Finding Forever (8 page)

“I don’t know what more you want me to say, T. I’ve said everything. I told you how I feel, but you gotta accept it.”

“How can I accept it when I still love you? I don’t wanna be wit nobody else. All I see is you.” She held her stomach and cried.

“But you got to. We can’t keep doing this shit, man. You gotta get yourself together for you and Malik. He don’t need to see you carrying on like this. That shit ain’t cool, man.”

“I know, but it just hurts so bad. I need you back, baby. I can’t take this pain.” She cupped his face in her hands. “Just please come back home. I’ll do anything you tell me to. Just come back.” Trina wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Please, just love me like I love you?”

Once again Koran didn’t want to lead Trina on by showing her affection, but holding her was the right thing to do.

“You know I can’t do that.” He hugged her back. “I’m just not there no more.”

“There’s gotta be something I can do,” she sobbed.

“Look, you gotta pull yourself together.” Koran wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry for puttin’ my hands on you.”

“I’m sorry for messing up your stuff. I just didn’t know what else to do to get your attention. I love you, Koran. I just wish you could see that.”

“Mama, are you okay?” Malik asked, entering the room.

“Yes, baby, go on back in your room.” Trina finished wiping her face so her son wouldn’t see that she’d been crying.

“Yo’ mama cool, man, she just having a bad day.”

“Well, will ya’ll stop arguing, please?” Malik pleaded.

“Anything for you, lil’ man,” Koran assured, taking him by the hand. “C’mon so you can finish getting dressed.”

“We still going to the mall?” Malik sniffled.

“Nah, we gon’ go to the Loop.”

“Can Mama go?”

“Yeah, yo’ mama can go,” Koran reluctantly replied.

Finding Forever

Tribal drumbeats filled the air as Koran, Malik and Trina stepped out of the car. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon. Children and their parents lined the sidewalks and watched as a group of musicians played various percussion instruments. A juggler, face-painter and hoola-hoop dancer accompanied them. Malik was instantly excited.

The smile on his face made Koran even happier. Malik’s happiness was what mattered most. If he and Trina could get on the same page about that, then everything would be okay. Koran looked over at her. She seemed at peace as she danced around in a circle with Malik. When Trina was calm her entire being lit up. He just wished she’d stay that way. The new overly emotional Trina was not at all attractive.

“Koran, look at Mama! She hoola-hoopin’!” Malik shrilled in delight.

“I see her, man,” Koran replied as his cell phone began to ring. “What’s up, future?” he answered, stepping off to one side so Trina wouldn’t hear his conversation.

“Nothing, what you doing?” Whitney giggled, feeling like a school girl.

Even though she wasn’t right next to him, Trina could tell by Koran’s body language that he was on the phone with another woman. The grin that stretched a mile wide across his face confirmed it.

“Chillin’ wit my peoples, that’s about it,” Koran told half the truth. “What you doing?”

“Nothing, I ain’t been feeling good all day.”

“What’s wrong wit you?”

“I’ve been really tired all day and my knees ache. I guess I’m about to come on.”

“Yeah, it’s about that time.”

“Look at you, keeping up with my period.” Whitney chuckled.

“Gotta make sure everything is everything.”

“Well, look I don’t want to hold you up. I was just checkin’ in wit you, seeing what was up. I miss you.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“I miss you, too. I’ma hit you up later, a’ight?”

“A’ight.”

“One.” Koran flipped his phone shut.

It took everything in Trina to suppress the grin her mouth so desperately wanted to form. She was more than pleased with the fact that Koran rushed to get off the phone with his mystery woman. Maybe she still had a shot, after all. Whoever this chick was she couldn’t be that important. If Trina continued to play her cards right she’d have Koran back in the palm of her hand in no time.

Finding Forever

Dolla’s smash hit, “Who The Fuck is That?” echoed out of Nectar’s door and into the streets. Koran was hyped as hell. This was his element. A perfect combination of arrogance and confidence enhanced his swag. Koran couldn’t help but laugh at all the clown ass niggas that gawked as he pulled up in front of the club.

His whip game was sick. That night he pushed his baby, a champagne colored Ashton Martin DBS. The car was every man’s fantasy. Koran felt like James Bond as he popped open the door and stepped out into the cool night air. He could see the haters admiring his outfit. As always, he was fresh to death in a fitted black Gucci jacket, black v-neck tee, dirty wash jeans and Gucci sneakers. Covering his locs was an all black LA cap. The only pieces of jewelry he wore were a diamond stud in his ear and an Audemer Piguet watch on his wrist. Koran was that dude. There was no denying it, but to him this was just another day in the life of a boss.

A fresh line up and a brand new fit was nothing to him. Koran always looked good and smelled even better. He couldn’t wait to get inside and do his thing. All week he’d been anticipating getting out and partying. Plus, the fact that Whitney was inside waiting on him excited him even more. The two hadn’t seen each other since the night of their erotic encounter in the Central West End. Koran thought keeping his distance was best. Until he figured things out he didn’t want to lie to Whitney any more than he had to.

“FAM,” Koran heard a familiar voice say. In front of the building was the birthday boy, Sheek. “What took you so long to get here?”

“C’mon, you know how I do. I never step out the house if my shit ain’t all the way right.” Koran smiled, running his hands over his face and clothes.

“Nigga, please.”

“I know you ain’t hatin’?”

“Picture that, but, ay, where your girl at? I thought you said she was coming,” Sheek asked as they made their way to the door.

“Why you worried about my girl?”

“I’m just tryin’ to make sure you straight, ’cause I don’t wanna hear none of that bitch ass complaining tonight. It’s my birthday. I ain’t for no bullshit. I’m tryin’ to kick it.”

“You got me fucked up. My girl in there chillin’ dog.”

“A’ight then, that’s what’s up, c’mon.”

The atmosphere inside Nectar was poppin’. If St. Louis had a red light district this would be it. The interior design was off the meter. Hanging from the ceiling was an assortment of lantern lights that doused the room with a seedy scarlet hue. The hypnotic glow of amber-shaded lamps also filled the many spaces and angles of the room. Lush curtains covered the windows. In the center of the dance floor was a two-sided diamond shaped bar. Right next to the entryway was a private balcony. Red and black leather couches and benches amplified the space.

“Damn, this muthafucka packed,” Koran admitted, surveying the spot.

“It’s always like this on Saturdays.”

“I’m gon’ have to come here more often.”

“Yo, ain’t that yo’ girl over there?” Sheek pointed across the room.

Sure enough Whitney was on the dance floor with her hands up in the air, grooving to Glenn Lewis’s, “Back for More.” The reggae-inspired beat complimented her seductive moves. Whitney was a beast when it came to dancing. She could wind her hips with the best of them and when she dropped down low it made Koran want her even more. All the women in the spot were scantily clad in sexy outfits but, Whitney stood out the most. The black jersey tank dress she wore clung to her curves. The hem stopped midway down her thigh, accentuating her ballerina like legs and Scorah Pattullo heels.

Koran couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she twisted and twirled had his dick harder than a jawbreaker. His tongue couldn’t wait to savor her skin with sensual kisses. He couldn’t take it. The environment was hot and sticky like her cream when she came. Fuck waiting until they got home, he wanted to make love in the club.

Koran was just about to make his way over to her when he noticed O step in behind her. Shocked, he played the background and peeped the scene for a second. Whitney didn’t even know he was behind her as she slithered her way up from the floor. A look of surprise burst onto her face when her butt pressed up against his hard dick.

Whitney quickly turned around. Once she recognized it was O she playfully hit him on the chest, then continued to dance. Koran was disappointed. He expected her to walk away. O, on the other hand, seemed to be quite pleased with himself. His hands roamed freely down the sides of Whitney’s waist as her booty popped and bounced. Heated, Koran made his way through the club. Not in the mood for pleasantries, he bo-guarded his way between Whitney and O.

“Hi, baby,” she gleefully smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“What’s up wit you?” Koran took her by the waist and turned around so he could get a good view of O. “I got this, homeboy.”

“My bad, I was just keepin’ it warm for you,” O responded with a smirk on his face. He was drunk.

“Oh, that’s how you feel?” Koran got in his face and pressed his forehead up against his.

“Koran, calm down,” Whitney begged, tugging on his shoulder.

“Man, you better tell this lil’ nigga. I don’t know what type of shit he on, but he got me fucked up, for real.”

“Straight, it’s like that, Koran? It’s like that? After all the shit we been through?” O challenged.

“Fuck the shit we been through! It’s about right now and right now you on some homo shit!”

“Homo? Homo? Nigga, you callin’ me gay?” O tilted his neck and extended his left ear in disbelief of what he’d just heard.

“I ain’t call you gay! I said you on some gay shit, now what you wanna do about it?” Koran challenged.

“Koran, baby, please stop! It’s not even that serious.” Whitney tried her best to calm him down.

“Koran, chill out.” Sheek pulled him back.

“Fuck that shit, Sheek, cuz! This nigga foul!”

“You know I’m the last one to stick up for that nigga, but look at him! He drunk, man! He on that shit!”

Breathing heavily, Koran took a glance at O and saw that he was high and pissy drunk, but that shit didn’t matter. Everybody knew being drunk only made your true colors shine through.

“Man, come here.” He grabbed Whitney by the arm and dragged her across the room. “What the fuck was that shit about?”

“What shit? What did I do?” she asked, baffled.

“Don’t play dumb, ma, it’s not a good look on you.”

“Whoa.” Whitney released her arm from his grasp and stepped back. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? Who are you talkin’ to and what is your problem?”

“Why the fuck you let that nigga rub all on you like you some kind of ho?”

“A ho? Are you kidding me? We were just dancing.”

“It looked like more than dancing to me.”

“Please do not tell me you’re jealous?”

“Don’t come to me wit that jealous bullshit. I ain’t no muthafuckin’ female.”

“Well, get that bitch up outta you and act like it,” Whitney joked to ease the tension.

“Man, you got me fucked up.” Koran’s upper lip curled.

“Whateva, if you gon’ be actin’ crazy I’ma leave,” she retorted, stepping past him.

“Don’t play wit me. What I tell you about runnin’?” He grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving.

“Ain’t nobody playin’ wit you. You the one starting wit me.”

“My bad, come here.” Koran pulled her close. “Just do me a favor. Stay away from that nigga. O on some shady shit right now.”

“That’s all you had to say. And if you ever call me a ho again I swear on everything I love it’s gon’ be me and you.”

“You think you tough, don’t you?”

“Let’s just put it like this. I ain’t no punk.”

“Whateva, you look nice though.” Koran eased up and mellowed out.

“’Bout time you noticed.” Whitney’s face brightened with a smile.

“You gon’ give me some tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” she smirked.

“A’ight, that’s what’s up. This muthafucka the shit, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, I like it. This gon’ have to be our new chill spot.”

“Right,” Koran agreed, really not listening.

Whitney was rambling on, but his eyes were glued to her hips and thighs. Koran wanted nothing more than to dip off and find a spot that was made just for two.

“Koran, are you listening?” she asked.