The Kat Trap (12 page)

“Okay,” I said, frownin’, “And?”

“And I’m tryna ride that shit and run his pockets.”

I rolled my eyes.
I doubt it, ho,
I thought, cuttin’ my eye over at him,
but if you say so.
The nigga winked at me, then blew a kiss. I rolled my eyes again, this time at him. He said somethin’ to his boys, then I heard him start laughin’. His boys looked over at us, grinnin’.

Patrice peeped them lookin’ over at us and got all agitated ’n shit. “What the fuck they laughin’ at?” she asked, gettin’ ready to turn it up.

I shrugged. “Girl, ignore them niggas. It ain’t that serious. They want some attention. Somethin’ a bitch like me don’t give.”

She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, right.”

I rolled my eyes, but let the bitch’s remark slide.

When our orders came, we paid for our food, then found a table three tables away from them. Patrice’s dick-thirsty ass made sure she posted her ass in the seat directly across from him so that everytime he looked up, he’d see her face. But he was too busy tryna clock me on the sly and Patrice knew it, but she kept on tryna shine. Patrice mighta been older than me, but the bitch didn’t really know shit ’bout a nigga like B-Love. A nigga like him wasn’t gonna openly fuck with no busybody bitch who needed and wanted attention. A real nigga recognized a gold-diggin’ bitch a mile away. Yeah, he’d fuck her, but a bitch like that would bore him to death. She’d be another one of his jump-offs who he laced with shit, but he wasn’t gonna put no cash in her hands. Uh-uh. What a nigga like him wanted was a top-of-the-line, classy bitch who knew how to be a lady in public and a freak behind closed doors. A bitch who didn’t have to open her mouth to get noticed. When she walked into a room, her beauty spoke for itself, and her presence commanded attention. She didn’t have to go lookin’ for it. Yeah, Patrice rocked the fly wears and was a beauty, but she wasn’t that bitch. She was fuckable, but she wasn’t gonna be wifey to a nigga like B-Love. I knew it and B-Love knew it…it’s just too bad Patrice’s ass didn’t know it.

After he and his boys finished eatin’, they got up from their table and walked past us. I could feel the nigga burnin’ a hole in my face, but I igged him. “How you beautiful ladies doin’?” he asked. “Ya’ll sisters or something?” Although he was talkin’ to both of us, he had his eyes on me. I looked up and stared at him, givin’ him a fake half-smile. He was dipped in ice and chunky jewels, but I wasn’t pressed. Well, I was…but he didn’t know it. Patrice spoke.

“No, baby, I’m her aunt. And I can’t speak for her, but I’m doin’ lovely. Thought you knew. What’s good with you, big daddy?
How can a chick like me chill with a fine nigga like you?” Oh, this bitch was really reachin’. I picked at my food, unimpressed, while she tried to get her ho on.

He smiled. “Oh, word. I heard that.”

“You got a girl?”

“Nah, baby. I’m just fuckin’. Why, you tryna get it in?”

“That depends,” she said, soundin’ like a real pigeon. I grinned on the sly. He was baitin’ her ass and she was playin’ right into it.

“Oh, on what?”

“On how you treat a bitch like me.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

I faked a yawn.

“What’s good with ya peoples?” he asked her, eyein’ me. Patrice cut her eyes at me, then rolled ’em, like I gave a fuck. She shrugged her shoulders. He spoke directly to me. “What’s up with you, baby girl? Cat got ya tongue?”

I looked up at him, real slow ’n sexy-like. “I’m eatin’,” I said, slowly slidin’ my fork in my mouth, then pullin’ it out, “and I ain’t beat for no convo.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I like that. A pretty chick who knows how to keep her mouth shut.” I tilted my head and was gettin’ ready to blast his ass but he spoke up before I could get started. “No disrespect, feel me? I’m just sayin’—”

“No, nigga, I don’t feel you, and I don’t know what you sayin’. I speak when I wanna speak, and to whoever I wanna speak to. Don’t get it twisted. I ain’t no nigga’s puppet.”

He burst out laughin’. “You feisty and fine. Yeah, I like that.”

I got up to go to the bathroom, suckin’ my teeth. “Whatever, nigga.”

When I got back from the bathroom, he was gone. And Patrice
was hot. I ain’t gonna front, I was hopin’ he was gonna still be there, but I knew enough to know that a nigga like him wasn’t gonna be waitin’ too long; not yet anyway. I sat down to finish my food, grinnin’.

“Bitch, why you have to act all stank ’n shit? You knew I was tryna get at him. That nigga is paid.”

“What the hell my attitude got to do with you gettin’ ya ass wet?”

She sucked her teeth.

“Well, did you get his number?” I asked, suckin’ the meat off a chicken bone. Juice dripped from my lips. I licked them and my fingas.

“No, bitch.”

“Well, then, I guess he wasn’t interested.”

“How you figure?” she asked with her face all twisted up ’n shit.

“’Cause ya ass is a gold digger and he peeped ya shit a mile away.”

“So the fuck what? That nigga couldn’t keep his eyes off me. And I’m gonna have him, watch.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Bitch, I
know
so.”

“I said, okay, ho. Back up off me. It really ain’t that serious. He might fuck ya dumb ass, but a nigga like him ain’t beat for tryna wife no damn groupie chick.”

She stared me down, but I ignored her ass and kept on eatin’. When we were done, we stepped outside and who the fuck was curbside, leanin’ up against a piped-out, brand-spankin’-new 2001 metallic silver Benz, but the one and only B-Love—live and direct. I ain’t gonna front, the nigga looked good as hell in his powder-blue Sean John sweatsuit with an oversized white tee and a pair of crispy white Uptowns with the powder-blue Nike swoosh and sole. The nigga’s neck was glistenin’ with ice. Patrice immediately got all hyped ’n shit the minute she saw him.

“See. I told you, bitch. The nigga’s out here waitin’ to get at me.”

He grinned. “Hey, baby girl, let me holla at you for a minute.” She started walkin’ over to him, throwin’ an extra shake in her thick hips. “No, not you, ma. Ya peoples.” She stopped in her tracks. I smirked, watchin’ her face crack. But I didn’t move. Instead, I folded my arms across my chest, and stared him
down
. “Yo, I ain’t gonna bite you, baby. I just wanna talk to you.”

“You wanna talk, you come to me,” I finally said. And that he did. The nigga walked up on me, almost pressin’ his body up against mine, and looked down at me. I looked the nigga dead in his eyes. Didn’t budge or blink. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, smilin’. “You can tell me ya name.” His cinnamon-fresh breath smelled like Dentyne chewin’ gum.

“Unless that info’s gonna add value to ya life, it ain’t important.”

“I’ma call you Baby Girl, then.”

“Knock ya’self out,” I replied, tryna keep from smilin’ while watchin’ Patrice standin’ at the corner with her arms folded tight. The bitch was sick. She had no time for the cat who was tryna rap to her. She wanted the real prize, and it was standin’ right in front of
me
.

“You still fuckin’ with that nigga Naheem?”

“Excuse you?” I asked with major ’tude. I was surprised he’d ask me about a nigga I knew he knew was locked the hell up.

“I asked you—”

“I know what you asked me,” I said, cuttin’ him off. “Why you wanna know?”

“’Cause a pretty thang like you,” he said, lickin’ his lips and sizin’ me up, “needs to be fuckin’ with a real nigga doin’ real things instead of fuckin’ with some nigga behind the wall. That nigga can’t do shit for you.”

“And who said I needed someone to do somethin’ for me?”

He smiled. “Do you?”

“Nope,” I lied. “I make shit happen on my own.” Well, that was partially true. But a nigga like him would help me stay on my feet. I looked down at my watch. It was gettin’ late.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Maybe,” I said. He stepped in closer. I stepped back. “Umm, is there a reason why you all up on me?”

“Yeah, ’cause I dig you.”

I laughed. “Nigga…”

“Kat,” Patrice called out. “I’m goin’ to the truck. Don’t be out here all fuckin’ day either.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, wavin’ her on.
And pick ya face up on your way, trick.
I looked back up at him. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, lickin’ his lips again—thick, beautiful, kissable lips made for eatin’ my pussy and suckin’ all over my titties and toes. This nigga was so fuckin’ sexy. But I wasn’t gonna gas his head. I played him to the left and kept shit light. “But I’ve seen you several times. And I
know
you’ve seen me,
Kat
.” He smiled. “Interesting name; just like you. And so far, I like what I see. So stop tryna front like you ain’t beat.”

I rolled my eyes all dramatic ’n shit. Knowin’ damn well I really was frontin’, I simply ignored that last remark. “Do you always stand outside of restaurants tryna pick up chicks?”

He laughed. “Baby Girl, let me school you on somethin’. I run these streets. I don’t hafta try ’n do shit. Pussy and money come to me.”

“Well, then, let it keep comin’ to ya. ’Cause I ain’t the one.”

“Maybe not,” he said, grinnin’. “But
you
the one I’m gonna wife. Now let me get ya digits so I can get to know you better.”

I stepped away from him. “Well, since you run these streets, and
shit comes to ya so easily, I guess you can figure out a way to get at me.”

He laughed. “So you just gonna walk off?”

“Yep,” I said. “Enjoy ya night.” I walked off, leavin’ him with a grin on his face. And if I knew nothin’ else, that nigga was gonna track me down. And I was right.

Two weeks later my cell phone rang and when I peeped the caller ID, I wasn’t familiar with the number, but I picked up anyway. “Hello?”

“So, now that I got ya number, Baby Girl, you gonna let a nigga take you out or do I hafta beg?”

I smiled. “I’m impressed,” I said. And I meant it. “But I don’t know you to go out with you. And beggin’ ain’t ya style, especially a nigga who got pussy comin’ to him real easy.” I already knew the nigga was not used to puttin’ in work with bitches ’cause they threw themselves at him. Dumb bitches! And I could tell by his attitude that he was the type of nigga used to gettin’ what he wanted. But I wasn’t gonna make shit easy for him.

He laughed. “Yeah, but I want you.”

“Well, I’m not available.”

“So do I need to come ring ya bell?”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Try me,” he said, laughin’.

“You fuckin’ crazy,” I said, laughin’ with him.

“I’m crazy for you, Baby Girl. And I’m tryna get at you. I’ll be at ya spot in a couple of hours.”

“Nigga, you not invited. So don’t even try it. You come here and you gonna find ya ass standin’ out on the stoop.”

“Oh, word. You’ll really do a nigga like that?”

“Yep, try me.”

And sure enough, the nigga showed up at my door two hours later, ringin’ the buzzer. I hit the intercom to see who it was. When he announced himself, I reminded him that he wasn’t invited, and refused to let him in. I ain’t gonna front, I was gassed. He was gonna be my damn meal ticket. But I wasn’t gonna act all hungry ’n shit.

I couldn’t believe this nigga. He stood outside all fuckin’ night. It was after three in the morning when I finally gave in and went downstairs and walked up to him. He grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, Baby.”

“Are you crazy?” I had asked, pullin’ my robe tighter and tryna keep a straight-face. “Why are you standin’ out here like you have nowhere else to go?”

“’Yeah,” he said, flashin’ his sexy smile, “as a matter of fact I am. And a crazy nigga like me got nothing but time on his hands. So unless you brought ya fine ass out here to invite me up or go for a ride, then this is where I’m gonna stay. So what’s it gonna be, pretty baby?” His hungry eyes roamed all over my body.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come up,” I said, turnin’ to leave. “And I’m not ridin’ nowhere with you. Good night.”

As I turned to walk away, he grabbed me by the arm, pullin’ me toward him. “Hold up, ma. Let me give you something to think about tonight.” He backed me up against the wall of my buildin’, then pressed his body into mine, kissin’ me and pressin’ his already hard dick into me. Yeah, the nigga was aggressive, not some soft, weak cat scared to take what he wanted—just how I liked it. His free hand snaked its way inside my robe, rubbin’ the inside of my thighs until he found my wet pussy covered by red silk panties. His index finga pressed on my clit and he rubbed it fiercely until I moaned. I reached for his dick and almost fainted
when I felt how long and thick it was. I let out another soft moan, then came to my senses and pushed him away before he got a chance to stick his fingas inside of me. “I ain’t that kinda bitch,” I finally said, breakin’ outta his grip. “You want this pussy, then you gonna have to earn it.” He leaned in to kiss me again, but this time I turned my head. “Good night.”

“Yeah, I’ma wife you,” he said, lettin’ me go, then backin’ away. “You mine. Believe that. I’ll be back tomorrow and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”

“Whatever,” I replied, headin’ toward the door. Every day for a week straight, he came through ringin’ my doorbell, and each time I refused him. Then he started sendin’ me two dozen yellow roses for a week. When that didn’t work, he started sendin’ teddy bears rockin’ diamond necklaces around their necks, tennis bracelets, or diamond earrings, until I finally gave in.

For almost a year we were goin’ strong. The nigga started lacin’ me with bangin’ furs and jewels, takin’ me on expensive trips, and kept the cash flowin’—no matter the amount, no matter for what, I got it. I was the Bonnie to his Clyde. Wherever he went, I went. Everyone knew I was his; and whatever bitches he had suckin’ his dick, they knew to play their positions and not bring drama to me. I fucked him any-and-every which way he wanted, nonstop. He moved me outta Crown Heights into a cute co-op off Eastern Parkway across from the Brooklyn Musuem. A bitch was catchin’ feelins for the nigga hard, and was really thinkin’ he was the one.

But I quickly learned that shit ain’t always what it seems. That everything that glitters ain’t always gold. That lovin’ a nigga sometimes comes with a price. A bitch was slapped into reality when I decided to come back early from a two-week trip to Hawaii, the
one he paid for as a gift for my twentieth birthday, but couldn’t go because he swore he couldn’t get away. He also laced me with two-carat diamond studs, a diamond necklace, and ten thousand dollars. He even paid for Chanel to go in his place. So instead of stayin’ the full time, I flew home four days early to surprise him ’cause a bitch was missin’ her man and wanted to be fucked into a coma for her birthday instead of layin’ on a beautiful beach with another bitch. But the surprise was on me.