Page 27 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

Though I knew rumors of me not being able to get it up would soon flood the streets, I didn’t give a fuck. Realizing Banks would possibly never talk to my ass again eclipsed what the bitches in the hood would soon hear about a nigga.

Throwing my shit in park, I checked the time to see Waverley would be let out of her dance class in only a few minutes. Climbing out, I felt anxious as fuck about seeing Banks and couldn’t lie and say I didn’t wanna see her.

After the club incident, she hadn’t said shit to me.

I’d texted, called, and even went onto my ghost town of a social media to DM her, despite not even being blocked, but she hadn’t responded on any of the three communications.

So for the past forty-eight hours, I was struggling but chose to leave her ass alone.

If she was here, though, I would speak to her ass and see if what we had was in any fucking way salvageable. I prayed it was.

The kids flooded out of the dance studio once some skinny ass flamboyant nigga opened the heavy door for them.

I grinned when Waverley’s eyes landed on me, causing a big smile to spread across her brown face as her pigtails and backpack bounced when she ran toward me.

“Can we get sushi!” She shouted as soon as she hit me, hugging my waist tightly.

“Let’s try something else, baby girl. I don’t even think eating that shit as much as you do is healthy.”

“Hmm.” She groaned, lower lip jutted out to show she disagreed with my statement.

“Can Kisha put my hair in braids? This style is for kids.” Waverley promptly moved on, referencing our next-door neighbor who happened to be a kids’ stylist and had been hooking Waverley’s shit up on the regular since I nor Wyatt were versed enough, and my mama was too twisted all the fucking time to do it herself.

In return, I broke Kisha off handsomely.

She’d wanted dick as payment, but that wasn’t on the table. I would never smash a bitch who knew where I lived unless I wanted her to.

“I got you,” I replied, the last word of my sentence trailing off as Banks switched out of the room, tiny ass pink shorts, a big white top, socks, and New Balance sneakers on her feet.

She was typing away on her phone, Rolex on one wrist and bracelets on the other, both gleaming brightly in the sun.

Her espresso complexion was pure, pristine, and flawless like always, looking even sexier in the bright ass sun.

“Get inside.” I hit the locks on my Maybach as Waverley rounded my whip to do as I’d said, hollering bye to a few of her classmates on the way.

“Peep.” I walked up on Banks, making her peer up from her phone, long dark hair bordering her pretty face as her piercing eyes zeroed in on me.

“Can I help you?” Her head rocked subtly from left to right as if she was already irritated with me.

“Yeah, actually.” I smiled, not because it was a good situation, but because I couldn’t help it.

I’d missed her something serious and just being around her in the flesh had some shit going on in my chest that I couldn’t quite explain.

It translated to the smile on my face. Banks chomped down on her gum impatiently as she waited for me to speak.

“I wanna talk to you about the other night.”

“There is no need. I know what you were doing, and I got the message, Low.” She started to walk off, but I blocked her path, making her eyes mushroom in shock as she looked me up and down like I was crazy.

“Baby, that’s . . . I mean, yeah, I was trying to run you off, but I realized?—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you realized. It’s not that type of party, Willow, where you can act out and then show up with puppy dog eyes and crocodile tears telling me how damaged you are so I can forgive you.

Regardless of what you’re going through, you are a grown ass man, and you know exactly what you should and shouldn’t be doing.

“So now that I see how you move, I want no parts, and I’m cool.

” She shrugged one shoulder. For the first time, she looked a lot like Prime and Asif, and I didn’t know if it was because they shared the same nose, eye shape, and color, or if it was because of how she was checking a nigga, reminding me of them.

“Now, is there anything else you have to say?” Her brow lifted, and when I hesitated, not knowing what I could say or do to make her forgive a nigga, she scoffed.

“I’m so fucking happy I didn’t mention whatever this was to my brothers, because you would’ve had beef with them for no fucking reason.

This and you, were a waste of my fucking time.

” She started off, and when I grabbed her arm, she yanked from me, making me advance toward her.

“Baby—”

“Hey, she doesn’t want you touching her.” The flamboyant ass nigga from earlier walked up on us as if I couldn’t snap his muthafuckin’ neck with my middle finger and thumb only.

Shocked, I looked his ass up and down as I closed the space between us. “Unless you really ‘bout that, I suggest you mind ya fucking business, cuz. I’ll drop a body in broad daylight with no issue,” I promised and guaranteed.

I had always been reckless as fuck with my heat in the past, and while I wasn’t as bad anymore, the shit was still in me. By saying that, this bitch ass nigga would get dropped on a normal day, let alone a fucking day where I was already on edge and agitated as fuck.

“Douglas, no.” Banks touched his arm, tugging on it a bit to pull him back.

His eyes were already widened with fright, so when Banks backed my warning, he simply nodded his head stiffly before retreating and walking away.

“Banks—”

“Leave me alone, for real. I’m over it and you. I promise I am. And don’t think you hurt me because I would have to give a fuck for that,” she assured me with one last look before making an about face and sauntering to her Jeep.

I stood there for a bit just watching until Waverley honking my car horn pulled me from my daze. Flipping around, I jogged to my whip and hopped in.

“Sushi?” Waverley asked again, disregarding my former statement about it.

“Yeah.” I grumbled, not in the mood to debate with her.

Pulling out of the lot, I tried to push the interaction with Banks to the depths of my mind, but it wasn’t working. On the contrary, I kept replaying her words over and over and over until I felt like I was suffocating.

Blinking rapidly, I attempted to catch my breath as I drove, but the effort to do such a simple task became more difficult, alarming Waverley.

“Willow?” she whispered.

“Hol-hold on,” I struggled to say as I pulled over on the street, throwing my shit in park against the curb.

“Willow!” Waverley screeched as I gripped my chest, laborious breaths escaping a nigga as if I’d been submerged under water.

I felt panic consume me as I looked over at my baby sister who’d snatched my phone from the cupholder to dial 911.

I had to have been dying or having a heart attack.

I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t breathe, making me hop out of my car in hysteria.

A car driving by swerved, honking at me in irritation for almost getting my fucking block knocked off.

Time flew by, though it felt like seconds because as soon as I gripped the trunk of my vehicle, eyes bucked as I struggled to breathe, an ambulance pulled up, and two EMTs forced me onto a gurney before wheeling me into the back and helping Waverley inside.

“My-my car—” I struggled to say.

“I texted Free,” Waverley let me know, touching my hand just before the oxygen mask was applied to my face.

HOURS LATER . . .

“How are you feeling, Mr. Harris?” Someone by the name of Dr. Mueller entered the hospital room as soon as I was fully dressed.

After bringing me in, running all types of tests and other bullshit, they’d come to the conclusion that a nigga was fine.

“I’m straight. Can I go? I think that shit was a fluke.”

Pressing the clipboard to his legs, he replied, “You had a panic attack.”

“I think that’s for white folks,” I said. “But appreciate the help.” I started for the door and opened it.

“Did something happen to trigger it?” he prodded, making me pause in the opening of the doorway.

“Nah.” I vented a breath, shaking my head. I wasn’t about to mention the shit with Banks. “Just got a lot on my plate like most black men, Doc. Be easy.” I continued out of the door, running both hands down my face in angst.

I guess it was a good thing Banks didn’t wanna fuck with me if she was causing a nigga to have panic attacks and shit.

ONE WEEK LATER . . .

Leaned back in my driver’s seat, I peered out the window, staring at Banks’s townhome while inhaling on the blunt. I’d been out here for the past twenty minutes, debating if I wanted to try my hand at speaking to her ass again.

On one hand, I missed the fuck out of her and the bond we’d built. Life had been gloomy since she’d snatched that shit away or since I’d intentionally made her do the shit. Same time, she had too much control over a nigga’s feelings, and I wasn’t used to that shit.

Since I’d been in the field with women, none of them had ever had an effect on me.

I could move how I wanted, and so could they, and I would sleep soundly at night.

I never gave a fuck if they fucked with me, liked me, none of that shit, especially once I hit.

So to be this sick and fucked up in the head over a woman, and one who hadn’t even given me any pussy, was strange as fuck for me.

Ashing the blunt, I spritzed some breath spray before climbing out of the whip. I’d realized after toggling between all the pros and cons in my head that being without Banks would be worse than any fucking type of attack I could ever endure.

Inhaling heavily, I hit her doorbell, hating that she could see me from the comfort of her bedroom on her security app. Like I knew, her soft but annoyed voice poured through the speaker instead of from behind the door.

“Why are you at my house?”

“I wanna talk, Peep.”