Boss Bitch Swag Page 2

  Chapter 4

  The very next morning, I woke up to the fire-ass smell of hot buttermilk pancakes, cheese eggs, and thick-cut maple bacon still sizzling in the skillet. Gina had something to prove, but I really didn’t give a damn what her motivation was - my stomach was growling like a mad Pit bull. I rolled out of bed hungry as hell and headed straight for the kitchen.

  “Mornin’, Boss.” Gina looked over her shoulder just long enough to greet a nigga and toss him a sweet smile. “This bacon will be done in a minute.”

  I didn’t say anything at first. Gina never was a hard nut to crack; the bitch was as transparent as a roll of Scotch tape. Still, I sat down at my kitchen table and watched her while she worked. The long white T-shirt she was wearing barely blocked my view, and her ass was magnificent. I thought about fucking her again – but then I thought about all the bullshit that came along with that ass. My big head said it wasn’t worth it, but my little head screamed, Nigga fuck that shit! She owe you. They both had their good points and their bad. Gina was a good fuck. Her body was built for it; that bitch had moves that could cast a spell on a nigga. You had to be careful when dealing with some shit like that. A bitch with some good pussy had the potential to be dangerous – and a bitch with some good pussy who knew her shit was fire could ruin a nigga and bring down an entire empire.

  “Here you go.” Gina smiled at me again as she put the plate of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs down in front of me. “You want some orange juice?” She batted her naturally long eyelashes, then ran her hands through her thick, wavy hair.

  I wasn’t buying what she was selling. My eyes may have been focused on the hard nipples peeking out from underneath the thin cotton fabric draped over her body, but I could control myself. I wasn’t a fucking animal.

  “Yeah, I’ll take some OJ,” I answered her back, then gave my full attention to the feast before me. That was one thing I missed about living with my big sisters: they fed a nigga. Ever since I’d been living on my own, my breakfasts mostly consisted of Fruit Loops, Cap’n Crunch, or Cocoa Puffs. Half the time, I didn’t even have milk for the shit; I’d just stuff my hand in the box, grab up a handful, then hit the streets. I didn’t get paid to eat. If a dopefiend hit the block looking for a rock and I was nowhere to be found, they weren’t about to wait around; they were moving on to the next hustler. I couldn’t knock them. It was just how the game was played; always had been, and always would be. You either understood it or you suited up, put on a tie, and got a nine-to-five.

  “Go on and get that sack off my nightstand and roll me up a blunt,” I mumbled to Gina with a mouth full of some of the best pancakes a nigga had ever eaten. “Make it a fat one.”

  “I got you.” She took her orders with respect, like a good little soldier. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she rushed off to complete her chore, my eyes once again locked in on her booty – and she must have known I was looking because her little fast ass started switching extra hard. If she didn’t care that she wasn’t wearing any panties, then neither did I. Gina was fine. She always had been. Her looks were never the issue - her self-esteem was. She didn’t have any. Not even a drop. Some niggas might have liked that shit, but I didn’t. I had to be with a bitch that looked the part as well as acted the part. A Boss nigga needs a Boss bitch. Even though it hurt like hell when our son was stillborn, a small part of me was relieved that I wouldn’t have to be tied to Gina for the rest of my life. Looking out for her was one thing, but I didn’t love her simple ass. I couldn’t...she didn’t even love herself.

  Five minutes after she disappeared into my room, Gina reappeared with a blunt the size of my thumb - and I was a nigga with some big-ass hands. She fired it up for me, then held it up to my lips while I took a few long puffs. All of a sudden, the pancakes were even more fire than before. I hit that shit again, and my orange juice seemed to get colder and more flavorful. I continued to smoke and eat for the next fifteen minutes. When I hit that first Newport, I was done for. All I really felt like doing was lounging around all day, smoking, and watching some of my favorite DVDs. I was full as a muthafucka, and being full always made me want to be lazy. Too bad lazy niggas don’t get paid; swollen stomach or not, it was time to hit the block.

  I was out on my grind, mindin’ my own damn business when she caught my eye. This chick was more than bad; she was absolute perfection. The last thing I needed in my life was another complication - but trying to tell that to my dick was impossible. He didn’t listen for shit. He tried to tell me that this one was something altogether different, maybe even special, but I wasn’t trying to hear his ass. He was a troublemaker. All I wanted to do was get paid, and all his horny ass wanted to do was get laid. There was no compromise. Once he got a taste, it was on; one bitch turned into two, and two multiplied into four.

  It was a known fact that I loved pussy. It was my second favorite thing - but money would always be number one. Sometimes I couldn’t even enjoy fucking because I’d be thinking about all the money I was missing. I had a savings account with a ten thousand dollar balance and safe in my apartment with just over eighteen grand, but it wasn’t enough...I was still hungry.

  Chapter 5

  “What’s yo name, Ma?” I asked the mysterious beauty as soon as I approached, dying to see if she was as fine close up as she was from a distance.

  “I’m Jasmine.” She smiled at me - and for the first time in my life, a stone-cold cynical nigga believed in love at first sight. “But everybody just calls me Jazz.”

  Jasmine Hayes was as fine as they came. She was around five-foot-four with golden dewy skin, long, wild blue-black hair, and big, innocent dark brown doe eyes. She was petite but still curvy in all the right places, her good genes gave her an effortless flat stomach, and one hundred crunches every single morning gave it tone. It wasn’t overly muscular, but more feminine and sexy, in a hardcore kind of way. She liked structure. I could tell that already. She wasn’t lazy either; I’d never seen a lazy broad with a midsection like that. Her tight-fitting black T-shirt with an image of my all-time favorite rapper, Tupac Shakur, stopped right above her belly button, and the piercing through her navel was adorned with a glowing green chronic leaf charm. She was proud of all her hard work and enjoyed showing it off. I wasn’t mad at her.

  “I’m Bo -”

  “I know who you are,” she interrupted me - and surprisingly enough, I didn’t even mind. “I’ve seen you around few times.”

  Her voice was sultry in a young-girl-who-was-trying-to-appear-older-and-more-mature kind of way. I could tell she had game, and I wanted to play. The chemistry between us was instant – and it was the kind that usually only leads to trouble. We both knew to be cautious of one another; it was written all over her walk and initialed right next to my swag. I was either going to end up breaking her heart, or she was going to flip the script and end up breaking mine. Something told me to walk away, to just leave well enough alone - but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had to know her. I had to have her. I had to be inside her at least one good time.

  “So when can I call you?” A nigga cut right to the chase. We both knew what was up. I thought she was fine, and it was obvious to me that she thought the same thing about yours truly. I wasn’t about to play the same games with her that I’d played with Gina. If she wanted to fuck with a nigga, all she had to do was say so.

  “Wheneva,” Jasmine answered my question back so nonchalantly, it was like she couldn’t have cared less. I don’t know why that turned me on, but it did. It let me know that she had other things on her mind besides talkin’ on the phone all night to some nigga she barely knew. I pictured her in an all pink bedroom, doing her homework, reading one of those trashy novels chicks love so much, or just lying back and relaxing with some Brandy, Monica, or Aaliyah playing in the background. She was just smooth like that; it didn’t even require any effort on her behalf. She was a boss bitch - and if I had it my way, she was going to be this Boss’s bitch.

  “I j
ust don’t want yo folks to be trippin’ if I call too late,” I told her as I placed my hands above my forehead to shield my eyes from the bright, beaming sun. The weather in St. Louis was a trip. The day before, it was cool and raining - then today there was barely a breeze with a temperature of almost eighty degrees. It was crazy, but those of us who’d lived here all our lives were used to it.

  “My mom’s cool, and my dad’s in the army. He ain’t even in the country.” She waved it off like it was nothing. “But you know that new Ice Cube movie comes out tonight, right?”

  “Is that yo way of tellin’ me you wanna go out with me?”

  Without saying another word, she took a small red Betty Boop notebook out of her white leather bag – which had “Coach” written across the front of it – and began to write down her phone number. Once she was finished, she kissed it, leaving her pink glittery lip gloss print for me to remember her by, then tore the page out and handed it over to me. I liked her style. I liked everything about her.

  “The movie starts at eight,” Jasmine said as she blushed, revealing two sexy-ass, deep set dimples on each of her cheeks. She then walked away, but not before turning back and tossing one last bit of information my way, “I’ll be ready at seven.”

  As she continued to walk down the block, I got a good view of that ass in motion. I wanted her so bad, I could taste her. Whatever it took to get this one, I was determined to do. I knew she was going to make me work for it; she just gave off that vibe - but for some reason I didn’t care. I didn’t even feel stupid for not caring. My dick was right: this chick was special. She was bad. On a scale of one to ten, her face and her body were both tens, but there was more to her than that. There was something in her eyes. I didn’t know what just yet, but I was damn sure about to try my hardest to figure it out. She was like a riddle. Finding the answer was the hardest and most intriguing part of the process.

  True to my word, I called Jasmine later that evening. We talked for a while about nothing too important. All the typical questions were asked: Where do you live? Where did you grow up? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What school you go to? All the shit you really don’t care about but ask anyway just to be polite.

  When I hung up the phone, I was actually excited – and that was a new one for me. I thought about li’l mama the entire time I was in the shower. I fantasized about what her body would look like once I peeled all her clothes away...if I wasn’t on my way to see her, I would have had to stay in that bitch all day.

  I walked out of my bedroom fully dressed in a pair of brand new Nautica jeans and a brand new blood red Nautica button-down fresh from Macy’s. I threw on my black leather belt, my black leather Tims, and the brand new six hundred dollar black leather Nautica jacket that I’d been waiting to show off for just this kind of occasion. Once I sprayed on a little Cool Water cologne, I was good to go.

  Gina rolled her eyes when she saw just how good a nigga was looking, and I could see the jealousy cloudin’ up her mind. She was mad for no good reason at all. I didn’t flip out when she got pregnant by ol’ boy. Whatever we had was over, and she knew it just as well as I did. Some people just have a hard time letting go of what’s comfortable.

  “Don’t even think about bringin’ that hoe back here.” Gina had the nerve to give orders like she paid the rent up in that muthafucka. “I already know ya’ll fuckin’. You ain’t gotta throw it up in my face.”

  “Excuse me, bitch?” My ego stopped me dead in my tracks. “This my muthafuckin’ house, and if you got a problem - then you can get the fuck out.” The tone in my voice was cold, but my stare was even colder. I was not about to let my kindness be mistaken for weakness. “You got anything else to say?” I waited a few seconds, but Gina gave no response. “That’s what the fuck I thought.”

  When I walked out the door, I did so with a clear conscience. I didn’t owe Gina’s ass anything, but I’d come through for her when no one else would. I gave her and her son a place to stay; her own mama wouldn’t even do that - and all the fuck I got in return was attitude. Let the bitch roll her eyes at the nigga who left her ass all alone with a baby on her hip, no job, no money, and no second thought. Fuck her ungrateful ass. I had my own life to live, and that was exactly where I was headed.

  At around seven-twenty, I picked Jasmine up for our date. I’d never been on one of those before; usually when I was trying to fuck a chick, I’d just fire up - the weed did the rest. I didn’t have to spend any money. Most of the time, I barely even had to try. Now I found myself freshly dressed in my truck – which was clean and smelling good from the car wash – with a roll of cash in my pocket, prepared to spend every dollar. I laughed at myself a little. Who the fuck was this nigga, and what had he done with Boss?

  Jasmine walked out of her house wearing a tight little red dress that fit her body like a glove. I didn’t know much about fashion, but I knew that dress was a winner. She looked so fuckin’ good in it, my mouth started to water. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t picture myself stripping that dress off her. My dick told me to fuck the movie and drive to a motel instead, but I didn’t listen. I wanted to do it right this time. With Gina, we fucked first and got to know each other later; by the time we both realized that we really didn’t like one another, it was too late. My dick was just going to have to wait.

  Jasmine, or Jazz as she liked to be called, didn’t reveal too much about herself on the phone. She did say that she was an only child born to a white mother and a Black father. That seemed to be a hot button issue with her, so I didn’t press it. She would turn sixteen next month and had been attending Beaumont High School ever since her freshman year. She also said that she was a Pisces - the sign of the freak. I damn near had to beat my dick down just thinking about all the freaky things she could do to a nigga. She knew what she was doing. Jazz was the kind of chick that didn’t reveal anything by accident; she was a thinker. Her conversations were well thought out long before she ever picked up a phone – and that was sexy to me. It also proved to me that, unlike Gina, she had a mind and wasn’t afraid to use it. For the time being, that was all I needed to know.

  As soon as she got into my Navigator, she leaned over and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Her perfume filled the entire truck with the scent of roses and some other girly shit I couldn't figure out.

  “You look nice,” Jazz said with a smile, putting those sexy-ass dimples on full display, “but then again, I knew you would.” She giggled as she closed the passenger side door, then proceeded to fasten her seatbelt.

  I tried to take my eyes off her, but I couldn’t. A nigga had it bad. She was the first good thing to walk into my life in a long-ass time. I felt at ease with her. It was as if I’d known her for years instead of just a few short hours. I tried to hold back, tried to resist - but I couldn’t.

  “Come here.” My hands went for my seatbelt before my brain had a chance to object. “I been wantin’ to do this all day.”

  When I kissed her, I felt like I was kissing the lips of the chick I was meant to be with. She made me feel so alive. The fog that I’d been walking around in for the last few years was suddenly lifted – and she felt it, too; I could feel her passion as she rubbed my back and caressed my neck. Every time I tried to use restraint and pull away, she’d use that passion to pull me back in. I knew it for certain then: that bitch was going to break my heart.

  Chapter 6

  “Girl, where the fuck you been?!” Jasmine’s mother launched into her as soon as the rims on my truck stopped spinning. “I ought to beat yo li’l hot ass!”

  “Mama,” Jazz began to whisper, “I told you I had a date tonight.”

  The embarrassment on her pretty face was just too much; I couldn’t even look at her. She was fighting like a champ to hold back the tears, but they were fighting her right back.

  “A date!” her mother shouted right into Jasmine's face, sending saliva flying all over the makeup job she told me it took her twenty minutes to perfect. “Did he pay yo
u?”

  Her mother’s eyes traveled from Jasmine‘s face to mine, and the bitch started mean muggin’ me like she was another nigga and Jazz’s pussy belonged to her. I wanted to pop off at the mouth, and it was damn near killing me not to - but I kept my composure and didn’t say a word. I simply returned her stare like any real man would have. She looked me in the eyes, so it was mostly out of respect that I looked her back in hers. I thought back to a conversation between my mother and my oldest sister. Monica was complaining about how none of the boys in The Cochran would talk to her because they were all scared of our mama. Mama told Monica that the only reason they were scared was that they didn’t mean her any good. That wasn’t the case with me and Jazz; I meant her more good than I ever meant any broad before her. I spent the entire night trying to prove that to Jazz, and I wasn’t about to fuck with all that progress. It took every bit of strength I had, but I didn’t get ignorant with her mother. I played it cool. Jazz, on the other hand, was having none of it.