Dear Summer (2 page)

and Big Country sat on the hood of Q’s 645 in the park watching some neighborhood niggas shoot hoops, when Q’s brother Squirt walked up. “What’s up Q and Country?”

“What’s up with you, lil’ nigga?”
“Tryin’ to see you again.”
“You finished already?” Q asked. He’d just given Squirt a

brick of coke two days ago. He was surprised how fast Squirt was coming up in the game.
“Trying to be like you, nigga. I want the cars and the bitches.”
“Be smart with your money because when it’s over it’s over and there’s nothing nobody can do for you if you ain’t got bread. You feel me?” Country asked.
Squirt dropped his head. “I feel ya, but I want a fat-ass ride, at least one, and I’m good.”
Q smiled. “I can understand that.”
A ball from the basketball court bounced off the rim and flew toward Country’s head. He ducked and the ball hit Q’s car. Squirt picked the ball up and was about to toss it back toward a tall lanky kid who looked about fourteen, before Q said, “Give me that ball.”
Squirt handed the ball over to Q who then walked toward the court. “Motherfuckas, if this ball hits my car again I’ma shoot this bitch.”
A dark skinned kid named Eddie said, “Q, man, you know we ain’t mean to hit your car. Man, come on, man, we playing ball.”
Q slung the ball and it exploded into Eddie’s face. Blood oozed from Eddie’s nose before he fell to the ground.
“Q, that shit was uncalled for,” one kid said.
“Who the fuck asked you anything?” Q said, as he grabbed the boy by the neck.
When Q let the kid go he pulled out his 9mm and blasted the ball. “Now, motherfucker, ain’t nobody playing no motherfuckin’ ball today, bitch-ass niggas.”
Two boys picked up Eddie and walked him home.
Q walked back over to the car. “That nigga gonna tell his mama on you,” Country teased.
“I hope not,” Q chuckled.
“You afraid?” Squirt asked.
“Yeah. I’m afraid she ain’t gonna give me no more of that good head.”
“You fuckin’ his mom?” Squirt asked.
Q laughed loud. “Yeah, so technically I’m like the nigga’s daddy. You feel me?”
“Country said, “Nigga, you crazy.”
“My word. I bought all the lil’ nigga’s school clothes and his shoes. That nigga wear a size fifteen.”
“A fifteen?” Country asked.
“Yeah. They need to charge that motherfucker property taxes for his feet.” Q laughed.
Squirt said, “Yeah back to business. I need one of those thangs, man.”
“You got it. I mean, I got plenty,” Q said.
“Cool. But seriously, I was thinking of getting me that new 745.”
“How much money you got?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I wasn’t going to pay for it straight up in cash I was going to finance it—put it in my mama’s name, you know. She’s been working for twenty years.”
“I can get you one for half price if you have the cash, nigga.”
“How?” Squirt asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Q said then pulled out his cell phone to call his boy Tommy. “Fatboy, come through. I’m at Tuckaseegee Park. Bring that piece with you.”
“My nigga can get anything for half price.”
“What the fuck. How the hell can he do that?” Squirt asked. Q turned to Country. “Am I lying?”
“Naw, he can get anything. The nigga be having Porsche trucks, Benz wagons…all kinds of shit.”
“How?”
“They hot,” Q said.
“Naw, nigga, I don’t need them problems,” Squirt said.
Q laughed then lit a Black and Mild cigar. “Nigga, don’t be so fuckin’ noid. I mean, all my shit hot. I don’t even give a fuck. I own two Benz’s and a Porsche, and I got my nigga looking out for the 600—I really want that 600.”
“Why don’t you just buy your shit legit? You have the money.”
“I know I got the money, but it ain’t even about the money, nigga.” Q blew smoke from the cigar. “Didn’t Country just tell you that we have to put back for a rainy day?”
“Yeah. I mean, I can dig it, but—”
“The paperwork is legit.”
“Yeah?”
“How does he do it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ask.”
“All my cars are registered.”
“To you?”
“Hell no.” Q laughed then coughed. “No, I didn’t say I was crazy, nigga. I still don’t want anything to be in my name.”
Tommy pulled up in a Mercedes Benz 500—dark blue with a smoke-gray tint.
“Yo, that shit is fire,” Squirt said.
Tommy bounced from the car, shook Q’s hand then Country’s.”
Q turned and put his cigar out. “Hey, Tommy, this is my nigga Squirt.”
Tommy gave Squirt a pound.
“Q tells me you can have me riding.”
“What ya looking for and how much you willing to spend?”
“BMW—the 745.”
“I can get you one. It’ll probably take a couple of weeks. How much you got to spend?”
Q said, “Cut my nigga some slack. He’s one of my soldiers, you know.”
Tommy laughed. “This is a $80,000 whip. I can probably give it to you with the paperwork and everything for forty large.”
“Thirtyfive,” Q said.
Tommy saw the flat basketball with blood splattered on it a few feet away. He walked over to it and picked it up. “What the fuck happened?”
“My nine is what happened,” Q said. “He pulled out his gun and grinned.
“Nigga, you shot the fuckin’ basketball?”
“Yeah. Lil’ niggas hit my car.”
Tommy looked confused. “So, some kids hit your car with a basketball and you blasted the ball?”
“Not before he smashed one of the kid’s face with the ball,” Country said.
Q turned to Country. “That boy my son, I done told y’all.”
Tommy shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. “Come on, Q, man. You can’t be making motherfuckers mad at you out here. I mean, you’re a hustler. Niggas will tell on you
just because
.”
“I know.”
Tommy made eye contact with Q. “Do you really know?”
“Yeah, man.”
“I hope so, because I don’t want nothing to happen to you. I don’t want you to go to jail.”
“Why not?” Q asked.
“Because, nigga. I was there for four years and I didn’t like that shit.”
“So why you taking your chances with the cars?” Q asked.
“Because I like money. But you don’t see me out her smashing lil’ kids’ faces in.”
“Yeah, nigga. You be all up in the paper giving anti-drug speeches and shit.”
Tommy smirked. “So you wanna take this car for a spin, Q?”
“But I want that 600.”
“I can give you this 500.”
“I want the 600. Really, I want the Maybach.”
“And every fed in North Carolina will be after your black ass, nigga. You ain’t Bill Gates.”
“Motherfucker, you had one.”
“And where did it lead me?”
Squirt asked. “The paperwork is official?”
“You will get a title that will match your VIN number. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be official, trust me, you will get the title and everything.”
“You mind if I sit in your car?” Squirt asked.
Tommy handed him the keys. Squirt sat in the car. “Yo, nigga, this shit is like sitting in a space ship. What is this again?”
“CLS 550.”
“What you want for this?”
“Give me thirty and it’s yours. It’s a $70,000 car.”
Squirt bounced from the car and handed Tommy the keys. “My heart is set on the 745.”
“Give me 2–3 weeks and I will have it for you.”
Squirt smiled. “I can’t wait. They gone be hating on me.”

Summer was tall and lean like a Victoria Secret’s catalog model. Her legs seemed to go on forever, especially with heels on. But her most impressive feature was her smile. When she opened the door for Tommy, she was wearing only a skimpy G-string. She smiled and grabbed him by the shirt and led him to her living room, which was dimly illuminated with a red light. She took his belt off and handed it to him. “Spank me, Daddy.”

“Are you serious?” Tommy said, not sure of what to make of her request.
She smiled then ran her tongue over her lip. “Of course I am, nigga. You know anytime you touch this ass I get excited.”
Tommy’s dick rose. It always worked with her. He’d had erection problems with some women, but Summer was too damned sexy. She had become addictive, but the best part about her was that she knew all about his woman and she didn’t seem to mind. She just wanted to have fun and chill, and Tommy could respect that.
She pushed him to the sofa, slid her hand underneath his shirt and then frowned. “Tommy, I told you to get rid of those chest hairs. I don’t like hair.”
“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”
She straddled his lap and kissed his neck. Her mouth was warm and he liked it. She whispered, “Tommy, grip my ass.”
He put his hands on her ass and massaged her buns.
Damn. She was so freaky
.
“Uh…uh, she moaned, and then lay across his lap. All he could see was her ass cheeks and what seemed like a piece of thread traveling the crack of them.
“Spank me, Daddy. Spank me.”
Tommy thought about Angie; thought about how much he loved her, but damn, he craved this feeling. He was obsessed over it. He cupped her ass and made it jiggle just a little; her ass was toned. Her whole body was. Unlike him, Summer worked out and she modeled part-time. She had even modeled for a fetish catalog. In her closet were all kinds of leather and lace, feathers, wigs, paddles, floggers, and handcuffs.
“Spank me, Tommy. Slap my ass and then rub it till it feels good.”
Tommy opened his hand, held it in the air, and then slapped her ass.
“Tommy, harder.”
He slapped her butt cheeks again.
“Now massage it. Make it feel good.”
Tommy gripped her ass again and massaged it. Then he slapped it. Summer moaned and gripped Tommy’s pant legs.
“Tommy, that shit feels so good, baby.
Smack…Smack…Smack
“Yeah, Tommy. Yeah, baby.” She gritted her teeth and held him tighter. She then stood up. Her ass looked wonderful.
She got on his lap. He gripped her ass and she pushed her tongue into his ear then whispered. “Tommy, my pussy is so wet, nigga. I want you so fucking much.”
She moved her hand to his pants, unbuttoned them, and massaged his balls.
“I want your dick in my mouth.”
He kicked his shoes off and she helped him take his pants off, and then pulled his boxers down. Summer dropped to her knees. When Tommy entered her mouth, his manhood swelled. She spit on his dick and licked it off.
Damn. This bitch never ceases to amaze me,
Tommy thought. Last week it was sex in the park, and the week before that she swallowed him—something he’d never experienced. He wondered what she would do today. She licked his balls before putting them in her mouth and began to suck. Tommy’s head fell back and he felt like a king. She continued to suck and pull on his balls gently, and every few seconds she’d stop and look at him and say, “Tommy please cum in my mouth.”
He tried to concentrate as hard as he could. He looked at those long, lean legs, her high heels and her beautiful face. He wanted to cum so badly but he couldn’t. She scooted between his legs and continued to please him orally. Tommy pulled the string further up the crack of her ass. Summer moaned.
“Yeah, Tommy. Yes, Tommy. Smack my ass. Smack my ass until I cum.”
Was she just saying this or could she really cum from somebody smacking her ass? Could anyone cum from this kind of stimulation? Tommy wondered, but he knew she got off on this kind of shit. When he slapped her ass, she took him deeper. His balls smacked her chin.
The red light made her body look golden and shiny and he could smell her. Some watermelon scent was now on him, and he loved it. He slapped her ass again and again. Summer began to tremble violently and her legs jerked but she kept sucking his dick. Tommy slapped her ass one more time and she came. Seconds later he exploded in her mouth.

ummer and T ommy lay in her bed wrapped in silk sheets. He stared at the wooden leaf-styled ceiling fan and wondered how his life had gotten so complicated in the last six months. Not only had he gone back to criminal activity, he was in love with two women.
How in the hell have I gotten myself into this situation?
He wanted to marry Angie, and he knew she was good for him—a strong, educated, upper middle-class black woman who would stand by him if he were doing the right thing. They had great times together. She taught him so much—helped him with his bad eating habits and taught him all about credit, something he knew nothing about. Before he had gotten arrested, he paid for everything in cash.

She had great family values. Her parents had been together for twentyfive years and that is what she wanted too. He knew because she’d expressed this to him more than once. And his father J.C. loved her and had expressed that he wanted her as a daughter-in-law. Tommy had to admit to himself that he was afraid of this kind of commitment, but he knew it was time. He was thirty-two years old. He wasn’t going to get any younger and he wanted kids.

Summer sat up on the bed and stared at Tommy. When they made eye contact, she smiled and his heartbeat sped up.
“Tommy? What’s wrong, Tommy? You look worried.”
“Just thinking.”
Summer took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty again.”
“Kind of.”
“Please spare me the details.”
“I know this ain’t right, but that ain’t what I’m thinking about.”
She stood and walked seductively to the bathroom. The door was open so Tommy yelled. “Why did you leave!”
“Because I don’t want to hear about that bitch.”
“You know I wasn’t going to say nothing about her.”
Summer reappeared wearing gray sweat shorts. She had put a do-rag on her hair.
“Summer, I want you too.”
“Tommy, don’t say shit like that. I ain’t got no time for no bullshit.”
Tommy put his hands behind his head and looked Summer straight in her eyes. “No bullshit. I’m too old for games.”
“And, nigga, I’m too old for games. That’s why when I met you, I wanted to just fuck and that’s it.”
“I know.”
“Well, what the hell happened, Tommy?”
He pulled the covers up to his neck. He looked like a little chubby kid.
“Tommy, I didn’t ask for this shit. I didn’t ask for you to be getting no feelings, nigga.”
“Why you so upset?”
“Because you say that you’re in love with me.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing’s wrong with that, but you’re in love with that other bitch, too.”
Tommy didn’t say anything. He pulled the covers past his head.
Summer walked over and yanked the sheets off him. “Tommy, look at me.”
They made eye contact.
“Tell me you don’t love her.”
“I can’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t say you don’t love her. This shit cannot work.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, Tommy. Nothing. You’ll never understand.” *****

Scooter’s hustle wasn’t drugs; it was Nikes, counterfeit Nikes. He’d made a fortune off them, importing them from China for twenty bucks and reselling them for thirty-five. On any given week, Scooter could profit between thirty-five and forty hundred dollars. He and Tommy had met in the feds and had become cool. Because they were from the same city, they hung out and worked out together. Scooter had done ten years for drug conspiracy. The U.S. attorney had convicted him on pure hearsay, and when Scooter got out he swore to himself that he’d never sell drugs again. But he knew he’d hustle again.