Diva Rules (17 page)

T
he doorbell rings. I'm scrounging around in the kitchen looking for something to eat when I hear it. At first I think to ignore it. Shoot. Nobody has any business coming here without an appointment or an invite any-dang-way. And since I don't have anyone on my calendar or to-do list, there's no need to answer it, right? Wrong. It rings again 'n' again. And now I can only hope it's not my mother tryna get up in here 'cause she lost her house key or is weighed down with so many bags of groceries that she can't manage to get her key into the door. I have to laugh at that. Yeah, right. Picture that.

I'd hate to have to leave her out on the doorstep, but I will. Trust. I'm not messy. But I'm not beat for momma drama tonight. No, ma'am. The only drama I'm signing up for tonight is
Scandal
drama,
hunni . . .
yesss, gawd! Olivia Pope gives Fiona life,
hunni
! Trust. And Fiona ain't even tryna miss not one juicy morsel of drama over craziness. I'm a gladiator, boo. Boom! Thought you knew.

Still, the prospect of seeing my mother standing outside, locked out, in the pouring rain—although it's not raining out, yet—is delicious.

I sigh, grabbing the multigrain bread 'n' cheddar cheese, then taking a pan from outta one of the cabinets, finally settling on making a grilled cheese sandwich.

The doorbell rings again as I begin to prepare it.

I glance at the clock. It's a lil after eight o'clock.

The bells chime again. Now I'm annoyed. I slam my perfectly prepared sandwich into the buttered pan 'n' stalk off to the door, knife in hand, ready to slice a muthasucker down for tryna do me.

I don't even bother to look through the peephole or peer out the curtains to see who it is 'cause I'm all the way turnt up on ready. But when I swing open the door, it's Cease standing there. And I don't know if I should be surprised, flustered, pissed, or frickin' embarrassed as hell 'cause I'm standing here with my bra-free boobs practically bursting outta a lil T-shirt with
WET 'N' WILD
scrawled in the front of it, wearing a raggedy pair of red boy shorts all hiked up in my honeypot—looking real trickalicious, holding a knife in my hand.

Ooh, this is sooo not cute imagery, right now.

“You got time for me?” He leans against the doorjamb, holding out a bouquet of flowers—the kind you find at ShopRite. “I bought these for you.”

I blink. No boy has ever showed up at my door with flowers. Never. And now this fine, sexy boo-daddy is standing here offering me the cutest lil floral arrangement. So what do I do? I reach out 'n' take 'em, of course. Fiona ain't no fool, boo.

“Thanks,” I say, bringing them up to my nose. I inhale. Oooh, they smell like me . . . sweet.

“You're welcome. So are you gonna invite me in?” His gaze quickly sweeps down to my melons, then drops to my cookie, then
alllll
the way down to my red painted toes, before sliding back up to the annoyed look I am sure he sees all over my face. But his eyeballing me is now making me feel increasingly naked 'n' heated at the same time.

I place an arm up over my boobs 'n' try to pull down my obnoxiously short shorts. “Um, no. How can I . . . ?” I sniff. Sniff again. But this time it isn't the flowers I smell. Then I gasp in horror. Something is burning. Ohmigod!

I drop the flowers 'n' race toward the kitchen, leaving Cease at the door, to find the kitchen flooded with smoke. My grilled cheese is burned. The pan is smoking. The kitchen has turned into a four-alarm fire catastrophe. Okay, okay, I'm being overly dramatic. But still . . . there's a thick fog of smoke 'n' I coulda burned down the house 'n' I woulda lost all'a my heels 'n' handbags.

I quickly open a window, relieved 'n' pissed, snatching the burning pan 'n' my sandwich from off the stove, then tossing it into the sink, watching it hiss 'n' splutter all kinds of crazy.
Now what the heck am I gonna eat?
I open the back door.

“This is the fire marshall,” Cease says in back of me, tryna disguise his voice. “I'm here to arrest the non-cooking cutie tryna burn down the crib.”

I roll my eyes, turning to him. “Whatever, boy.”

He laughs, placing the flowers in his hand on the counter.

“It's not funny.” I reach under the sink for the dish soap 'n' scouring pad, so not interested in tryna wash this mess.

“I know,” Cease says, still laughing. “But you shoulda seen the look on ya face 'n' the way you took off running. I didn't know you could move so fast.”

I suck my teeth. “Boy, trust. There's a lot you don't know about me.”

He grins, eyeing the smoky kitchen while walking up on me. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly. He's now standing next to me at the sink. And
whyyyyyy
am I feeling all kinds of nervous? “But I'm tryna get to know you if you'd stop tryna reject me 'n' let me.”

“Umm, did I invite you in?”

“You didn't have to. You left the door open for me.”

“Oh, whatever, smart azz. You know what I mean.”

“Yo, let me get that for you.” He reaches his hand into the water with mine 'n' I ain't even gonna lie, I feel electric shock waves pumping all through my body. I shudder, snatching my hand from outta the water, glad to let him have at that burnt mess. He eyes me. “What was this supposed to be, anyway? Grilled cheese?”

I huff. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I guess that's ya specialty, huh?” he teases. “Burnt cheese sandwiches.”

I hit him playfully on the arm. “Oh, whatever. Cooking isn't one of my specialties.”

He glances over at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh, word? What you good at, then?”

I cluck my tongue, tossing my hair. “You'll never know.” “Yeah, 'cause you stay runnin' from me.”

I laugh. “Boy, boom. Ain't nobody running from you. Trust. Fiona runs from no one.”

He shakes his head as he scrapes the pan 'n' tosses the now soggy burnt bread 'n' cheese mess into the garbage. I stare at him as he washes, then rinses out the pan. I'm not gonna lie, it feels kinda strange seeing this big ole bulky boo-daddy standing at my kitchen sink washing my mess. I almost wanna snap a picture 'n' toss it up on IG. But I think better of it.

When he's done, I take the pan from him, our fingers lightly grazing 'n' there goes them electric currents again. I try to ignore 'em as I dry the pan and put it back in its place in the cabinet.

“Okay, let me show you to the door,” I say, suddenly feeling dizzy with a nervous energy bubbling up inside of me. I hastily walk outta the kitchen 'n' back into the living room—not caring that my booty cheeks are practically hanging outta my itty-bitty shorts, with him following behind me, getting his peep on, I'm sure. “Thank you for ya service.” I swing open the door. “Now run along.”

He laughs. “Nah, for real though, Fee. Why you be frontin' like you ain't feelin' a nucca?” He grins. “I think you big on me. Tell the truth.”

I roll my eyes. “Boy, boom. Lies. I'm not even thinkin' about ya big head. Now, good night, sir.”

He smirks. “Yeah, a'ight. I already know what it is.”

“Then you should know how to see ya way out the door. Out.”

“Nah, I ain't leavin'.”

I blink. “Come again. Excuse
you
?”

He repeats himself. “Nah, yo. You stay frontin', Fee. I wanna chill.” He boldly plops his butt down on the sofa.

I blink. “
Chill?
Nucca, you ain't gotta go home, but you got to get the hell up outta here. My show is about to come on
”
—I glance at the time—“in an hour 'n' forty-five minutes, so—”

“
We
gonna chill for the next hour 'n' forty-five minutes.” He grins at me. “So shut the door 'n' relax. Ya future man tryna chill wit' his future baby.” He pats the space next to him.

I stare him down in disbelief. And he is giving it back to me, only he's looking at me all warm 'n' sweet 'n' pleading 'n' there goes that irresistibly sexy grin of his that causes me to blink.

And just like that. He's won.

“Fine,” I huff, slamming the door shut. “Let me go upstairs 'n' put on some clothes, then. But as soon as my show comes on, you getting the heck up outta here.”

He grins again. “Yeah, a'ight, Fee. Whatever you say, ma.”

“I
'm really diggin' you, girl,” Cease says, grinning that crooked grin of his. I swallow back nerves. And,
hunni
, trust. Miss Fiona doesn't do this. Being all nervous around some boy. Chile, cheese! I'm here on this earth to work the lil boo-daddies 'n' run circles around 'em. Not get worked over. Not get all flustered. Not get all goo-goo, ga-ga silly. But for the last two weeks, since that night he showed up at my house unannounced 'n' forced himself into my space on
Scandal
night, something crazy's been happening between us. We've been kinda,
chilling
, if that's what you wanna call it. I mean. He meets me at my locker in the mornings, 'n' we text.

And, yes, honey-boo, Fiona done broke down 'n' finally accepted his friend request. But I'm not all up on his Facebook page
liking
all'a his comments or being all thirsty up on his Instagram. And, trust. He ain't all up on mine. But he's slowly getting
allllll
up in my head.

And I'm not digging it. Not one dang bit. Trust. It's so not cute. But...

Cease pulls me into his arms. And it doesn't take long before he's kissing me 'n' I'm kissing him back 'n' forgetting that I'm supposed to be chopping this, this
thing
—whatever it is—before it gets
waaay
outta hand. Before I end up liking this boy waaaay more than my diva rules allow. Before I start getting more comfortable with him than I already am. Before he chips away at my heart 'n' starts to see the cracks in my life.

No, no, no! That is not the script I wanna be a part of.

But Cease, well, he's . . . I don't know. There's this gentle, sweet side of him that I didn't know he had. All this time I thought he was just a horny jock. But he's not. He's thoughtful. Compassionate. Affectionate. He's too good to be true.

Who woulda thunk it?

He's making me feel things I've never felt before. Special. Things I don't wanna feel. Butterflies. Things I'm afraid to feel. Vulnerable. Things I'm not ready to feel. That L-word. Not that
that's
what I'm feeling for him, but at the rate things are going, if I don't shut it down quick, fast, 'n' in a hurry, it could happen. Oooh, I'm so not liking this, this, new turn of events. They're unexpected. And so, so unnatural for me.

Ooh, damn him.

Damn this.

This does not happen to Fiona. Okay?

Oh no, hun.

I hump 'em 'n' dump 'em. I one-night-stand 'em. Not get all caught up. But shoot! We haven't even humped yet. And I'm already getting all sidetracked. Oh no. Oh no. He's gotta go!

“I want you so bad, girl,” Cease says, slicing into the mini discussion going on inside my cluttered lil head. “I don't know what you're doin' to me, but don't stop.”

His lips are on me again. His tongue is in my mouth. My arms are 'round his thick neck. He's a good kisser. And I, um, well . . . I feel myself getting overheated 'n' melting in places that I didn't think kissing could thaw out. Ooh, this is sooo not cute, honey-boo.

What is a diva to do?

I force myself to peel away from our sweet lil lip dance, just so that I can catch my breath 'n' think straight before my ho-meter kicks up 'n' I end up pulling out my trick bag 'n' doing some things that might make this situation I'm already in worse—for him; for me.

“Uh, um, listen—” I begin, feeling the need to shut him down, this down, before he says too much, but...

“Sshh,” he says, stroking my cheek, softly caressing my face, gazing into my eyes. “You're something else, Fiona. Damn.”

“Cease, wait . . .”

“It's too late.” He takes a breath. “I've wanted you since freshman year, yo. But I screwed up lip-lockin' it up wit' some busted chick.”

I twist my lips. Fold my arms. And raise my brow. “Uh, correction.” My neck swivels a bit. “With some wildebeest. Some hoof-toothed booga.”

He starts laughing. I playfully nudge him backward. “Don't be laughin', boy. That ish ain't funny. Walking up on that nightmare scarred me for life.”

“My bad, babe. I was stupid. Can you forgive me?”

“Nope,” I say, smirking. “Forgiving you would mean letting you all up in my space.”

He smiles. “Nah, ma, it's too late for that. I'm already up in it.”

Ooh, he tried it!

I roll my eyes. “Oh no, boo. It's never too late. I'ma drag you every chance I get for givin' up all'a this goodness for some endangered wildlife.” He chuckles. Tells me that that isn't what he did. That I was what he wanted back then. But he was young 'n' dumb 'n' full of hot nastiness 'n' let his hormones get him caught out there. That it was stupid 'n' I shouldn't hold his dumbness against him. Mmph. Miss Fiona isn't big on forgiveness. But maybe, just this once, I might consider it.

But why?

I have to stick to the rules.

Why would he want to be with me? To want to love me?

I can't let him see that I'm really broken inside. That the girl he sees, that everyone sees, isn't really who I am. Not on the inside.

On the inside all I am is another Pecola. Ugly 'n' unwanted 'n' unloved 'n' not good enough. That's how I feel sometimes. That's what I am reminded of every time my mother looks at me. But then I gotta stand in the mirror 'n' look at myself, fighting back those demons, 'n' keep reminding myself that I am
pretty
, that I am
wanted
, that I am
loved
, that I am
good enough.
'Cause that's what my sisters have always told me. It's what they want me to believe. And most times I do. But other times I don't. And that's when I have to smack on my happy face 'n' pretend to be everything my mother keeps telling me I'm not.

But how can I expect him to love me when my own mother can't?

Cease's voice slices into my thoughts. “Yo, what's really good wit' you, huh? Why you tryna run from something that we both know is good? I mean, damn, Fiona. I ain't tryna hurt you, yo.”

I blink, fighting back tears. “You just can't. Haven't you paid attention to anything I've said?”

He smirks. “Yeah, I heard you. I listen to everything you say. But I ain't tryna hear all that. So you can cancel all that crazy ish you've been talkin', babe. You not gettin' rid of me that easy, yo.”

I roll my eyes.
Oooh, this boy is really tryin' it. Who the heck does he think he is? Superman? Does he think he can come into my life, swoop me up off my feet, 'n' save the day?

He grins, pulling me into his arms. He leans in 'n' kisses me lightly on the lips. I swallow, taking him in, 'n' I have to fight to breathe; to catch my breath. He's
sooo
dang fine. And
sooo
much trouble.

I blink back more tears.

Cease tries to kiss me again. I jerk my head back. “I don't have time for silly games, boy.”

“I ain't no boy. I'm a grown man, baby. And I know what I want.”

I eye him. “Oh yeah? And what's that?” I ask the question, but I already know his answer. Still, I wanna hear it. Wanna be sure.

He pulls in his bottom lip all sexy 'n' slow, then finally says, “You.”

I swallow. Close my eyes as he speaks—the sweetness in his voice, a gentleness that I swear I didn't know this extra-tall, hunky boo-daddy had.
Oooh, this boy is tryna do me!
Then I open them and gaze right into his. “Then whatever you do,” I say softly as a tear rolls out of my eye. “Don't catch feelings.”