Boyfriend Season (7 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Boyfriend Season
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Dynasty blushed. No one had ever called her beautiful or smart, or promised her a good day or week. She knew there was something she liked about City.
6
PATIENCE
T
he dude who Silky said was hers was beautiful. Clear skin and well groomed, his hair looked like he'd just left the barbershop. Diamonds, the size of plump raisins, gleamed from both his ears, almost blinding her. Winking, he licked his lips, then spread his mouth into a crooked smile. His white teeth clashed against the dimness of the truck and the gold grills on his homeboys' teeth.
Mmm
. She inhaled the boy's beauty when Silky moved away from him and settled herself on the guy's lap next to him. Patience blinked slowly and gulped even slower. She was in serious trouble. Trouble because as much as she knew she shouldn't be in the truck, and as much of a rage as the good Bishop Blackman would be in if he ever found out, she didn't care.
Sorry, Bishop.
The caramel-dipped guy who sat across from her with flawless skin and a thin line of hair over his yummy lips made her forget the most important thing she'd been taught—respect her parents. He'd moved her with only a smile.
“S'up, lil momma?” he asked, sitting across from her, handing her a bottle of something that looked like liquid amber.
Her knees were inches away from his long legs, but her heart was already in his hands. Patience shrugged and inched back into the seat. That was her way of declining his offer.
“What's the matter? Something holding your tongue?”
The three other boys laughed.
“Yeah, homeboy. You holding it. You know they always freeze when you speak,” the guy sitting next to her said.
Why
and who were
they
? she wondered, looking from the guys to Silky and sliding farther over from the boy next to her. Silky smiled and hunched her shoulders.
“So . . . are you like a backup dancer for Silky's mom or something?” Patience asked Pretty Boy, noticing that his arms were very toned. Pretty Boy had to be his name or at least his nickname. He was too beautiful to be called anything else.
Pretty Boy raised his brows and froze for half a second. His expression registered shock. He shook his head and grinned again, blinding her with that ultra-white crooked smile.
The other three boys were silent, while two of them looked from Patience to Pretty Boy to Silky, then began Ping-Ponging their eyes back and forth between the three again.
“Hmm,” the one with Silky on his lap growled, then wrapped his arms around Silky's middle. To Patience he sounded like a rottweiler and looked like one trying to claim her best friend as his territory.
“I told you!” Silky cheesed, comfortably leaning back into the boy. “This here is my girl. I. Know. Her. What I say? I told you!”
Patience looked sideways at Silky. She knew her best friend meant her no harm, but she was starting to not appreciate being the only one who seemed not to know what was going on.
“Told them what?”
Pretty Boy reached over and grabbed her knee. “You a good girl. That's the verdict. Huh, lil momma?”
Patience nodded, then shrugged. She realized he'd barely moved forward to touch her. He had to be tall. “I guess.”
“What's the last movie you went to?” His stare made her wiggle. No one had ever made her feel so uncomfortable before, not like this, and it was baffling her. The feelings he'd caused her moved through her like waves. Good ones that tickled and excited her all at once, and she wanted to laugh out loud but didn't want to make herself look like a kid.
She shook her head.
“Last video game you played or bought?” the boy on the other side of him asked.
She rotated her head no again.
“Last concert?” Silky quizzed with a knowing look and smile that said she'd already told them all of Patience's lack of worldly culture.
Patience cut her eyes. Silky knew the answer.
“You know.”
Silky shook her head, then sang, “I've been gone two months.... Anything could've changed.”
“Gospel Fest,” Patience whispered, feeling like a fool on display.
“Favorite TV show . . .”
Patience held up her hand, signaling she was done being interrogated. “I don't go to movies, play video games, watch cable TV, or go to real concerts. I don't do anything. Okay?” she snapped, embarrassed.
Pretty Boy smiled. “No need to be mad, lil momma. I think it's wonderful. We're celebrating you, not making fun of you. 'Least I'm not. . . .”
She looked over at him, then blinked away quickly. He was so fine she couldn't connect her eyes with his because she was sure her feelings were obvious. Bishop Blackman's warning bounced through her head.
Boys aren't any good. Any! All they want is one thing. One! They take the milk and leave the cow, and they don't even feed it first. Don't feed it. Don't love it. Don't care if it cries.
The SUV jerked to a stop. “Sorry, sir,” the driver's voice came through the speakers, bringing Patience's attention to another thing she'd missed. The SUV had a black glass partition between the front and the back, which someone had rolled down a couple of inches.
She sat for a second watching all the guys except Pretty Boy collect bottles of alcohol, cell phones, iPods, and bags of fast food and doughnuts. Silky's growler hopped out of the SUV first, followed by Silky and the boy who sat next to Patience. The guy who sat on the other side of Pretty Boy climbed out of the other door, then offered her his hand to help her out of the vehicle.
“Go 'head, lil momma. My homeboy Big Dude don't bite—he just look like he do.”
It was then that Patience realized she'd been staring at the guy's hand like he had leprosy. “Sorry and thank you,” she said, climbing out with his assistance, then staring at him. Big Dude, if that was in fact his name, was big. Statue of Liberty huge.
He smiled and reminded her of an overstuffed, giantsized teddy bear like the one she'd won at Six Flags. He nodded. “Yuh, they call me Big Dude. And no, thank you.” He turned his attention to Pretty Boy. “ 'Bout time we got somebody 'round here with manners.”
“Dat's what I'm talum'bout,” Pretty Boy said, emerging from the vehicle, speaking another language and standing about six feet tall.
“Huh?” Patience accidentally wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out what language he was speaking.
“Ah, partna, shawty ain't skreet. Godda clean 'tup,” Big Dude said to Pretty Boy, slamming the door shut behind him and shadowing him like a redwood tree.
“Patience, he said that's what he's talking about, and Big Dude said you're not from the streets, that he should talk proper so you understand, that he should clean up his words,” Silky interpreted, rounding the back of the SUV.
Patience formed her lips into a circle, but before she could respond “oh” her eyes flashed to her right and she noticed they were in the VIP valet at Phipps Plaza, the upscale mall in Buckhead. People stood around in amazement, staring at them and taking pictures with cell phones and cameras. She bucked her eyes a little, not understanding the people's greenness. Just because they were in VIP and hopping out of a stretch luxury SUV didn't mean they were superstars, though being next to Pretty Boy made her feel like one.
He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Come on, my little good girl,” he said and took a step toward the entrance. Some girls rushed toward them, and Pretty Boy pulled her close to him. “They got us, lil momma.” He nodded his head toward Big Dude and the other guys. “No need to get nervous; you might wanna get used to it.”
Big Dude and Growler became walls of steel right before her eyes. They slid in front of her and Pretty Boy, blocking the girls. The other guy quickened his pace until he was in front of them, making the crowd part like the Red Sea Bishop Blackman loved to preach about when talking about making a way out of no way.
Patience shot Silky a look. Silky just pursed her lips, rolled her eyes toward the girls, and mouthed “haters” while she walked beside Growler. They both laughed.
People can be so silly because of limousines and VIP sections,
Patience thought, gripping Pretty Boy's hand as they walked through the mall.
“OMG,” some young girl said, walking past them.
“What it was, cuz?” a boy with his pants hanging off his butt asked, walking by them.
“Hey . . . is that? Are you . . . ?” Somebody's mother asked, then shook her head and began talking on her cell phone. “Girl, that's not him.”
Out of nowhere a girl squealed and jumped up and down.
Patience shook her head. She'd been in Phipps Plaza more times than she could count, and she'd never encountered such weirdness. She felt a slight elbow in her ribs. She looked at it, then up at whom it belonged to. Pretty Boy was smiling at her with his eyes.
“This crazy, right? We just came to get some shoes, that's all.”
“It's different,” she said. “They all act like . . .” A moment of realization hit her then, and she looked at the guy walking in front of them. She had seen people act like this before. There were times she'd been out with Bishop and people would come up to them acting starstruck, blinded by his position and his notoriety.
“Like what?” Pretty Boy prodded.
Patience eyed his friend a little bit more, saw how laid back he was, and decided she'd been wrong. She didn't want to seem any more foolish than she'd felt in the truck. “I don't know. . . .” Her words drifted off when she smelled caramel. She'd become so thirsty her feet stopped moving, and so did everyone else's. The aroma reminded her of Pretty Boy's complexion and the iced caramel Macchiato she suddenly craved.
“Oww. I know you smell that!” Silky sang, tilting her head toward Patience, and unhooking her arm from the growler. “Right back, baby. Right back. The caramel's calling.”
Patience looked at Pretty Boy. “You mind?”
He shook his head and stuck his hand in his pocket.
Patience walked off toward the coffee stand in the middle of the mall for the expensive drink, then looked over her shoulder. He was watching her. It seemed they all were.
“So . . . whatcha think. He's fine, huh?” Silky quizzed before Patience finished ordering.
All Patience could do was nod. “Later,” she whispered. “Okay?”
Silky looked over her shoulder. “Ill. They staring. He's staring at you. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky.”
“Patience? Cuz is that you?”
Patience turned, and a smile parted her lips. “Meka? Hey cousin! What are you doing here?”
“What it was, cuz?” Meka walked up and greeted her, then nodded at Silky. She held up department store bags. “Shopping—my way, as usual. What's up with you? I can't believe The Good Reverend Doctor let you out,” she said, laughing. “But you're good, right?”
Patience nodded. “I'm great. You want to come hang with me and Silky?”
Meka looked over her shoulder, then shook her head. “Nah. Security's too beefed up around here. It's in and out for me. Maybe we can get up later. I godda go find my girl, Santana. It's time for us to be out!” She looked around again. “Yep. Y'all be safe. Call me if you need me.”
Patience nodded, smiling as her cousin disappeared. She grabbed the drinks and walked over to the sugar and milk station. She put two sugars in each, stirred, and closed them, then walked back over to Pretty Boy. “Here. I made yours like I made mine. Hope you don't mind. I'm sorry, I should've asked you what you wanted.”
Pretty Boy bit his bottom lip, shot a quick glance at each of his friends, nodded, and took the specialty iced coffee. He smiled at Patience, then sipped from the straw.
“Thanks, lil momma.”
His friends were oohing and ahhing, making street-boy catcalls, which amounted to a bunch of “Yeahs” and “That's what's ups.”
“What I say? I told y'all!” Silky sang again.
“You didn't buy me one,” the growler growled.
Pretty Boy took Patience's free hand in his. “Come with me,” he said, pulling her away from the crowd. He stopped walking when they were by Tiffany & Co., one of her mother's favorite jewelry stores. “I really appreciate the coffee, and I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm also here because it's my mom's birthday.” He shrugged. “But I'm a lil short on cash, and it's Sunday so the bank's closed. . . .” His eyes were warm and trusting, and had filled with love when he mentioned his mother.
Patience nodded. She handed him her drink, reached in her purse, and pulled out her wallet.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She opened her wallet, took out a bill, and handed it to him. “I have fifty dollars from working at the church—”

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