Page 12 of Kassir and Rebel (D-Ville Projects #2)

Around midnight last night, he sent me a text. I made sure I checked it away from Kassir. It was short and to the point. Thanks to Kassir, I’ll never hear from Cameron again.

Cameron: A thug with golds and a gun. You’re foul for that shit. Bye, Rebel.

Just as a precaution, I changed my password again on my security system after I read his text and emailed my landlord to ask for an emergency lock change. I briefly explained the situation and that I was out of town. Now, I’m just waiting on her response but I’m confident she’ll make it happen.

“Makai worked up my appetite this morning,” she says, then playfully sticks her tongue out. “I think I want a waffle sandwich from Pancake House. You hungry?”

“Oh, I’m waiting for Fire Peaux Boyz and that spicy coleslaw and surf-n-turf po’boy. Kassir already confirmed the truck is coming today.”

“I’m eating there too but I need something on my stomach right now. Call in my order so we can pick it up.”

“What do you want on your sandwich?”

“Shaved steak, eggs, and cheese.”

“Uck. I hate you. That sounds too good but I can’t. I cannot,” I say, trying to convince myself. The waffle sandwiches at Pancake House are to die for. Their waffles are fluffy, slightly sweet, and crisp, especially around the edges. I can’t stand a soggy ass waffle.

“Just order the full one and you can have half. Even if it’s just a bite. Yo’ ass can just run it off later.”

“I’m meeting Kassan later,” I reveal and I feel the car slow a little. She glances over to me then picks back up speed.

“Are you ready for that? If you’re not, tell Kassir. He will just have to understand.” Her head shakes then she adds, “Bestie, you are better than me. I can’t lie. I couldn’t do it. Call me petty, immature, or what the fuck ever, but I honestly couldn’t do it.”

Her words linger in her ride for a long moment before I finally respond. “You know I’ve talked about this before.”

“And while I could forgive my man, I would have a hard time with the child. I’m a hypocrite. I know it but I can’t help it.”

“I have forgiven him, especially since I know his reason behind that night and I know he regrets it—what happened. He regrets what happened, not Kassan,” I quickly clarify.

“I’m sure he doesn’t regret his son. That goes without saying.”

“Except I have to say it. I have to remind myself that the baby is innocent. The bullshit was between us consenting adults. I love Kassir, and if there’s going to be an us, Kassan is part of the package.”

“Along with his trifling, hoe-ass mammie,” she adds and I smile. Leave it to my bestie to always be my rider. “Honestly, she’s the real problem, not the baby.”

“I’m not even thinking about her.”

“Well, think about my food and order my damn sandwich,” she snaps playfully.

Just that fast, I had forgotten all about her sandwich. “Scrambled eggs?” I ask before dialing.

“Soft please, unless you want them another way.”

“I’m just taking a bite so that’s cool.”

As she turns on 8 th Street, I place the call to Pancake House and order her sandwich and two iced caramel coffees. When she pulls up to the unassuming, small diner, I jump out to grab our items. When I get back into her ride, we journey on to her townhome.

Since the Brunswick Meadows neighborhood is only about fifteen miles from the restaurant, it doesn’t take us long to get to Teaira’s.

She parks in her usual spot out front and we grab all of our stuff and go in.

The good ass smell of her damn waffle sandwich calls my name when she opens the container, so I walk into the kitchen. It looks as good as it smells too.

“You see how big this is,” she says while she cuts along the four triangles. The two large waffles with grilled steak and onions, eggs, and cheese piled in between them fills the entire container.

“It looks so good,” I admit and I swear my stomach growls on cue, causing us both to laugh.

“Girl, take this piece. I can’t eat all of this.”

She grabs one of the foam plates from the stack on the edge of her island then places the cut piece on it.

She passes it over to me then grabs a syrup and plasticware from the bag.

When she hands those items to me, I sit my happy ass at the counter and tear my piece up, all of it.

She kills two of the triangle pieces then places the last piece in the fridge.

We part ways, her going upstairs and me staying downstairs in the guest room.

About an hour later, we are both dressed and going over final touches upstairs in her bedroom.

I just journeyed up here to hurry her up.

She’s standing in front of her full-length mirror, trying to twist her long boho braids around her high bun.

My own hair is pulled up into a pony with hair left out in front to frame my face.

I love my blonde highlights and want them popping today with my favorite large gold hoops.

“You got me wanting to change,” she says while still looking into her mirror.

“Why? That’s cute,” I compliment. Her denim shorts romper with spaghetti straps looks too cute on her. “That juicy booty is popping.”

“Bitch! Not juicy. I can’t with you. It’s cute but it’s not sexy like yours. This set eats.”

“I just don’t know about these shoes. I’m a kicks girl. Nikes are my best friend,” I admit.

My outfit choice for today was made in Miami.

The goal was to show my ass to make Kassir jealous.

When a girl returns home, she has to put on and make sure her ex sees exactly what he fumbled.

This cream two-piece set was chosen specifically for that purpose.

The halter top is cropped and the shorts are high-waisted and cut right beneath my ass.

It’s made out of soft, stretchy material.

It’s called Just-A-Glimpse but it’s giving more than a glimpse.

There are a million cutouts on both pieces.

I’m wearing nude underwear to keep my private area just that, private, but the illusion gives naked.

“Girl, wear those cute-ass tie up sandals. Your damn track shoes aren’t it today. It’s the block party. The whole damn D-Ville will be out and Kassir’s girl has to stunt on these hoes.”

“I’m just Rebel.”

“Not in D-Ville you aren’t.” She smirks, then turns around. “Are you sure this is fine?” she asks while tugging at the bottom of the romper.

“Yes, and stop pulling. Let that ass pop out,” I tease before slapping her hip. After tying up my right sandal, I stand beside her and we both turn back to the mirror.

“Cute!” we say in unison, then laugh.

“Let’s go break some damn hearts,” she says.

“Please, Makai is going to be stalking this ass all day.”

“Lil boy might get his feelings hurt. It’s the block party. Who knows, I might find me a real YN.”

“You can’t handle a YN,” I tell her as we venture out of her room and down the stairs.

Because alcohol is definitely available at the block party and parking can be a beast, we opt for an iDrive and are dropped off in less than twenty minutes.

Before we are out of the car, I hear the music.

DP’s own, rapper Krist’s song “Bangas” is bumping on the speakers.

Instantly, I smile. It’s been so long since I’ve been to a block party and I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed it: the food, the people, and the fun.

In one day, all in one spot, I’ll be able to see all the people in the community that became my found family.

“It’s thick as hell,” Teaira says as we walk around the yellow gate serving as the temporary barricade at the end of the street.

“Yes, and it’s not even eleven. They came out early.”

“I know one thing. It’s hot though. My damn titties are sweating,” she scoffs. “First things first, I need a drink. Let’s find Emma. She should be out here selling her good ass drinks.”

Anything you want, you can find in D-Ville.

Everybody has a hustle and Emma is just one of many entrepreneurs thriving.

She’s a self-made bartender who sells frozen cups and drinks right out of her apartment on the fourth floor.

Although nothing about her operation is legal, she would not sell me an alcoholic drink until I was twenty-one though.

“Emma, then Fire Peaux Boyz,” I say.

“Aren’t you full from the waffle?”

“Mind your stomach, not mine,” I tease. I’ve been dreaming about that coleslaw and po’boy and I’m not waiting if I don’t have to.

“’Scuse me, bitch,” she says while laughing. Then she turns and yells, “Rocky!”

“Rocky who?” I turn to ask and see a tall, pretty, mocha sister strutting toward us. She has on heels out here on this pavement. She’s brave because I’m struggling with these damn sandals. I’ll break my neck with heels because I’m truly a kicks girl. I have more of those than clothes, I swear.

“Racquel Sanders. Band at Prep,” she says but I truly don’t remember her from high school. The two of them hug then Racquel looks at me. “Oh my God, Rebel? You look the same,” she gushes before pulling me into a hug.

Not wanting to seem rude, I just go with the hug then smile back. “Hey, girl,” I greet her.

“I didn’t know you were back. I saw you at the wedding but you were so busy. Sorry, I didn’t speak.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for going though.”

Teaira motions to the red solo cup in her hand. There’s a long straw in it and the straw has gummy candy wrapped around it. “Emma?” she questions.

“You know it. This is the Candy Licker and it’s good and strong. I got it frozen though. You want to try it,” she offers while holding her cup out.

Teaira shakes her head so damn fast I have to hold my laugh in. “Just point me in her direction,” she says.

“Right over there by the DJ,” Racquel says. “It was good seeing y’all.”

“It really was,” Teaira says and I just smile.

“Why did you shake your head like that when she asked you to taste her drink?” I ask as soon as Racquel is far enough from us.

“Gurl.” Teaira pauses dramatically. “Because that bitch was a dick eater in high school,” she says, then falls out laughing.

“I can’t with you. Why did you call her like that then?” I ask, laughing too.

“Because I’m messy. Duh.”

“Very messy and petty. But I really don’t remember her,” I utter as we walk toward the DJ booth.

“That’s because you only knew three things in high school: me, Kassir, and track,” she says and I suck my teeth.

We walk through the crowd, speaking and hugging several people as we do. As we get closer to the DJ booth, I spot it, the Fire Peaux Boyz truck. My mind zones in on it.

“Get me a Candy Licker too. I’m going to get in that line. You want something?”

“I ate more than you so just some of their Voodoo fries, extra spicy,” she says.

We split and she heads toward Emma. She’s set up under a large white tent, right next to the DJ and dance area. Yahzi and Miss Mae, Ma’s friend and Suleem’s aunt, are doing the Tamia line dance that I can’t get for the life of me.

The line at the truck is long but it’s moving fast. When I make it to the window, I order my favorite, the shrimp and roast beef po’boy, light gravy, spicy coleslaw, and Teaira’s Voodoo fries.

“That doesn’t sound like fuel for performance,” a voice I know all too well says from behind me and I immediately turn around.

“Coach,” I damn near squeal as I embrace the woman who trained me and cultivated my love for track.

“I heard I should be calling you coach too,” she says, beaming. “How are you?”

“Good but great now. I was hoping to catch you while I was home. It’s so good seeing you,” I tell her, then embrace her one more time.

“I see you’re still walking the fine line between fuel and food,” she teases.

“You know me but the fries aren’t mine. That’s some balance. But I have to be honest. I use your line with my girls. They all know food is fuel for performance, not enjoyment. I remember everything you taught me. Thank you.”

“I was just doing my job,” she says modestly.

“You always did more than that. That’s why we love you, Coach. How’s the team looking this year?”

“They’re looking good but it won’t be my team,” she says.

“What? Why? You’re not at Prep anymore?”

“I retired. Last year was it for me. It’s time to spend time with my husband. We’re actually moving to Thailand.”

“Really?” I ask, shocked at her retirement news and relocation bomb.

“Yes. It’s time to leave this country. I might return if leadership changes, but for now, Thailand here we come.

I’m leaving in September. Too bad you’re in Florida.

You would be my ideal replacement. The girls need you here,” she says, and for a split second I entertain the thought.

Obviously reading my mind, she adds, “Just a thought, but a serious one. Think about it.”

“Rebel!” the man calls out from the food truck window. My food is ready.

“It was so good seeing you, Coach,” I tell her.

“You too, Coach,” she says with a smile before walking toward a tall fine ass man standing off from the truck.