Smoke and Mirrors (12 page)

“I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Of course you do…”

She turned and looked at him for a long time. She wanted to ask him what the hell he meant by that, but instead, he took care of it for her after a brief pause, which included him staring down into her cleavage like some panting wolf in desperate need of prey.

“You see, people like you and I are
forced
to shit where we eat. We have to make our ladies believe what we’re telling them and sometimes, we actually do give a shit about them. It isn’t love; if we did something foolish like that, we’d risk everything we worked for being turned to shit, and worse yet, being the ho, instead of the pimp. Now, what I do outside of my vocation is a whole ’nother matter.” He placed his hand across his heart. “When I asked to take you out, I
meant
it. For you, I’m prepared. I know more than you think I know. You make me wanna do some shit… some shit I’ve never done before.” He paused and slicked his tongue over his lower lip as his eyes glimmered like a damn reptile’s. His gaze darted back to her cleavage, nasty thoughts written all over his face.

“Listen, Smoke, I don’t know what type of tricks you’re pulling, but if they aren’t the kind that drive by, call or book an appointment online, then I’m not interested in hearing about ’em.”

I have to put a stop to this! Shut this shit down.

“You’re so mean, baby,” He grinned, seemingly mocking her. “You need to jump on board and have the S.P.E, goddamn it.” His smirk returned, this time sending her nerves into a jumping tailspin. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“What’ the S.P.E., Smoke?” She was almost afraid to ask, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

“The Smoke Patterson Experience, Madam.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or take a white glove and smack the pompous fucker in the face with all of her might.

“You need to get the hell out of my face.” She huffed, looking past him and all around as if he were some vagrant asking for a dime or two.

“You obviously don’t know who I am, Paris.” The man wouldn’t give it a rest. “Because if you did, you’d understand that I—”

“People
know
your story, so please stop trying to bullshit me! You aren’t the only one doing big things around here.” She waved her hand in his face. “I have a college degree, did you know that?” She glared at him as she placed her hand on her hip, proud of herself and feeling slightly superior. “Despite what has happened to me and what I’ve been through, I
know
how to make money. My past hoing paid for my education. More importantly, I know how to
keep
money and in the process, empower my girls.”

“As do I.” He never broke his cool…

“You knew
nothing
about this! I was
born
into it. Don’t insult my intelligence. My mother was a prostitute and my father a pimp. That’s all I knew my entire life, Smoke. This is nothing new to me. I wasn’t raised in Ohio, okay? My father didn’t become a pimp later in life, like yours. My father had been a pimp since the age of sixteen! He was notorious, revered!” She threw up her hands in frustration. “This is who I am, this is what’s going down. You were just a naïve kid, you knew nothing about this and haven’t been in the life as long as me. There is no damn comparison.”

“But I’m not a kid anymore, Paris…” He moved in closer to her, so damn close, she could smell his light aftershave. It reminded her of the beach first thing in the damn morning.

Damn this man!

“Does this look like a child’s face to you?”

He pointed to himself, his long, thick finger directed towards his prominent cheekbone as he glared at her lips, leaning down a bit. Did the bastard intend to kiss her?

“Does this look like a child’s clothing, Paris?” He pulled at his tie, running the material through his fingers as if it were fine silk… Upon second glance, it probably was.

“Do I
sound
like a fuckin’ child to you, Paris?” His voice seemed to echo as he asked the question so very close to her ear.

She shivered when the throaty words went down like heated embers to her very soul.

“Does my
dick
imprint in my pants look like a child’s, baby?” He grimaced as he took a step back, giving her full view while he slicked his hand over his bulging crotch.

His pants are loose, and I can still see it! Goddamn!

“You like that?” He flicked his tongue in nasty ways. “…And I’m not even
hard
right now. If you stroked it, cured your curiosity, you’d know this
isn’t
child’s play. I want to make you
moan
 …”

She swallowed. Hard.

“I just want a little of your time, Pussycat…see if you want to come out and play…”

He hung onto the last word as he looked intensely into her eyes. And once again, she hated herself for finding him so intriguing, sexy and almost irresistible…

“I’ve heard you’ve been asking questions about me. You seem to have pulled in some favors, got people to talk.” She smirked.

“I didn’t pull in a damn thing. People listen to me and give me what I want more times than not,” he said matter-of-factly as he ran his index finger down the side of his jaw, scratching an itch. “I didn’t have to pay, borrow or steal for this. I like what I like, and I
know
what I like…and that’s
you.
”

“Did you ever consider that you weren’t my type?”

“Your type? Hmmm.” There popped his smirk again, before he set his blazing eyes upon her once more. “I beg to differ. I’m
definitely
your type. You see, a square isn’t going to understand you, Paris. A man working a nine to five isn’t going to feel your pain like I do.”

She drew in air, filling her chest with oxygen as she crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t deny the truth that the tall glass of water laid at her feet. He may have been slick, he may have been cunning, but he spoke realness. Yes, he understood the disease she had, that of being addicted and afflicted with street life though most others couldn’t see she was completely infected with her profession and not interested in a cure.

“You’ve been underestimated, investigated and player hated. I get it, baby.”

He smiled slyly, leaned forward and traced her cheek, forcing her to snap out of the fog and back away from his touch.

“And you think I’m part of that whole mess, too. Well, I did investigate you…but underestimate and player hate? Never that, my love.”

“Are you for real?” A part of her had problems taking this shit in. Denying the attraction was plain silly at this point, but going forward, making plans based upon it, was pure lunacy. He’d made some good points, but it simply wasn’t enough. So what if they found each other attractive—what difference did it make? None at all. “Don’t touch me again.” She pointed in his face, only to be greeted by that cocky ass smirk of his—again! “Besides, I can’t date a pimp, and that’s final.” She turned to walk away and return to her building, but he quickened his pace and stopped her, gently grabbing her arm to make her face him.

He’s touching me again! Is this fucker hard of hearing?!

“You can’t date a pimp? But I’m the
very
person you
should
be looking for, Paris. This is my last sales pitch to you; well, I hope it is.” That caused both of them to smile, and she relaxed a bit. “Look, baby, you don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t really want to run from me…you want me to chase you. Chasing isn’t really my thing, but I’ll do it. Yeah, I’ll do it for a little bit of Paris, but not forever.”

She roamed in the brief silence, feeling rather silly as he pulled the truth out of the situation, revealing her nature.

“Unlike the squares out here, I won’t judge you for the number of men you’ve slept with, because I understand it. Besides, I’m not that insecure. Furthermore…” He stepped in closer once again, making her heart beat a little faster. “I would always believe that, with
me
,
every
time I push inside of you, it would feel like the
first
time you’d ever made love.”

Her breathing turned erratic and she prayed he didn’t notice her hairline dotting with perspiration.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious to test drive me?” He slicked his long, fat tongue over his lower lip, doing that sexual perverted flick he’d shown her a few moments previously.

“Not really. I’ve fucked pimps before. You’re all the same,” she said dryly. “Now, I understand your Daddy Fat Sacks,” she teased, eliciting a grin from the man. “If you name the right price, I’ll let you
pay
me to fuck, but best believe, it’s going to be five digits for thirty minutes, because I don’t sell my pussy anymore…but for
you
, I’d make an exception,” she goaded, then winked.

“Oh my, Ms. Raven,” he said with indignation, veering back and placing his hand over his heart. A slightly disgusted expression creased his face as if she’d burped right next to his nose. “Now you know a
true
pimp doesn’t pay for pussy, baby.” He grinned. “A
true
pimp would have also determined, if you were a whore he was trying to pursue, that you weren’t worth the time and effort, but you see, I’m not looking to make you into my whore. I want something
else
…”

“And what’s that?” Her lips twisted up like a bread tie. She’d had about enough of this man, but he was handsome and suave as hell, so she endured him a bit longer. At least he was entertaining.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s simple. Here’s what I’m going to do.” He looked away, as if someone had called his name then returned his gaze to her and leaned slightly to the side. “I’m going to arrive at your house, your
real
house,”—he looked up at the apartment complex then back at her—“and we’re going to go out. We’re going to have a
real
date, with
real
food, and
real
conversation. After which, you can decide if I get to fuck you or not.” He sucked his bottom lip as his brows dipped, veering in a bit closer to her, making her squirm and saturate her damn panties. “If I do get to take you to Smoke Island, hurray for me, and really for you too, but if I don’t, so be it.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t mean that’s the end because my main objective is not only to have sex with you, Paris, but to make you
mine
. I made my final decision while I’ve been standing here talking to you.”

“Oh, have you now?” She smirked.

“Before I walked across this damn street,” he said, pointing behind him, “I was still on the fence, but now I
know
…”

“And don’t I have some say in this?”

“Of course you do, but your eyes already told me ‘yes’…”

She hated that she was smiling in that mothafucka’s face right now. He became a complete pimp-tation, luring her into an area she’d vowed she’d never go again. He was macking the fuck out of her, and she was no novice or silly young thing. She knew
exactly
what he was doing, yet what made it all the more sadistically beautiful—the shit was working, despite her understanding of the scenario playing out before her.

“It’s lonely out here.” He looked briefly towards the ground. “I’m being one hundred with you. No games. No filter. Fact of the matter is, nobody wants to date a ho, yet everybody wants to date a ho, Paris. Everybody wants to date a pimp, and nobody wants to date a pimp, you feel me, baby?”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t help but agree. “I feel you, Smoke.”

“I’m tired of this shit.” he hissed, his expression growing tight.

Either he was the best actor in the whole damn world, or the man was doing his utmost to get her into his space and time. She saw loud and clear why his brand of magic worked on so many women. He was a natural at the ‘woo’.

“I’m giving you an invitation to get to know me, the
real
me. I
want
you… and if you have no objections, I will have
you
…”

For the first time in a long while, she was rendered speechless.

“I hate to admit this.” She sighed, knowing her self-disgust was evident in her stance and tone. “But you have me captivated. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this shit…going out with you.” She looked towards the ground, shook her head, grinning.

“Paris, I consider myself successful and respectful. But I don’t have to
not
have a woman in my life, just because of what I do. If I found a lady that could understand me and be there with me anyway, then that’s all I’d ever need. She’d never have to worry about a damn thing for as long as she breathed and if for some reason she couldn’t inhale any more, I’d breathe for her, all day, every day.”

Pimpology…this motherfucker is doing the damn most…

Every time she’d inch away, convince herself it was too good to be true, he’d say one more damn thing to make her hesitate, make her want to stay a bit longer and listen to this mess.

“Not every time my mouth opens, a lie is flying out, okay? Here’s something my father taught me, ‘be real when it is advantageous to be.’ We have to have split personalities to be successful in this shit. We need to know when to bullshit, when to be authentic, and know when to open up a bit more and trust someone. There’s no need to try and run game on you because you already know the game, you helped create the game and besides, you don’t fit that criteria for those endeavors.”

…And he knows how to speak. He can go from a bit of street slang—and not sound like a damn fool because of the color of his skin—to an eloquent diplomat in the same damn conversation. This fucker is unbelievable…

“I saw that…”

She smirked and hung her head. Yes, she’d laughed and smiled more times than she could count now.

“Yeah, sweetheart, you’re busted.” He grinned wide at her now. “I might be from Ohio, but there is nothing small town about me, baby. No Gomer Pyle, Opie and Andy Taylor, okay?” He raised a dark brow. “I know women. All good pimps
know
women, Paris. We make our living off how
well
we know women and I know,
you’re
tired of being alone, too. I can see it in those beautiful eyes of yours I just can’t seem to turn away from.”