Page 12 of In Too Deep

Is food the only thing on the menu?

I didn’t trip when Synthia didn’t text me back.

Had she replied, she would’ve started some shit.

I couldn’t see her being into me like that, opting for me to be the bad guy.

When the only thing I really wanted to do was get in her good graces and prove her wrong.

It felt like I was on the opposing team, going out of my way, plotting against her, but could you blame me?

That’s like asking a nigga who was his childhood crush and expect him not to say anybody other than Halle Berry, Nia Long, or Beyoncé.

Synthia had everything I needed in a woman, and my biggest regret is not choosing her first when I settled for Trecee.

I wasn’t being greedy, but Trecee wasn’t my first pick; she was just the first piece of pussy out of the duo jump ship.

Regardless of anything else, niggas drool over a woman like Synthia, and I knew what that was like.

I thought about stopping by the house to freshen up and change, but running into Trecee would aggravate my mood further than it already was.

Crazy how I’m beefing with my bitch over some shit she knew better about.

That’s how I know it’s time to cut her ass off, and Synthia gave me that boost to go ahead and do it, but I had to play my cards right to get what I wanted.

That’s if she wanted me back. Plus, Trecee couldn’t be in the shadows.

As headstrong as Synthia is off GP, she probably wouldn’t fuck me because I’ve had ties with her cousin, and I can’t say that I blame her for that.

Speaking of the fucking devil, my phone vibrated in my pocket with a text from Trecee’s annoying ass.

Trecee: Am I still in the dog house?

It hadn’t been a day yet since I put her on punishment.

I waited for her to get the point. So she wouldn’t lack responsibility, I put her car in her name and gave her access to the account to make sure she was keeping up with the monthly payments.

She owned one major credit card as far as I knew, and anything else she was morally responsible for.

Like I said, her being in the dog house meant me cutting her off in more ways than one.

Me: Is the sky blue? Is the grass green? Go outside and tell me just to make sure.

I responded as I pulled up to Synthia’s place and parked on the sidewalk.

The grass to her front yard was still high as hell, so I could only imagine what the back yard looked like.

I made a note to come by and cut it for her.

Due to a busy ass schedule, I’d have to put a dent in it so I could make time for her.

Before exiting out of my car, I pulled my sun visor down to make sure I looked good.

The stress behind my eyes was see through as hell because of this cell phone shit, but I’d make the best of it and not let it piss me off further than I already was.

Undoing one of the buttons on my burgundy Telo Wireless pop style shirt, I smoothed the collar, reached inside my glove compartment, grabbed my gun, and tucked it behind my waist.

Me: I’m outside.

My Yeezys crunched on the hot concrete as I sent a text and unevenly made my way up the long driveway.

Standing on the opposite side of the door, I placed my hand on the rusty railing.

My face scrunched up in confusion, hearing her unlatch the door one too many times before it creaked at the sound of her opening it.

Synthia stood before me, but for a millisecond the storm door kept me from hugging and copping a feel of her soft ass body, until I stepped back so she could open it.

“Oh my god,” she grinned, showcasing a mouth full of pretty ass teeth and a dimple dented in her left cheek. “I’m sorry, when you texted me, I was setting the table.”

“Aw it’s all good. I’m not in a rush.”

Dipping my head, I stepped inside her humble abode and scooped her up for a hug, my hand touching the arch in her back. Her small titties smashing into my stomach got my dick hard, and the fact that she was wearing leggings that exposed her jiggly ass didn’t help it grow soft.

“You keeping yourself in or somebody out?” I joked with her about the many locks on the inside of her door.

“Oh,” she giggled. “A few months ago, somebody broke into my house while I was sleep, so this eases my paranoia,” she explained and walked away.

“Damn, I forgot you told me that shit,” I spoke sincerely as I looked around her place.

It looked better on the inside than it did on the outside.

Not that her spot was raggedy, but it was obvious she took care of her things and didn’t let her surroundings place her in a box to live like shit.

Lil’ baby’s place was nice as fuck, and if she was balling on a budget, she’s making this shit work.

Placed along a wall was a beige sectional, decorated with pillows in the shade of creams, browns, gold, and beige.

At the very end was a cream colored throw blanket.

There was a rug intricating the same colors as the pillows.

A coffee table was beautifully decorated with essential shit like a bottle of wine and a half empty glass with a lip gloss stain on the corner.

On the side of the couch, in the middle, was a stripper pole, which sort of piqued my interest. The 60-inch flat screen television was mounted on a wall playing something probably significant, but it was muted.

I also noticed she had a thing for pretty ass art pieces that suited for wall decor.

Placed in the opposite corner was a fye ass white bookshelf, with gold edges.

There were books lined up on the shelves, taking up two rows.

Pictures of her friends, her family, and many of her and Trecee when they were younger.

Something else that piqued my interest was her vinyl collection. She had some great taste in music.

“I hope you saved room for what I cooked up,” her sweet voice spoke from behind me, jarring my attention away from her bookshelf.

“Hell yeah, I ain’t ate shit but a bowl of cereal when I woke up this morning,” I muttered seriously, getting a laugh out of her.

“Sit down, I’ll fix you a plate of everything.”

She didn’t have a dining room table, and her kitchen was only big enough for appliances and countertop space, so I assumed she was telling me to take a seat on the couch. The music she was blasting was loud as fuck, but I fucked with it and the lil’ vibe she had going on.

“I ain’t know you danced,” I yelled out, loud enough for her to hear over the bass.

She poked her head out and furrowed her brows. “Huh?”

“I said?—”

“Hold on, let me cut this music off.”

Once the music was muted she reappeared back in the living room. She appeared back in the living room holding a plate with enough food to last me for days.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I cook better when I play music.”

“You ain’t got to keep apologizing for shit, baby. You’re gracing me wit’ yo presence. This yo shit. I’m in yo spot.”

“Let me get you something to put this on.”

My eyes followed her ass as she walked away.

That fat motherfucker stuck out like a sore thumb, and she walked like she knew that she was the shit in her own universe.

She had a ghetto booty, giving ode to her ancestors and who raised her, making her eat pinto beans, jiffy cornbread, yams, and fried chicken.

Returning, she carried a TV tray and set it in front of me, grabbing the plate of food from me to place it on the tray.

“Do you need something to drink? I got cold bottles of water, Kool-Aid, Coke, Sprite, and homemade sweet tea.”

“Damn girl you treatin’ a nigga like a king,” I chuckled as my eyes glanced over the colorful plate.

It was covered with low vibrational foods covering the plate.

The fried chicken looked crispy, the macaroni was cheesy, the yams were candied, and the corn bread looked soft and sweet.

She was teasing a nigga. I ain’t used to this shit at home.

If I wanted a home cooked meal, I’d have to go to my parents’ spot in Germantown.

“I’m sure you’re used to being fed and catered to like this,” she giggled and plopped down next to me, but she was inches away, on the other side.

“I made green beans instead. I didn’t have time to let the greens simmer overnight, but I promise to have them the next time you come over, or I can bring them to you,” she offered.

I took a bite out of the fried chicken, trying to eat like I was used to eating like this when I really wanted to demolish this shit, including her, immediately after for dessert. If she kept on at it, I’d make her wifey, give her a spot in my castle.

“Hell naw, I ain’t used to no fuckin’ shit like this. You ain’t believe me when I said yo cousin can’t cook? I got to stand over her when she boils water.”

She threw her head back and cackled, making me join in with her as I ate a bit of everything. “This shit the bomb, man. A nigga be grateful when a girl can cook. That’s a survival tactic.”

“I definitely slaved in the kitchen while she chased all the boys. She’ll get better at it though. Cooking isn’t hard at all.”

“Hmm Hmm, tell her lazy ass this shit.”

“What did you want to drink? To wash all of that down.”

“You,” I mumbled.

“Huh,” she responded, dumbfounded.

“You,” I glanced over at her. “Let me drink you. Fuck all that other shit.”

“Rome,” she reached over and playfully hit me before getting up again.

It was natural for me to watch her ass anytime she got up.

Shit damn near felt magnetic. I was staring hard enough to know she ain’t have no panties on.

Jealously wavered over me, wishing I was those gray leggings, swallowing her ass, inhaling her booty juice instead of this fucking food. A two for one would be nice.

“Here.” A cold bottle of Sprite was clutched between her hands. A paper towel was placed between both. “I chose for you, since you couldn’t.”