Get Ready for War (25 page)

“Dates? I don't do dates. I gotta man. I'm married.”

Justice stepped closer into my personal space. He flicked my chin and whispered practically lip to lip. “Yeah, a'ight. You may have a man, but it's in title only, yo. So you may as well get rid of him, 'cause you know and I know ya man doesn't make you feel like I do. Remember when I—” He leaned in. Whispered dirty memories in my ear. Then he pressed his lips against mine and said, “And if you behave I'll do it all again.” He gave me a soft peck and took a step back.

I closed my eyes. Drifted into the memory of our night in the hotel suite . . .

My eyes popped open and I took a step back. “All of that was a mistake.” I took another step back. “And anyway, dude, what's wrong with you? You're acting real deprived right now. Real hood-bugger-anti-pimp-thirsty.”

He frowned. “Thirsty?”

“Restraining-order thirsty. I don't do this. Creeping up on me. I didn't even drop no real big time on you. God forbid if I really dropped the boom bop, you'd be living on my doorstep. And by the way I don't do that either. Now go on back to skid row with Joey—”

“Joey?” He looked at me, confused.

“You heard me. I don't have a speech problem.”

“Who is Joey? The last dude you left at the bar—?”

“You have me confused with one of your baby mamas.”

“Baby mama? Yo, if anything I'm tryna make
you
my baby mama. But then again you probably have enough baby daddies.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “You know what, I'm not doing this with you.” I turned away from him and as I headed back toward the school he reached for my arm and gently pulled me into him. I knew I should've snatched away, but I didn't. And we were breasts to six-pack, and I was seconds from melting all over again. God, I needed to get away from him. “Let me go.”

“You can walk away if you want.” He raised his hands in the air.

But I didn't move.

“Yeah, a'ight. Just what I thought.”

I fought back a blush. “Look, I don't appreciate—”

“Yo, shut. Up. Enough. Let's just get outta here. You can come home wit' me. And you already know what it is wit' me. I don't kiss and tell.”

“You are such a freak. And I don't do freaks.”

He chuckled, looked over his shoulder and looked back at me. “Yeah, but I bet you do college boys. 'Cause he's right over there.” Justice pointed across the parking lot. And my heart dropped into my heels. I quickly backed away from Justice, hoping that the scent of guilt didn't linger on me.

“Hey, babe!” I rushed over to Knox, who was now only a few inches away. He didn't acknowledge me. He brushed past me and walked over to Justice.

Oh God, please be kind to me. This is not the time for a pissin' match . . .
“Knox, I'm over here.” I wedged my way in between him and Justice. Knox placed his hands on my waist and moved me to the side.

“Rich,” Knox said, speaking to me but looking directly at Justice.

“Yes, baby.”

“You wanna introduce me to your friend,” he said, more like a statement than a question.

“Hell no.” Pause. “Umm, I mean, umm.” My heart raced like a running Clydesdale. “This is—this is, ummm... James, John—”

“Justice,” Justice said, extending his hand toward Knox.

They gave each other dap and Justice looked back at me with a smirk. “Yo, Rich, I'll hollah at you later.”

As Justice got into his car and disappeared into the distance I didn't know what to do. I didn't know whether to stand still or move. I looked over to Knox and he stared at me. Long. Hard. And the look on his face told me there were a million thoughts racing through his mind. All of which would require damage control. Before I could say anything and assess where his mind was, London bolted out the door in a panic, interrupting our troubled silence.

“Rich! What are you doing out here?” She looked up and over at Knox. “Is that—?”

I frowned. How rude—was she asking me twenty-twenty questions in front of my man and looking all crazy? I had enough explaining to do. I didn't need to explain why this crazed lunatic even knew my name. “Look, I'll talk to you later. I have to go.” I flicked my hand bye and followed Knox to his truck. And instead of opening the door for me, like he usually did, he left me standing there, got in, and revved the engine.

He rolled down the passenger window. “You staying or you going?”

“Are you serious? So you're really not going to open the door for me?”

He clicked the locks. “The door's open. Get in or step. But I'm 'bout to roll.”

Oh, he was trippin'. And I knew he felt some kinda way but still...
I yanked the door open and said, “I don't do rudeness.”

“I don't know what you'll do.”

 

We rode an hour in pissed-filled silence. And I couldn't take it anymore. Knox had never been this mad with me. And yeah, I know me and Justice standing there may have looked funny, but I didn't do anything.

And if Knox knew how hard I was fighting to keep our relationship honest and pure, he'd let go of this humbug, fall back and get his act together. For real-for real I didn't need this drama.

“Knox—”

Before I could finish the rest of my sentence he turned the radio up.

Whatever.

Thirty more minutes of pissed-filled silence and I decided to try this again. “Knox—”

He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, parked his truck, got out, and left me sitting there. And then to make matters worse he clicked the alarm.

I rushed out of the truck before the alarm set and hurried up the stairs behind him. I was on his heels into his apartment, walked straight past Midnight and his dumb remarks, and followed Knox into his room and slammed the door. “Yo, what is your problem!” I didn't mean to scream, but I couldn't help it.

Knox removed his shirt, revealing his eight-pack. “You better lower your voice.” He stepped out of his jeans and into a pair of basketball shorts.

“What is your problem?” I lowered my voice but kept the salt in my tone.

“I don't have a problem.” He lay on his press bench and started lifting a hundred-pound weight, the way he always did when he was stressed or pissed, or both.

“Oh really?” I said. “You throw me mad shade on the way up here. You don't talk to me, and then you leave me in the parking lot sitting in your truck and then you click the alarm like I wasn't even there! Who does that, like really! What's really good with you?”

He snapped, “Nah, the question is, what's really good with you? You knew I was coming up to your school to pick you up and bring you back to spend the weekend with me, and instead of waiting for me I walk up on you kicking it to some dude, like you don't even have a man! Now who does that?” He mocked me. “Like really.”

“Knox—”

“Don't Knox me, Rich. That ish looked real crazy as hell! Now if for whatever reason you're feeling like you need to be free or if this relationship doesn't fit with the next headline you're trying to get into, then by all means, step.”

My eyes and my mouth popped open. “What are you trying to say?!”

“I'm not trying to say anything. I said it.”

My voice trembled. “You're breaking up with me?” A knot filled my chest.

“Nah, I'm checking you. And I'm letting you know that I don't do game. So you might be able to manipulate the press, and your fans, and some random dude up at your grand school. But you can't pull nothing on me because I have a degree in Rich-ology. And I know you.” He dropped the weight back into its place, added on two twenty-pound discs, lay back down, and lifted it.

“Knox, why won't you let me explain! Why are you going to the left like this?”

“I'm not going to the left. I'm just letting you know that I know you.”

“Are you going to let me explain?”

“Yeah. But make sure you think about the BS you say to me, and it better be the truth.”

“You calling me a liar?!” I waved my hand in the air. “Wait a minute here. I know dang well you didn't call me a liar!”

“Rich, get to the point. Who was the dude that had you tongue-tied?”

“I wasn't tongue-tied. And that was a nobody from my finance class. I was outside waiting for you and he walked over to me and asked me would I tutor him.”

“Tutor him? Don't play me, Rich. You don't even do your homework—your chef does.”

Immediately I went on pause. I had no idea what to say next, but I had to say something before this argument went too far to come back...

“Knox, just listen to me. You're right and I told him that the chef does my homework. And yeah, I'll admit he came on to me. But I told him I had a man. Who I loved.”

“Uhmm hmm.”

I walked over to him, straddled his lap, and ran my hands up his chest. He placed the weight on the hooks behind him. I planted a wet kiss on his neck and then down the center of his chest. “I told him I have a man who I wouldn't do wrong. For anything in the world.”

“I love you, Rich. But I'm not stupid. And if I see that dude around you again and you're standing there and the situation looks crazy, we're done. No questions asked.”

“Shhh.” I kissed his lips. “It'll never happen again.”

“It better not,” he said, surrendering to my kisses.

H
ere it was a Friday night, and once again I was stuck on the antebellum plantation, being emotionally flogged. My masters—my mother and father—were abroad as usual. And my overseers, Genevieve and Daddy's security team, were somewhere scattered about the estate, watching everything I did, then reporting back to my parents, who called themselves keeping me on a tight leash. Everything was a mess!

I really didn't know how much more of being enslaved I could bear before I ended up being strapped to a gurney and carted off to a padded room somewhere. Then to add to my misery, there was some psycho-stalker out there who seemed invested in trying to take me to the edge of insanity, then pushing me over it. At first, I thought it was Anderson, but now I'm not so sure.

Still, whoever it was, they were really getting under my skin, peeling my nerves apart. And today was the final straw when I got that message that Justice was outside in the back parking lot of school. I snatched my books and bag, then darted out of the classroom, sprinting through the halls in my heels, trying to get outside to him. My heart raced with anticipation. I was finally going to see him. But when I burst through the back entrance, the only thing I saw was Rich standing outside with some very handsome guy who didn't look too happy about something.

Then Rich had the audacity to give me attitude when I asked her what she was doing out there. I was really getting sick of her! And I was still pissed at her for, once again, betraying me to the left with that slut-bucket, Spencer. That trick had the nerve to wave a folded note in my face as she slid out of our finance class, leaning into my ear and whispering, “You wanna know why you stay on the bottom, Bubbles? 'Cause you're a stupid ho, you hot trash stunt dummy.”

When I craned my neck to get Rich's attention, she was gone! And Spencer walked out of the room with a triumphant smirk on her face. I don't know what I ever did to that conniving whore, but that chick hated everything about me. Jealousy was truly the root of her evil. And Spencer was green to her rotted core.

I was going to bring her down if it was the last thing I did.

My cell rang. I rolled my eyes as the ringtone, “You the Boss” blared out, letting me know it was Rich calling. I let it roll into voice mail.
Tramp, puhleeze! You diss me for Dizzy Lizzy, I don't think so!
A few seconds later, it rang again. I ignored it.

She called back-to-back-to-back. I finally answered after the twentieth time she called. “Yes, Rich,” I said, my attitude on red.

“Pop, pop, get it-get it. I know you don't have no attitude, girl.”

“Whatever. I didn't appreciate you leaving me in class to go off and have some secret rendezvous with Dumb-zilla, while I had to sit and watch Mister Donte's bubble-butt sitting high up on his back and his pants all wedged up in his crack. That man needs to start wearing a girdle to hide all those craters in his behind. Every time he turns to write on the chalkboard I have to be subjected to that nastiness. And you left me sitting there counting his bullet holes. You know that man has a behind like a war victim.”

“Whaaaat? Clutching pearls. Stop the press! You must have OCD. Who does that, counting craters in some man's behind? You need help, girl.”

I huffed. “And what was that grandstanding stunt you pulled out in the parking lot this afternoon? I didn't appreciate that one bit.”

“Hold up. Wait a minute. Why is drama meeting me at the door? Hello, Drama? Get off the phone and put London on 'cause I didn't call for you. You better get your life together. What's going on with you, girl? You have changed. And not for the good, but for the desperate!”

“Desperate? How dare you!”

“No. How dare you try to disrupt my get-right! Do you know how high I am right now? You don't give a damn about me, London. My man got that crack, girl.”

“I don't give a damn what your man has. If you'd stop spending so much time on your back you'd see how crazy you are. You keep playing me to back of the bus, dismissing me like my name is Miss Whack To The Back. And I don't like it.”

“Girrrrrrrl, please. Not tonight. I'm not doin' this with you. You are not screwing my good-time-party moment. My man and I just finished getting it in real, real good; not once, not twice, but three-and-a-half times . . . we're breaking world records up in here. My man might be over there knocked out, but I am fully charged. And you will not drain my battery. Not tonight, you won't.

“You sure know how to ruin a phone call of consideration. So I advise you not to open the get-it-crunked door, London, 'cause I'm telling you, I'm trying not to be annoyed. I'm trying to use my church voice on you, but you're about to have me forget my religion. I'm now the new member of the Sweet Holy Ghost of the Desperate Goddess congregation, so don't do me.”

I pulled the phone from my ear, staring at it. This chick was bananas.

“So are you going to get your mind right, get dressed, and get down here so we can boom-boom the room on these college cuties? Let me know now 'cause if not, I got Spencer on speed dial.”

I felt my nerves about to pop. I was sick and tired of her throwing Spencer up in my face. “You know what, Rich. Call Spencer. I don't give a damn. Now go boom-boom on that.”

I disconnected the call.

I immediately thought about calling Justice again for the hundredth time, but just as I was about to place the call, Rich called back and said, “She didn't answer. So are you coming or what?”

“No, I'm not coming. I'm not doing anything with you, Miss Mile High. So go on back to your little sexathon with Captain Got That Crack. Obviously some of Spencer's dumbness is rubbing off on you if you think I'm playing second best to that ho. I'm tired of you being two-faced. And thinking it's all about you. Well, newsflash: it's not . . .”

Rich huffed. “See, there you go with your drama, again.”

“Drama this—here's the next headline for you, Miss It Couple: We're done!”

“Done? How must you sound? This isn't the LGBT clique. I'm all for gay marriages and all, but we're not a couple. And I'm not interested. So there's no way we can be done when we never started. Boom! Now hit the floor with that!”

“Rich, delete my number.”

“Done; it's deleted.”

I ended the call. There was nothing else to say. I was through with her. She had me messed up. At this point, I didn't care if I never spoke to her again.

For the first time in a long time, I wished I was back in New York. I wondered what my old Upper East Side crew was doing right now. I glanced over at the Tiffany clock. It was already six thirty in the evening.
Probably getting ready to attend some gala at MetLife
. And here I am stuck in the center of my bed, looking out at the Pacific Ocean instead of the Hudson River. God, I missed New York. And I missed Justice even more.

I got up from my bed and lazily went into my bathroom, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. I had to shake this loneliness; had to shake my thoughts of him. I decided a relaxing bubble bath was what I needed to release some of this tension. Well, what I really needed was Justice's hard, chiseled body pressed up against mine, but the Jacuzzi would have to do.

Forty minutes later, no luck. I stepped out into my bedroom, naked, feeling refreshed but still not relaxed. I almost fell out when I saw Anderson standing in the middle of my room with his arms folded across his chest. His designer tie hung loosely around his neck. And he wore a scowl on his face.

He shifted his eyes from my breasts as I threw my arms up over my chest. “Ohmygod! What are you doing in here?” I screamed, racing back into the bathroom to grab a robe to cover myself.

He was hot on my heels. “Let me tell you something. I don't know what you're going through. But don't you ever come out the side of your neck at me again, calling me some punk-sissy, cursing me out like I'm nothing.”

I blinked, tying the belt of my robe around my waist. “Boy, don't be walking up on me like that.” I pushed him out of the way as I walked back out into the bedroom.

“I mean it, London. Don't ever in your life call me that again.”

“Don't ever call you what? A punk-sissy? Oh, puhleeze. That's exactly who you are—a fake, a phony, a front; the definition of down low. And I'm tired of you always in my face. But, don't worry, boo. I'm going to keep your little gay-bird secret.”

His jaws tightened. “Guess what? I'm the same punk-sissy that picked you up at four in the morning on the side of the road, looking crazy. I'm the same punk-sissy who covers for you and lies to your parents whenever you wanna play the devoted fool to some idiot who doesn't give a damn about you. I'm the same punk-sissy who is constantly there for you. So you wanna keep secrets, then let's not forget about the one you have tucked away in Italy...”

I felt my knees buckle.

“. . . I'm the one who told you that Justice had not one, not two, but three baby mamas and you still stayed with him. You better hope that's all he has instead of some nasty disease. You have the effen nerve to text me some craziness, then wanna stand here and call me a fake, when you're the biggest phony there is, fronting. Trying to be everything you're not. You've never had any friends. And the only boy you've ever been with has run all through you, and all over you.”

“You know what—”

“I'm not done speaking. That's your problem—you're disrespectful.”

“You don't—”

He walked up on me, cutting me off. “I said I'm not done. I'm not going to keep playing this back-and-forth game with you. You've disrespected me for the last time. I'm done with you. You really have me confused. I don't need
you
to get my trust fund. The difference between you and me is I'm wealthy on my own. I don't need that money. I want it. And I deserve it. But I won't be putting up with you to get it. So you go run along and keep plotting to set up your little friend with your boy-toy, hoping for a miracle, because I'm done with you. And by the way, I have something to add to that secret you think you have on me. This punk-sissy's not gay.”

I blinked. I couldn't believe that in a matter of thirty minutes I had been cursed out twice in two different ways. I stood there with my mouth dropped open. I had never seen Anderson like that before. Pissed and hurt.

He walked out of the room. Before I could even get my thoughts together, I was walking out behind him, calling his name. “Anderson, wait.”

He turned to me. “Oh, now I'm supposed to wait for you? Really? I'm sick of waiting for you. And watching you wait for Justice and cry over Justice. Your whole world is wrapped up in Justice. You need to pay attention to what's right in front of you. I'm feeling something for you. And I don't know what it is, or why it is; it just is. But it's not worth your level of disrespect. I've been more of a man to you than your so-called man has ever been to you. So if you wanna sling secrets, then how about you start with your own, 'cause this little arrangement we have, it's done.”

And with that said, Anderson walked off, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall, feeling like I had been plowed over by a tanker. It took me a minute to collect myself and pick the pieces of my face up off the floor, before I was able to make it back to my room. I slammed the door, willing my tears at bay.

Rick Ross's “You the Boss” started blaring from my phone again. I sighed. “What do you want?!” I snapped.

“Umm, temper, temper, boo. I keep telling you, girl, you need anger management, quick.”

“Whatever. I thought I told you to get rid of my number.”

“I did. But I had to go in the trash and get it. Ummm, are you over yourself? You know we had already made these plans to get our boom-bop-drop on tonight, and here you go backing out on me at the last minute. I told Knox that I had my girl coming down here; now you have me down here looking like a fool. Who does that? And I thought we were bestie-boos. Now you can do whatever you want to me, but when it comes to my man, that's something you don't do. He didn't do a thing to you, London. And then you had the nerve to come outside this afternoon, talking some ‘is that?' like it would be somebody else. You were trying to get me all messed up. Tryna get your hate-on on the low. I had to come back here and do a Spencer move on him and get my Becky on. And you know I don't do that.

“Now you know you're dead wrong for making these plans with me. But you know what? I'm gonna be the bigger woman here. And I'm gonna do something I've never done before, so I'm breaking a world record. I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and just apologize to you so you can get over your attitude.”

I blinked. This girl was relentless. But the truth was, after the tongue-lashing Anderson gave me, I was happy she called back. I needed a distraction. “You know what? Okay, Rich. My God! Shut that mouth.”

“Wait a minute. Drop the mic. Lower the volume. You don't yell in my ear. So now that we've got that straight, let's get it poppin'! So get the jewels out, leave the heels. Get the Chanel sneakers out. Don't come down here like you're about to hit the runway, 'cause you know and I know you haven't been on stage in a minute. And this isn't the place to practice.”

“Wait a minute now. You don't tell me how to dress. We haven't been broken up that long. You know me better than that.”

“What? Hold up, wait a minute. There you go again. What is your problem?!”