Page 15 of Not My Type (Not My Type #1)

Nickoi

I puff the smoke, and watch as it envelops me as I glide the Benz up the smooth, yet hilly environs. The roof of my mansion comes into view. In seconds, I’m turning in. The black double gate opens on cue and I drive in. As soon as I’m in, I decelerate to hear what Joe—my senior security has to say.

“Wah gwaan?” I ask curiously. He moves closer, repeating himself.

“Skwash came by earlier but he left because you weren’t here,” he tells me. I immediately glance at my phone. There’s no missed call from him. Member you lef the hot phone a Spain.

“Ah, mi o’ shout him,” I tell him and park my car before I could get the chance to fully get out and close the door, I hear her voice. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. She nuh lef yet?

“?Cuando es?” her voice resonates through the living room as I pull the door. She doesn’t seem to notice my entry. Her back is facing me as she sits around the island, on FaceTime, I’m assuming. She does that like her life depends on it.

“Talia?” I simply say. She turns with a smile on her face.

“You’re home already Papi? I told you stop drivingggg like a maniac,” her tone a little above my liking as she stresses the G’s.

“Wasn’t driving hard. Maybe the call a the reason yuh still here.”

“I was nauseous, so I made peppermint tea,” I only heard nauseous.

Wah she mean bredda? She notices my face expression and giggle. “It’s nothing like, that. I just needed fresh air and I waited too late to get something to eat,” she explains. I finally place the paper bag on the island.

“Oh...”

As she eats her Chilaquiles, I take out my Grilled Tomato and mozzarella sandwich.

“Do you want me to heat it up for you?” she gets off the stool and take it before I could answer. I smirk and take a seat.

“Estás dominando el inglés, Nieta,” a familiar soft-spoken woman says from the phone.

(You’re fluent in English, granddaughter)

Talia smiles at me. “It’s my abuela,” she tells me before responding to her.

“Nickoi me ensenó” (Nickoi taught me.)

“Nice” she coos before she greets me.

I respond and shift my gaze to Talia, who’s attending to my sandwich. She’s grappling with it even though it’s already prepared. My father warned me about this.

Jah know. Man must a turn inna him grave yah now.

She isn’t a cook, reheating fast food and Spanish tapas is all that she does since she’s ultra rich— the only child in the Pérez family.

Mi nuh make dat trouble me, cause me live alone.

You see if mi did live with har now... Yeah, it would a trouble me.

The voice in my head laughs at that reference.

Jah Jah. Then again, mi a nuh the type fi make my girlfriend stop me from finding my wife.

Zara.

She yuh have you eyes pon enuh. Inwardly, I smile.

Link har nuh. “Talia. What time you have the appointment? Nuh now?” I question. Cause why she still in yer?

“Yeah, I’m gonna leave now. Can I have the Porsche fob?” As long as you leaving.

“Hold on,” I tell her and get it from my room. She takes it, tip toe and peck my lips. As she stares in my eyes she asks, “So where are you gonna be at? Cause I know you ass ain’t staying here.”

“Ago link Skwash” and deh nice b deh a Homestead.

I smack her ass, wishing it was Zara’s. Hers feels even softer. Jah know, she affi be me ooman and mi nah stop til’ mi have har.

“Later Nathalia,” I simply say and watch as she walks out. Ass fat too.

But Zara’s? Better.

ZARA

“When mi grab him and dash him out a mi house mi see him mother a run come with knife mi just slam mi door in a har dutty face, bright she bright with har old self,” Clova says dramatically causing everyone in the shop to laugh.

Why Clova have me a laugh like this? Nosa. “Wah she do when yuh lock the door?” the other hairdresser asks, laughing hysterically. She’s processing a lady’s hair.

“Wah she fi do? Mek noise like she a bull buck and duppy conqueror,” Clova says.

Then the client chimes in. “A so dem in-law yah stay enuh,” clearly speaking from experience.

Come to think of it, I’ve never met any of my mother in laws.

Pfft. My relationships were not relationship-ing at all.

Besides, I’ve never had a real relationship.

When I was dating Timoy, the relationship wasn’t going anywhere because he was too lazy.

He didn’t want to go out and if we did, he wanted me to pay and buy everything.

Malik was a bit different; he would hang out and act so much like a gentleman and I really felt like I was on the verge to love him; then boom.

He starts changing. Three months in our relationship he started showing his true colors, ones that I’ve never seen in my life.

He would do things to hurt me and act like he didn’t realize what he was doing.

Then, he would buy me a gift and apologize and continue his stupid cycle.

Sometimes I wouldn’t hear from him for days and then he would randomly pop up.

He’d say that he had class or that he was busy all weekend.

So, I had to end both relationships because both men were jerks. And no man nah play with me.

Now Nick... The handsome, gangster. I just don’t know. Sigh. He’s so ruthless, yet so charismatic. While Malik was gradually killing my confidence, Nick came, right in time to make me feel like my sexiest self.

Which woman wouldn’t like that?

I mean, I feel strong emotions for Nick already, which is absolutely crazy but it’s the reality.

He makes me appreciate my appearance more.

He’s my complete opposite, a Don. Yet, he manages to attract me– a teacher, though he’s not my usual type.

I guess it’s one of those things that we just have to see where it goes or maybe, I can talk to someone about it. But who?

I think about my cousins and sigh. There’s no way I can tell them and I don’t have friends. After a while of pondering, my mind runs on Clova ... We have a pretty good relationship. Maybe when she’s done working, we can have something to eat and talk. I’ll ask her.

“ Mi have a client fi 3 o’ clock,” Clova says with a smile. “Dem girl deh have money enuh,” she says to the others.

I check my Instagram. “Eeeh, pure long lace?” her coworker ask.

“Yeah, she a Latina too,” Clova brags.

I start scrolling through instagram to bide my time as I wait.

Gavin posted a picture of him and a friend.

I don’t know her. I double tap the picture and scroll down then I see a picture of Suzanne on the poolside.

Her hair is braided backwards and I smile.

She have in braid too. I double tap the picture then, the door to the hair salon opens and a man stumbles in.

I look at him startled, but I notice that Clova and the other ladies are laughing. Maybe he’s harmless.

“A mi wife mi come fa, mi buy a ring down a Missa Chin,” he slurs. Him drunk as a bat. I stare at the middle aged man that reminds me of my dad so much.

You see, a things like this mi father do and embarrass me over the years.

Drink and talk shit and mek people laugh at how stupid he is.

So, because of my dad nothing that this man does is funny to me.

.. it actually irritates me. I look back at my phone.

Maybe I need to follow Nick. I search for Nick and realize that I don’t know his actual name.

Yet, I have butterflies to kill in my stomach for him. Poor me.

People who dem call Nick, their right names are usually Nicholas. Right? I try Nicholas.

Nothing.

Nicardo?

Nothing.

To how him bad, him nah use him real name. That a if him even have an Instagram.

What about his brother? I search Jordane Jacobs and I don’t find anything. I look up at the women in the shop, laughing uncontrollably. The man is wining his waist to a souls song, while looking flirtatiously at Clova. His eyes then turn to me. His waist still rotating.

“So you a the woman mi a go risk it all for?” he inquires and the women laugh even more. I stare at him blankly. Cya me him a talk to enuh. “There’s no place I’d rather be in this world!” He points at me as he sings out Bruno Mar’s song.

A you him a talk sista gyal.

“ So, you see pretty girl so you left me now?” Clova jokes.

“She pretty fi true mon,” he compliments. “Nice, chocolate melanin with her coolie hair. Pretty pretty empress.”

I still don’t smile. The sound of a car grabs our attention and it’s not just any car. It’s a red Porsche.

Looks

“A mi baby this a come,” the man says looking out.

“Top the noise, everybody a yuh baby?” Clova chuckles as she tilts my head, giving me feed in braids with my natural hair—Alicia keys style, adding a little extension here and there.

A light skinned girl steps out of the car, looking like she had just walked out of Instagram.

Wow. She affi be an influencer. She’s clad in Dior from top to bottom.

From her one shoulder top, to the track shorts to the designer shoes.

.. The lady look good. No wonder everyone is looking at her.

There’s a Dior bucket hat in her hand, and her long hair is done in a loose ponytail.

The inebriated man opens the door, waiting for her to step in.

“See the client yer weh mi a tell unuh bout,” Clova whispers as she approaches us. Why is everyone so silent?

She steps in—her perfume fills the room. I can’t help admiring her makeup. It’s clearly done by a professional. Her eyes are dark brown. Her face is complete with a celestial nose and plumped bow shaped lips. She looks like a Latina.

If she looks so good and har hair nuh comb yet. Imagine when it done.

She smiles— she wears braces too. A when mi can have money so?

“Hola,” she greets us. We respond warmly and watch as she hugs Clova.

“What’s up baby?” Clova twangs.

“I’m in a rush. Can you give me a sleek ponytail?” her pleading eyes fixed on me. She a ask me? Well, at least she nuh rude and a order people. Clova is almost finished with my hair and I’m not rushing, so I guess it’s okay.

“Alright Clova do it,” I slowly get up.

“Thanks Mama,” she says in a thick Mexican accent before she sits.

Clova starts combing her hair and I sit in the sofa, watching quietly.

Then my phone rings. It’s Nick. My heartbeat races.

I still don’t know what to tell him. Lawd God.

It rings out then he calls again. I have to put some thought into it.

With a faint sigh, I turn on do not disturb and focus on Clova doing the ponytail.

I feel so bad for ignoring him. But, Chro.

“You me wah married,” the man says to her and she looks up at him. Her brows knitting together.

“Shut your ass up,” she snaps, her tone sassy.

“If me lef yasso and dress up and come back me look betta than yuh man enuh,” he says and I look at the man.

When will he stop? Second hand embarrassment a murda me.

She laughs. “You could never look like my papi,” I look at my phone. The ladies start cracking up again...

“You poppy cya wine like me?” he asks, wining his waist. Somebody cya lick him ina him head?

“He sure can,” she shots back.

“Mi can shoot yuh poppy enuh,” just the way how he’s struggling to say ‘papi’ in her accent and fails is pissing me off.

I stand to my feet. I’m not about to watch them argue any longer. “I’m gonna get some fresh air, when you’re done let me know,” I say before I walk out.