s mothers are sitting.
Zac’s mother, Ellie, reaches out to the Zac Jr. “Come sit on granny’s lap, baby.”
A huge smile bursts onto the boy’s face. He definitely recognizes his grandmother, although he doesn’t seem too familiar with his daddy. He scrambles onto Ellie’s lap and takes bites out of each of his desserts.
Zac signals to the DJ to start the music back up, and the party resumes as if the interruption had never occurred. I take DeShawn by the hand and walk over to Dreya and Evan’s table, the Reign Records table.
I sit down in an empty seat next to Dreya. She snickers like she already knows what I’m going to say.
“That was foul,” I whisper in her ear.
She shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That little scene. I know you had something to do with that.”
Dreya laughs and runs her hand lovingly down Evan’s arm. “Sunday, I wish I had coordinated that. That chick was the most entertaining part of this bougie, boring wedding reception.”
“Sunday, I know you don’t think Dreya would do something like that to a label mate,” Evan says. “That would just be in poor taste.”
I roll my eyes at Evan because his words are saying one thing, but the glint in his eye tells me he and Dreya were probably in cahoots on this thing.
“Thank you. You look good too. You ready to get back in the studio?”
She grins. “Of course. You?”
“Maybe. Gotta figure out how to navigate around Sam, but other than that I’m ready.”
DeShawn leans over and takes my hand. “I can help you navigate around Sam. Like right now, I can take you right up out of here, and we can have our own after-party back at your dorm.”
“I am ready to go, DeShawn, but don’t think something is gonna pop off. This ain’t prom night or nothing. You can eat ice cream and brownies with me and my girls if you want.”
DeShawn smirks. “If that’s all I can get for now, I’ll take it. But pretty soon, you’ll want me. You won’t be able to help yourself.”
This makes me laugh out loud. “Boy, if you don’t take me home . . .”
“What? What’s gonna happen, Sunday Tolliver? Nothing. And you know why? ’Cause you like me.”
DeShawn winks at me and holds his arm out for me to grab, and he walks me right up out of Mystique and Zac’s celebrity nightmare of a wedding. After this bananas day, I can’t wait to get back to the calm peacefulness of my dorm at Spelman and my homegirls Gia and Piper.
DAFINA KTEEN BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2013 by Nikki Carter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
KTeen logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
Sunburst logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7271-3
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8917-9
eISBN-10: 0-7582-8917-0
First Electronic Edition: June 2013