Hustlin' Divas (28 page)

I
'm floating on cloud nine.

So far my prom has been everything that I'd hoped it would be. Well, almost. We weren't crowned king and queen. That honor went to the snooty captain of the football team, George Fletcher, and of course the school's head cheerleader, Sharon Jones. When those two squares took the stage, haters booed and hissed until the brother led her into the first slow jam of the evening.

Still, the whole evening played out like some magical fairy tale in which all the girls were certified divas and the boys, if you squinted and cocked your head to the side, could pass for gentlemen. It wasn't long before someone spiked the punch with some Cîroc and doled out some la in the bathrooms and out in the parking lot.

The school security knows the deal and elects to pick their battles. They pop up every once in a while to put out small fires and then pretend they don't smell the various different clouds of drugs. Success depends on getting through the night without a body being white-chalked.

Getting high isn't normally my thing, but tonight I was in full what-the-hell mode. “Oh, man. I'm fucked up.” I giggle every other minute.

“I can see that.” Profit laughs and pulls a deep toke before leading me out onto the dance floor. If his buzz has kicked in, he damn sure isn't showing it.

Essence and her date, Drey Faniel, avoid me and Profit like the plague. I don't blame her. As a Queen G, she can't appear to be sanctioning what Profit and I are doing.

“I don't know, Profit. Maybe we should sit this one out,” I say and giggle again. “I'm not quite sure I can feel my muthafuckin' toes.” I look down to at least verify that they were still attached to my legs.

“I got you, Ma.” Profit chuckles and circles his arms around my waist. “Don't you worry about that.” We rock steady to an emotional slow joint while our glassy eyes lock onto each other. “You having a good time, baby?”

My smile stretches so wide it feels as if it is bumping against each of my earlobes. “You know I am.” His growing hard-on presses against me. “How about you?”

“It's all good.” He peppers my face with a few kisses. “I'm just biding my time until we head out to the Peabody.”

“I should've known that your mind is just on fuckin'.”

“Yep.” He bobs his head. “I ain't gonna lie.”

I blush.

Profit whispers against my ear, “And when I get you to that hotel tonight, I'm going to take my time eating every inch of you.”

A delicious shiver shoots through me as my own anticipation mounts. The game plan is to head out no later than nine-thirty so that we can have at least two hours alone in our luxury suite. I plan to get as loud and to buck as wild as I want without the fear of waking up my parents.

“I can't stand her ass.”

I catch the loud diss but just don't give a fuck about what the haters say about me and Profit anymore. Queen Gs, Flowers, Cripettes—you name it, they are all trying to stare a hole in the backs of our heads. Truth be told, I'm getting used to the shit. All that matters is the man in my arms; however, Profit cares.

“Let it go, honey,” I say, smiling to placate him. “This is our night.”

“You know I love to see you smile like this, baby girl.”

“Now, you know, I'm not your baby,” I say.

Profit's brows jump. “Oh? Since when?”

I reach up and caress the side of his face. “Since I became your
woman.
”

“My woman. Hmmm. I like the sound of that.” He leans forward and kisses me so gently and tenderly that tears come from nowhere and start leaking from the corners of my eyes. Our bodies stop rocking, and Profit cups my small face with his large hands as if he's holding something fragile and precious.

Love
doesn't encapsulate what I'm feeling. The four letters are too short and sound too casual to describe what is shaking me to my very foundation. Profit is as much a part of me as my own arm, head, or heart. Our kiss lasts through the rest of the song and into the next. When the small sips of oxygen I manage to steal are no longer enough, our lips finally pull apart.

“What do you say we roll up out of here?” His thumb traces the bottom of my lips while his eyes hold the perfect combination of adoration and lust.

“I say”—I press my body closer and loop my arm around the back of his neck—“hell yeah.” I smother his lips with another kiss before Profit laughs and immediately escorts me toward the exit.

A few heads turn and I blush like I have a neon sign on the back of my ass that reads I'M LEAVING TO GO FUCK NOW.

“You all right?” Profit asks as we step out into the dark parking lot.

Boldly, I reach back and grab his ass. “Never better.”

“Aaah. All right. It's like that, huh?” Profit cups my fat-onion ass and gives it a squeeze. “Think your
man
can get in where he fits in tonight?” he asks, leaning over to make a playful nip at my ear.

“That's the plan.”

Different groups of kids are chilling out back, smoking, drinking, and basically talking a bunch of shit as we thread our way through.

Khaled, a nigga who has always looked too old to be hanging out at a high school, looks up and gives his crotch a good scratch. “Awww. Sukie, sukie now. I know that shit going to get busted open tonight.”

“What the fuck you say?” Profit flips on the nigga and starts charging.

I try to tug him back, but it looks as if he's finally had enough with all the cheap remarks tonight.

“Oh, shit. My bad, Profit.” Khaled's hands shoot up, flashing the VL sign. “I didn't know that was you and your lady, man. I ain't never seen you in a monkey suit before. Sorry.”

“Profit, baby,” I beg. “Let it go. That nigga ain't worth it.”

The crowd's interest piques at the prospect of a fight.

“It's all you, man. All day, every day,” Khaled says, keeping his hands high in the air. “I ain't mean no disrespect. For real.”

Profit glares, his face tense, his muscles tight. After a few more seconds, he backs away and pulls me into his arms. But off to the side, a few brothers stand tall with their gats out.

“Profit, man. You want us to blast this fool?” It's clear that Cash Money is just looking for an excuse to get something started.

“Now wait a minute,” the nigga says, eyes bugging. “I done apologized. There ain't no need to take this shit to the next level.”

I roll my eyes. Our wonderful night is on the verge of turning into one that will end with yelling, shooting, and handcuffs. “Baby,” I pout, rolling my hand up the center of his back. “Squash this shit. You got more important things to take care of tonight.” I plant a kiss against his hard cheek. “C'mon. Let's go.”

A long, strained silence passes. The Vice Lords are cocked and ready for the go-ahead.

At last, Profit sucks in a breath, shakes his head, and returns his arm around my waist. “Nah, man. Let the crab go. We're supposed to all be chilling and having a good time. Ain't that right?”

Fat drops of perspiration roll down Khaled's square forehead. “Yeah, man. That's what I was saying.” His awkward laugh shakes like he's having some kind of internal earthquake.

Cash Money looks disappointed but pockets his piece and then reaches for the joint that is in the middle of rotation.

I return to the nook under Profit's arm and march by his side as we make our way across the parking lot. When we reach the limo, Profit taps on the hood. The driver jumps, tosses his cell phone to the side, and scrambles to get out of the vehicle.

“Sorry. I didn't see y'all,” the older man apologizes, and then scrambles to open the back door.

“Don't mention it, man. If you can get us down to the Peabody in ten minutes, there's an extra hundred dollars in it for you.” Profit winks.

“I'll have you there in eight.” He cheeses.

The moment I climb into the back, Profit is on me like white on rice, raining kisses on my face, neck, and collarbone. And when his strong hands start to make their way down my body, I can barely do more than moan my pleasure.

“You like that, baby?” Profit chuckles.

“W-what's not to like?” I pant, feeling my body come alive.

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.” He licks the lining of my bottom lip. “Damn. You always taste so good.”

Profit's hands shift directions and start traveling up, this time underneath my dress. Faintly, we're aware of the limousine's engine revving and the glass divider rolling up, but the only thing that holds our attention is how we're feeling.

The driver turns on the radio, filling the back of the limo with seductive old-school jams and getting me and my boo in the mood. I twirl my hand around his low-cropped hair and then run them down his smooth face while I nibble on his plump lips, drinking in the moment.

“Did you have a nice time tonight, baby?” Profit asks as he plants a string of soft kisses down my long neck.

“You know I did.” I sigh and luxuriate at the feel of his warm breath caressing my skin. My senses are super sensitive, and my brain is still buzzing from that Cîroc and weed that were passed around at the prom. “Thanks for taking me tonight, baby.”

Profit pulls back and stares me dead in the eye. “You know I'd do anything for you, baby.”

This nigga loves me. As I stare at him, I can't get over that shit. We talk all the time, but it's not about the conversation. We laugh all the time, but it's not about the fun. We fuck all the time, but it's not about the sex. It's all that shit and then some.

“What?” he asks, taking in my goofy smile.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

Profit's eyes light up as his smile becomes as goofy as mine. “Yes, but your man never gets tired of hearing it.” He leans forward and kisses me until I'm so damn dizzy that I don't even notice my panties sliding off my hips and my dress hiking up higher and higher.

“Awww, baby. Look at you.” Profit sucks in a deep breath and then peels open my pussy lips to see my hard candy. “You're beautiful, baby. Every fuckin' inch of you.”

I slide my hands around his back, pull him in close, and proceed to grind against his hardening erection.

“Hey, now. This shit is rented,” Profit jokes. “I don't think they'll like me returning things with pussy juice all over the front of it.”

“If you're so worried, then clean me up.”

Our gazes lock. “You know, that might not be such a bad idea.” Profit slips his large fingers into my pussy and starts stirring things around. My moans blend with the music.

“Damn, girl. You're wet as fuck.” With his free hand, he starts rolling down my one shoulder strap until he's looking at my creamy cleavage above my blue bra. “You coordinated your ass off with this outfit, didn't you, girl?”

“You bragging or complaining?” I reach behind my back and unsnap my bra.

He stares at my full breasts, hypnotized. “Now this is what I'm talking about.” He flicks his tongue against my nipples until they have their own nice, shiny glaze. “We got to start coming to more of these damn proms.”

“I was thinking the same damn thing.” I unzip his pants and pull out my second best friend. We're both on the same page as far as getting in a good quickie before we reach the Peabody hotel. Lord knows it isn't our first time together, but something about this evening makes everything feel brand-new.

Profit shifts his body so that he hovers over me. “We only got a few minutes—spread your legs for me, Ma.”

I reach down and pull my pussy wider just when the limousine veers sharply to the left and then screeches to a stop.

Profit pitches forward and slams headfirst into the back door.

“What the…Honey, are you okay?” I jump up, just as the other back door jerks open and a small army of niggas hops into the cab. “Who the fuck are you?”

POP! POP! POP!

I jump and then jerk my gaze toward the tinted windows, where I see our limo driver drop dead against the concrete. I panic. “What the fuck is going on?”

Profit struggles to get up but is slammed back down when this long-dreadlock-wearing muthafucka starts pistol-whipping him across the back of his head.

“STOP! GET OFF OF HIM!” I grab a fistful of the nigga's hair and snatch it back so hard I pull a couple of locks clean from their roots. I want to slice this nigga, but I don't have a blade tucked inside my cheeks. I'd stitched that baby on the inside of my bra, and that son of a bitch is on the limousine's floor.

“GET THIS BITCH OFF ME!” Dreadlocks shouts.

I turn my head toward the niggas he's yelling at, only to have a fist crash against my jaw. My world explodes with pain, and my mouth fills with blood.

The back door slams closed, and the limo's tires squeal again as it takes off.

“Shit. That bitch gotta helluva grip on her,” Dreadlocks says, shoving away and clutching the side of his head. “But I'm gonna let that shit go if that pussy is even half as sweet as it smells up in this muthafucka. He jams a hand in between my legs.

I clamp my knees closed. “Get away from me,” I hiss through what feels like a broken jaw. “What the fuck do you want?” My gaze shifts to Profit, who's passed out on the floorboard. A steady stream of blood flows down the side of his head, and it's hard to tell whether he's even breathing.

“It's time.”

My head whips to the small frame that was the last one to enter the back of the cab. “LeShelle?”

Calm and entirely too cool, my sister reaches up and pulls back her black hoodie. “Hey, sis.” Her lips curl, but her smile never reaches her narrowed gaze. “Long time, no see. I hope you don't mind if me and a few of my closest niggas crash your lil prom night.” LeShelle knocks on the glass divider. When it slides down, I recognize Kookie, but not the other two bitches, who are surely Queen Gs.