God Don't Like Haters 2 (11 page)

"I wish Gee was here," I said.

"I do too, Kirbie. I do too."

I felt tears welling in my eyes as I thought
of Gee laying in a hospital bed unconscious. I didn't want to show
my emotions in front of Coras again—I had been crying too much
lately—so I dipped my head to take another sip of rum. As I
swallowed, Coras lifted my glass from my hand and set it on the
table with his. He took me into his strong arms.

I began to sob.

"I'm sorry for quitting on you guys," I
managed.

"It's all good. Everything that happened up
until now was supposed to happen. All our ups and downs led us to
this moment. Just don't let us down when your time comes to
shine."

"I won't." I paused, trying to get myself
together. "What if Sundi asks me to sign with them? Do I tell them
I'm already signed to Swope Records?"

"No, hell no. You take what they're offering.
Mount Eliyah ENT is a machine. I'ma rip up our Swope contract. It
never existed. I want what's best for you."

"You're gonna make me cry harder. And I'm not
the crying type."

"I know. You're a Scorpio. I won't tell
nobody."

I smiled. "Thank you."

I loved the strength in Coras's embrace. His
sign was Aquarius, the water-bearer symbol, and historically his
kind knew how to show affection. I felt protected and valued and
understood, as his chin rested on the top of my head. I got wet in
the mouth when his hand grazed up and down the curve of my spine,
comforting me. And my breath went away—I felt like I could barely
stand—when his fingers broke path and ventured into the waistline
of my jeans. Only his fingers up to his knuckles could fit because
my jeans were so tight. But he was still feeling a part of my skin
he'd never felt before.

Then his fingers began to worm-crawl deeper
into my jeans, until he was cupping one of my ass cheeks. I
shivered when he squeezed, and my pussy gripped on its own in a
reflex of pure want. I should have stopped him the moment I felt
his fingers going too low. I was engaged to Archie. This wasn't
right. But in my adrenaline-pumped mind, I was trying to
rationalize—
as long as I don't do anything back, it's not
cheating.

Coras kept squeezing that one cheek and it
was turning me on at a rate that was becoming too much for my human
body to handle. My heart was thump-thump-thumping incredibly fast,
as if it were responding to some imminent danger. But the only
threat was sexual.

Coras threw out another comment, as if we
weren't even holding each other. He was remarkably composed. "It's
a lot of hot artists signed to Mount Eliyah, so you're gonna have
to work hard to stand out and be seen."

"I know," I said mildly, but it came out as a
moan.

He would squeeze hard, then soft, just
exploring the thickness of this half of my backside, seeing what my
flesh could withstand. Then he tried to maneuver his other hand
inside to get to booty cheek two, but this time there was really no
more room, not even if he forced it. A thought popped in my head
that I should have been ashamed of: 
I wish I would've worn
a stretchier pair.

"No half-stepping," he told me.

"I'm gonna work my ass off as soon as I'm
signed," I said. Then, I realized I'd said 
ass.

He noticed too. "Yeah, work this muthafucka
till it's sore." He kept palming my tush, while his other hand was
still struggling at the waistline. "And I'ma do whatever I gotta do
on my end to help push your first project and every one
thereafter." Then, almost as an afterthought, he whispered, "Take
these jeans off for me."

I ignored that last part. "And I'ma be
promoting you and Swope records and try to get you signed too."

"Don't worry about me. You just focus on
getting your foot in the door."

The hand at the waistline began to pull back,
and I foolishly thought he was about to pull his other hand out as
well, assuming he'd felt what he needed to feel and now he was
going to respect my commitment to Archie.

Nope, wrong.

He wedged his free hand low between our hug
and popped the button holding my jeans together. He found my
zipper. 
Ziiiiip
—it was now down. Then he reached back
around me and burrowed this second hand within my unleashed jeans
effortlessly. My pussy blazed red hot at this new skin-to-skin
contact, and every time he gave my buttocks a two-handed squeeze, I
nearly heard my girlness squirt.

My breathing was erratic. But quiet.

I think.

He said, "It's funny how you just put your
all into something and then the pay-off just seems to come out of
nowhere. Like, why now? Why did God pick this moment to give you
this opportunity? I feel like we went through a lot of unnecessary
bullshit."

"We just have to be thankful."

"You're right, Kirbie. And I am. It's just
crazy how things seem to fall in place. I'm very thankful."

His right hand began to roam, and every
nerve-impulse in my body began to send warning signals to my
brain. 
Alert! Stop him! Alert! This is not Archie's hand!
Alert!
 I ignored them, letting Coras's fingers find and
rub my velvety pussy lips. He took two fingers and split my
drenched mound open, as a third finger explored the wetness of the
inner flesh. He grazed my clit and I shuddered.

Then the realization that Coras was about to
fuck me hit home. It scared the hell out of me. 

Because I knew I didn't have the strength to
stop him.

I felt helpless, like all I could do was
stand here and hold him and ball his shirt in my fists at the back.
My bare ass was out, exposed, he was fingering my pussy, and my
jeans were slowly working their way down my thighs thanks to
gravity.

Then my phone rang, which interrupted
things.

I was thankful. But I still didn't move until
Coras let me go. I had been under his spell.

"Answer it," he said. "Hurry."

I hiked my jeans up—they weren't coming back
down, I told myself—then grabbed my phone. "Hello?"

"May I speak to Kirbie Amor, please?"

"This is she," I said, barely containing my
excitement.

"Hey, Kirbie, this is Sundi Ashworth and I
just read your reply. So, you're ready to be famous, huh?"

Chapter 16

Monifa Chavis

I should have been sleep but couldn't because I was
thinking about Coras. I hadn't talked to him since the shooting.
But I knew my baby was all right because everybody on The Site was
commenting that Gee Beats was the only one that got hospitalized. I
expected Coras to call me by now, either to apologize for cheating
on me with Kirbie, or curse me out for having his producer
shot.

But I hadn't heard from him at all and it
worried me. Was he going to leave me? Had
he 
already
 left me? I never saw that as an option
because he needed my brother's drugs.

In my panic, I deleted the Site comment I
made about him never kissing another bitch in the studio
because it referenced that I was bragging about the tragic shooting
backstage. It was a stupid comment, insensitive and bird-brained,
and I should have never posted it. Coras was probably mourning
right now and he needed me. But he wouldn't answer my calls. I even
called a friend of mine and had her call him on three-way and he
still wouldn't answer.

I went through my call log and tapped my
brother Milo's number, then put the phone to my ear. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, brother, it's Monifa."

"Look, I don't have time to talk."

"What's going on?"

"I have to close down shop and find a
new spot because of you. My name is all in the mix in the Sprint
Center shooting and I wasn't even there."

"How is that my fault? I never told you to
shoot anybody."

I heard Milo yelling at people in the
background to hurry up and grab some mags—or "bags"; it was hard to
understand Milo when he was yelling, even harder over the phone. I
assumed that Milo got word that there was about to be a kick-in.
This wouldn't be the first time that he had to relocate.

I was starting to feel guilty.

"What do you want, Monifa?" he asked with
strong annoyance. Then he yelled at someone else in the background
to "hurry the fuck up before you're the next to get shot. I can't
believe you shot that man. Yall were supposed to jump 'em." I heard
a 
smack—
Milo probably disciplining a worker with a pop
to the head—then he remembered he was on the phone and spoke. It
was all irritation: "Hello?"

"Yes, Milo, I was just calling to find out if
you've talked to Coras."

"I texted him."

"About what?"

"What do you think? I told him it wasn't
supposed to go down like that."

"He texted back?"

"No."

"So are yall gonna work it out?"

"I don't know and I don't fucking care right
now. Look, Monifa, I gotta go."

"Wait—"

He hung up.

I looked at my phone, then set it beside me
on the couch. Apparently Milo and Coras were still at odds, but as
far as 
me
 and Coras ... I didn't know where we
stood. There was no "official" rule that said Coras had to be with
me to keep receiving dope from my brother, but it was definitely
implied. I hoped this whole shooting debacle didn't change
everything. I loved Coras.

I took a drink of champagne, then set it back
on the coffee table. I grabbed my phone and logged into The Site
under Coras's profile. I'd rather be checking his phone texts, but
since I didn't have access to his phone then his private Site
messages were the next best thing to find out his whereabouts. I
was surprised, and highly upset, by what I saw in his account. The
last exchange in his inbox was between him and Kirbie.

"Oh really, nigga?" I said to myself in
disbelief. "You haven't learned, have you?"

Then I began to read.

Kirbie Amor:
 Coras, read this message
and tell me what you think. It's from Sundi Ashworth, and I know I
don't have to tell you who she is. Here's what she put: [Sundi
Ashworth: Hello, Kirbie, my name's Sundi Ashworth (A&R) and I'm
sending you this message in regards to my interest in your musical
talent. I'm a representative of a major record label, and I think
you and your voice have the potential to become one of the biggest
artists this industry has ever seen. This is not spam. This is for
real. My profile page will confirm my authenticity. If you would
like to further your career and become a household name, please
reply as soon as possible. I look forward to hearing from you.
Thank you]. Coras, isn't that crazy!!! It's really her! I was
thinking about getting some more music ready for her just in case
she wants to hear more. Can you meet me at the studio?

Coras Bane:
 I'm on my way now.

I looked at the time frame between each of
the posts and they were only seven minutes apart. That meant that
Coras had dropped whatever he was doing at the
time—
what 
had 
he been doing?
—just to
respond to her.

So now they were probably at the studio at
this very moment fucking each other's brains out.

"Son of a bitch," I said out loud. "Maybe he
should've caught the bullet instead of Gee. That pussy didn't learn
his lesson."

I bounced off the couch and went upstairs to
get dressed. I threw on my Nike Roshe Runs with the soft insole and
padded collar; they were my kick-a-bitch-ass pair, with a full mesh
upper and phylon midsole. On my way back down the steps, I was
checking my purse for my handgun. It was in here, right next to my
wristlet that held my ID and credit cards. I was contemplating if
it was wise to carry the wristlet if I was about to commit a
murder.

Ding-dong!

My doorbell. I had paused on the steps,
looking up from my purse. Nobody came to my house this late
except—

"Open the door, Monifa! It's Coras!"

Ding-dong!

I set my purse on the couch and opened the
door like an idiot. He could be here to beat me to death. But I
wanted to see him. I 
needed
 to see him.

And he looked just as handsome as ever
standing just outside my doorway. His face was lit up by the
welcome light above my door—behind him was the absolute dark of
night—and he was looking at me like I had some explaining to do. I
gave him the same look.

We stood here in silence for a moment,
staring at each other stubbornly, feeling each other out.

"Apologize," he demanded.

"For what?" I said.

He turned to leave and I went after him. I
grabbed him by his dark thermal shirt and pulled him into my house,
shutting the door behind us. He reached for the knob but I leaned
against the door, crossing my arms. I was a thick woman, and it
wouldn't be easy for him to move me.

He tried though, grabbing onto me as I pushed
him away, but he hung on, pulling me forward as he went back. I was
away from the door now. He tried to get around me to leave and I
grabbed him around the waist. As he tried to pry my arms off of
him—the both of us were grunting during the struggling now, with me
letting out more girly squeals than grunts—we bumped into an end
table and my lamp crashed to the floor.

“If you don’t wanna apologize, I’m leaving,”
he growled.

He started pushing my face and I bit his
finger. His other hand grabbed my hair at the back, and as he
yanked and my chin shot up, our momentum was headed toward the
couch—him going backwards and me stumbling forward, never letting
him go. He tripped over the lamp, falling backwards onto the couch,
me falling on top of him.

My face smacked into his in a harsh kiss.

And we didn't stop kissing. Our closeness
changed things completely. We were no longer fighting each other.
He rolled me over on my back, rising up on his knees to pull his
shirt up over his head. Nothing but his dazzling gold chain was
left, and a perfect dark brown body of chiseled manliness. I was
shimmying my stonewash jeans off when I realized I had already lost
one running shoe. We were halfway naked—I only had time to work one
arm out of a shirt sleeve before he pulled his dick out and pushed
it inside of me with no finesse whatsoever.