Page 2 of Vaughn & Cori (D-Ville Projects #7)
Vaughn
I don’t know what to expect when I knock on the door, but a near naked woman is not it. She has on a silk robe that’s wide open, so I glance back at the numbers by the door to make sure I’m at the right spot.
“Uh, is Petey here?”
“And you are?” she asks, adjusting her stance as I keep my eyes trained everywhere above her neck and not the trail of bare skin that shows off every area from her nipples to the landing strip of hair above her lower lips.
I don’t know who this chick is, but she stands here smiling without an ounce of shame, like she knows me.
“He good, Kayla,” Petey calls out, stepping into view as she closes her robe and steps back to let me in the dimly lit apartment.
When I get inside, I scan the room for anything out of pocket because even though Petey’s technically family, that don’t change the fact that he’s a shady ass nigga.
Knowing him, he probably had ol’ girl answering the door like that on purpose.
“Damn V, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been dodging a nigga.
You owe me some money I don’t know about?
” Petey asks from the kitchen, cutting his eyes up at me, chuckling as he licks the seam of his blunt, pops it in the microwave for a few seconds, then takes it right back out to light it up like it’s his lifeline.
“Nah. I’ve been busy going back and forth with Jay about these college visits.
Gotta make sure his young ass don’t get fucked and sucked into a bad decision.
You know how they do.” Petey nods in understanding, knowing exactly how far these programs will go to get players to commit.
He and I went through the recruitment process once.
It wasn’t to the magnitude that Jay’s getting pursued, but even back then those weekend college visits always had a gang of women on deck ready to do anything to sway the minds of young talent.
I can’t even imagine how wild it is out there now.
The only thing that keeps me out of Jay’s business is the fact that he’s a smart kid.
He knows better than to risk it all for some loose pussy and a few dollars. Speaking of…
“Nigga, while you joking about debts... Where’s the money I let you hold?
” I ask when I remember he’s the one who owes me money, not the other way around.
I try to recall the last time I saw him.
He lives in the same building as I do, but depending on the day or the shit he’s gotten himself into, he can go missing for months.
Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him since December.
We were right here in this same room, with him damn near in the same spot as he is now.
The only difference is that today the large, tinted mason jar on the counter in front of him is full and no doubt the source of the pungent odor wafting through the apartment.
Then, he had been stressed about court fees and criminal restitution, swearing he’d be locked up if he didn’t pay.
So I slid him some money. I guess it didn’t help for shit because today he seems just as pressed.
He takes a pull from the blunt, inhaling longer than necessary and exhales just as long, while side-eyeing the ceiling.
Basically, doing every motherfucking thing besides looking my way.
When his eyes finally find mine, there’s a familiar glassy eyed look of regret on his face that dissipates with the lingering smoke in the air, leaving a stone faced expression in its wake when he doesn’t say shit about my money and offers me the blunt instead.
“I’m good,” I say, and he shrugs off my refusal while I try my hardest not to smack the blunt out of his hand.
Because going off the smell and amount of bud in the jar on the counter, this nigga had my money then turned around and spent twice that much on a re-up.
My body’s relaxed, but my jaw is tight, holding every bit of tension and frustration coursing through me as I stare him down.
I’d originally come to tell him about Jay’s college announcement, but after this, I ain’t telling that nigga shit. We sit in silence instead as I watch him take another hit of the blunt, look down at it, then nod in appreciation like I ain’t even here.
“Petey!” I say, trying to bring him back from wherever he drifted off to. My voice gets so loud that Kayla’s ass scurries from the back to see what’s going on and Petey’s head pops up so fast the motion sends him into a fit of coughs.
“I-I got you, V,” he says, coughing his way through the words.
“You sure?” I lean forward, abandoning the relaxed facade as my patience runs dry.
Because for real, for real, it’s not even about the money at this point.
It’s about respect, which is a currency all its own for guys like me, who have no gang affiliation…
officially. While everyone in D-Ville knows how I get down, outsiders often like to test the theory of how gang adjacent I really am.
The fact that he’s the one putting that theory to test is what blows me.
The reminder of his connection to my son has me counting backwards from ten to calm down and get him to understand where I’m coming from.
“You know I’m not one to be in the next nigga’s pocket, and Toya would expect me to let this slide, but what the fuck do I look like, Petey?
” He goes to shrug again, irritating the fuck out of me.
“Nah, nigga, use your words. Tell me why I gotta move money around to make sure Jay’s straight, when you in here smoking my shit up? ”
Petey’s lips twist into a scowl when he finally responds.
“Man, Jaylen good. That little nigga ’round here hugging the block tighter than the jeans these young boys wearing nowadays. While you’re worried about me, you need to pay closer attention to your son. What would Toya think?”
He gives me a lazy ass smile, knowing he’s right, because yes, Toya would be disappointed, and Jay will indeed always be straight.
Not because he’s selling shit on the side but because he’s got me.
If my mood wasn’t already gone to shit, the mention of Toya sends it straight to hell.
So far, I risk breaking down in front of him and whoever the hell Kayla is just to check his ass.
“So it’s fuck Vaughn, right? Fuck Toya and the fact that Jay and I have to do this without her.
” Petey looks at me emotionless as my voice rises and breaks, becoming just as loud as the smell of weed smoke mixed with fresh bud in the air.
It’s so strong, the shit’s probably clinging to my clothes as we speak.
And all I can do is shake my head because this nigga don’t get it.
I stand to leave before things get worse and he doesn’t bother seeing me out.
He just watches me go, drowning himself in a haze of smoke.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I’m fully focused on losing myself, just like he is, but I ain’t smoked in years.
So, I set my sights on getting a bottle of something…
anything to take my mind off the woman who’ll forever hold my heart.
But I don’t make it two steps before I get a text from Jay with a link to an article titled Will the Real Mr. Winston Please Stand Up?
There’s a picture below it of Jay standing over his opponent after the alley-oop he caught last night, which seems par for the course until I scroll down to see the next picture of me and him together, then another from years ago with me in a Douglasville Prep uniform in the exact same pose.
The reporter turned what should’ve been a brief game summary into a comparison piece on what drives generational success in athletics, citing connections, genetics, and the environment as potential driving factors.
All to say that there’s a common theme of children following in their parents’ footsteps on the court and the field.
The article takes something so bland as sports statistics and keeps my interest long enough to distract me from my spiraling mood.
Especially when I get to the end and see the side profile of the photographer from last night credited for the piece and my dick stiffens at the sight.
It happens so quickly I have to wonder what the hell Petey was smoking and if I caught a contact because the shit I’m feeling right now ain’t normal.
I don’t care how pretty her ass is. At first, when I asked her out in exchange for interview access with Jay, I was just fucking around, knowing she’d back off her questioning, and she did.
If she had accepted my offer, I could’ve taken her out, probably hit, and gone about my way, making it a win-win situation.
Instead of using the elevator, I take the stairs and try to walk off my arousal while I gather my thoughts.
I don’t drive to the liquor store like I planned or go to my place in Brunswick Meadows.
I head straight home to my mom’s spot, content with the fact that I won’t be drowning in anything anytime soon.
At least not until I see Miss Cori Brooks again and get her to reconsider my offer.