Page 21 of In Too Deep

“You need to eat, Juicy. I want to keep you thick. Despite what you think you know about me. My bitches need to be two sum to do sum.”

Romelo’s voice echoed in the back of my mind.

For days, I’ve been starving myself. I didn’t have the urge to eat shit this freak ass nigga cooked for me or whoever cooked it related to him.

He could be trying to poison me, and I couldn’t trust being in the same room with him let alone trapped in fucking house.

I haven’t seen sunlight in days, and the only time I left the room was to piss.

Drinking water was all that stood between me and death, each sip a desperate fight for survival.

What pained me was that people weren’t looking for me.

It’s not like me to disappear off the face of the earth without so much as a goodbye note.

I didn’t hear any helicopters either, unless Romelo set up something behind my back so I couldn’t be traced.

I didn’t have my phone, so I couldn’t call for help or use it for my entertainment.

I ventured over to the bed and rummaged through the multiple bags of clothes he had purchased for me.

There were shopping bags from PINK, Nike, and Walmart.

Romelo dropped them off days ago, but I had no use for them or anything else he offered me.

I was just that pissed off at him and the situation.

His actions were the same, and while I never left the room, that didn’t stop him from entering it and bothering me.

The subtle floral scent of the master bathroom, which had been present from the first night, was completely absent in this room, making it feel cold and impersonal.

It was beautifully decorated with hues of beige and gold.

There was a king sized bed placed in the middle of the room, in front of a wall decorated with white bricks.

The bedroom set was very rich and modern.

Its canopy style was very unique too. There was a beige pampas grass placed in the corner beside a tufted chaise that Romelo sat in every time he entered the room, trying to muster conversation.

Also, the seventy-five inch television was mounted on the wall, adorned with white LED lights, making the style appear retro.

That shower was everything I needed. I felt the water rain on my skin as the soap hydrated my body.

My pussy was stank after going multiple days without washing it, and my ass smelled like roadkill.

I was always on top of my hygiene, but I needed my ass beat for the way I neglected myself, smelling like a bum, so I know Romelo smelled it too when he entered the room.

After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I got dressed and treaded back into the bedroom.

Creaking the door open, I saw Romelo, casually sitting on the chaise, scrolling through his phone, ignoring my presence.

“I was wondering when you were to wash that ass and pussy. You been sittin’ in here smelling like badussy for days. Pussy and ass too fuckin’ pretty to be smellin’ like somebody sprayed a can of ass on you,” he spoke.

“Fuck you,” I frowned, clutching the dirty clothes in my hands.

I’d be an idiot not to call this man fine as fuck.

Romelo had the charm to win a married woman over.

He was the type of fine you hated because a dash of cocky was sprinkled on him.

He was one of the finest niggas in Memphis and didn’t need the flashy jewelry to make a bitch drop her panties.

Romelo could be walking around with a wife beater on, a pair of gray joggers, and some Nike flip flops, and bitches would still flock to him.

His aura was so magnetic and powerful, you’d think a spell was cast over you.

Sitting in front of me, I felt like one of those girls when I wanted to hate him.

The cream Dior shirt, light denim skinny jeans, and a pair of black Prada cloudbust sneakers.

An iced out Cuban chain was around his neck.

On his left wrist was an iced out Audemars Piguet watch, matching the diamonds in his chain.

There were two Vancleef bracelets on his wrists as well.

This nigga looked like money but would flip the switch in a second.

When he dressed up, he looked fine as fuck, making me feel bad for gawking over my cousin’s man.

It was wrong on so many levels, but Romelo begged to differ.

Stepping further into the room, I could smell the musky cologne permeating from his body with the scent of vanilla oud.

He grinned, showcasing a bottom VVS diamond grill, making me want to melt into the depths of him. “I understand the rudeness, but damn, Juicy, cut a nigga some slack. I ain’t did half of the shit I could’ve done to yo ass.”

I placed my hand on my wide hip. “And that’s supposed to mean something to me?”

Glancing up from his phone, he stood up and slid it into his back pocket.

My eyes trailed his and watched him stagger towards me with that limped walk before he stopped in front of me and towered over my small frame.

“It should. Learn how to count yo blessin’s one by fuckin’ one, starting with being in the presence of a real nigga, love.

It could be so fucking simple. Stop making shit hard when it ain’t got to be. ”

“Then let me go.” I stood on my tiptoes to say. My small frame still wasn’t close to his tall one.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?” I grilled him.

“Because I know the second I let you out of my site, I’ll never see you again.

You’ll haul ass and leave me in the dust. I told you what I wanted from the beginning, so stop trying to fight it.

This is how I got to have you, despite all it took to get you here.

Let me show you the other side of me. One that no one else has ever seen before, Juicy.

Let me court you, ma. Take care of you, by you flowers and shit, show you that them niggas you’re used to fuckin’ wit’ is some buster ass niggas. ”

His eyes held a depth that drew me in, and I was captivated by the intensity of his gaze.

If I could melt between the floor, I would.

His words had me crunching on hope and possibly living a good life.

It was wrong and I knew it. I’m not a backstabber, but what would do you do when the guy who could have any girl in the world chooses you?

Shit, I felt stuck too—captivated and enthralled in his orbit, floating on a planet with my eyes gazing off into the galaxy, feeling hypnotized.

If I chose to decline, what would happen next?

I go back to my struggling ass life where I’m barely making ends meet, robbing Peter to pay Paul, and constantly hauling my ass to MLGW begging for an extension on my light bill?

Romelo was paid with long money, so why not let him trick off in a exchange for a few licks on my ass and pussy.

The only hunch would be not to fall too deep.

Stabbing my fork into the salmon, I opened my mouth and allowed the taste to swindle around in my mouth.

I was trying to be cute, meanwhile starvation was kicking my ass, and I wanted to dog this shit out.

I agreed to this deal with no questions asked, because in exchange for money, sex came along, and I was smart enough to know that I had to give a little before receiving a lot.

If Romelo wanted to trick off on his girlfriend’s cousin, who was I to stop him?

It’s not like he was a disgusting pig, imposing as Nate from the movie Set It Off, and I was Stoney.

I’d milk him for everything he had and stack up my money for the time being, until he decided to cut ties because men with a rapport like his like to keep their eggs in more than one basket.

Whenever he decided to cut me off, I'd be swimming in more money than I could have ever imagined.

We sat in the living room, on opposite ends of his cream sectional. The television was on, broadcasting a movie that neither of us was tuned into, we were semi enjoying the company we were keeping—both of us enthused, smacking on dinner and sipping on bitter red wine.

“Stop eating pretty and stuff that moon pie shaped face,” he muttered beside me, sitting on the living room couch.

Compliments of him, dinner was served. He knew his way around the kitchen. In front of me, on a foldable stand, was stuffed salmon, lumpy garlic mashed potatoes, crispy garlic potatoes, and a slice of lemon. A glass of red wine suited better than any other beverage.

“I’m not eating pretty,” I lied. “It’s not even all that,” I lied again.

“Bullshit,” he muttered with a mouth full of food. “My mama still can’t compete with me when it comes to cooking stuffed salmon, and she’s a picky eater, who calls my food the bomb.”

“Not everybody will tell you the truth,” I stated as I picked up the wine glass to help me wash my food down.

“It’s two places your favorite nigga can’t fuck with me at—the kitchen and the bedroom. I’m a fuckin’ beast,” he boasted.

I shrugged. “If you want to throw down in the kitchen, I’d bet my life on it that I can cook better than you. As far as the bedroom, I’ll be the judge of that. I’m a big girl, and I know good food when I eat it. As far as the dick, you better show out when the time comes.”

Eyeing him, I gulped with a straight face, not believing what I was saying. It had to be the wine talking and the cause of me using flirtatious gestures. I’d blame it on any other reason besides not wanting to admit my attraction to him.

“Sound like a threat,” he paused, the fork clinking against the wooden food tray.

“It’s not.”

He reached for a napkin and wiped his hands with it, while eying me like prey. “Put me to the test and I can show you the difference between a boy and a man.”

I grinned, wrapping my hands around the cool wine glass stem. “Sounds like a bet, then.”

“What does the winner get?”