The Kat Trap (22 page)

“Yeah, aiight,” he said, lowerin’ his voice. “Keep fuckin’ with me, Kat, and I’ma end up takin’ it, ya heard?”

“And ya’ll end up with a bullet in ya skull, muhfucka.”

“Damn, baby, you get my dick hard e’erytime you talk like that. Word up.”

“Ugh. Send me the paperwork, along with my paper, Cash.”

“You’ll have e’erything you need tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good.”

“Be easy,” he said, hangin’ up. I swear he makes me fuckin’ sick sometimes. I glanced at the clock and noticed Chanel’s ass was late as usual. It was 3:15. I figured the ho would be another hour or so, so I decided to take a quick shower.

By the time Chanel rang my doorbell two hours later, I was already on my third blunt, and a bitch was lifted lovely.

“Ho,” I snapped, swingin’ the door open, “I thought you said you was gonna be here in a half hour. You betta be glad I like ya yellow ass or you’d be standin’ outside.”

“Whatever, tramp.” She laughed, walkin’ in carryin’ a bangin’-ass, white pebbled leather Prada weekend bag. She was lookin’ all fly ’n whatnot in a slick-ass white linen jumper and a pair of strappy heels.

“I know you don’t think ya ugly ass is stayin’ the night. I ain’t runnin’ no damn ho house.”

“I can’t tell,” she said, closin’ the door behind her and followin’ me into the kitchen. “They have ya ass listed in the Yellow Pages under ‘Hoes for Rent.’” She dropped her bag by the door, then walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.

“Whatever, bitch,” I said, throwin’ my hand up in her face. I pressed the Bose remote and Me’Shell NdegéOcello’s “Dead Nigga Blvd., Pt. I” blared through the speakers.

“I’m hungry as hell. What you got to eat up in this piece?”

“Not a damn thing. You know ain’t shit domesticated ’bout me.”

She sucked her teeth. “And that’s why ya ass can’t get ya’self a man.”

“Whatever, ho,” I said, dismissin’ her with the flick of my hand. “I’m good. You worry ’bout keepin’ ya ass a man.”

“Speaking of which,” she said, closin’ the fridge door, then leanin’ on the aisle counter. I pulled out some menus from outta the counter drawer, then tossed them to her. I puffed the blunt, watchin’ her flip through each one. “Divine told me to tell ya ass ‘wassup.’ That nigga funny as hell. He started buggin’ when he saw me packin’ my overnight bag. He was like, ‘Where the fuck ya ass goin?’ Then as soon as I told him I was chillin’ with you tonight, he was like, ‘Oh, aiight.’” She started laughin’. “But let it be me tryna chill with T or Iris, and the nigga starts straight
blackin’ for real. That nigga’s crazy. He really can’t stand them two.”

We each pulled out a stool and sat at the counter.

“Humph, I wonder why,” I said sarcastically. “What you wanna eat?”

“Let’s do Chinese. I want the garlic shrimp with brown rice. And two spring rolls. You treatin’, right?” I rolled my eyes, pickin’ up the cordless to call our order in. “Thanks, babe,” she said, smilin’. “And why the fuck you hoggin’ that damn blunt, bitch. Puff, puff, pass…I’m tryna get my smoke on too, greedy heifer.”

“Kiss my ass, trick,” I said, takin’ another pull, then handin’ it to her, laughin’. I started rollin’ two more.

When Me’Shell’s “Priorities 1-6” came on, Chanel closed her eyes and started swayin’. “I love this chick. She’s the fuckin’ truth.” She took another toke from the blunt, then handed it to me. I took two pulls and swayed with her.

“Yeah, she ain’t to be fucked with,” I agreed. “These weak-ass chicks in the game don’t really want it with her.”

We sliced open six more cigars, removed the tobacco, then packed ’em with weed. I watched Chanel as she expertly slid her tongue across the cigar paper like she was lickin’ the edges of a dick to moisten it, before fillin’ it with trees. She rolled the last blunt between her thumbs and index fingas, then placed it on the table with the rest of ’em.

“On some real shit, I think she’s too deep for a lotta these bitches out here. Her musical style is so damn fly to me.”

I nodded, takin’ a pull from the blunt while Chanel lit another one. I closed my eyes when “Andromeda & the Milky Way” came on. We sat in silence, smoked, and grooved to Me’Shell. The funky soul beats were so fuckin’ tight that I wanted to light candles, lay my head back, and drift into a zone.

“Would you let her eat your pussy?” Chanel asked outta the blue, fuckin’ up the mood. I almost choked.

“What?” I asked, shocked.

She repeated the question. “Would you let her go down on you?”

“That’s it, bitch,” I said, reachin’ for the blunt, “no more smoke for ya ass. You talkin’ real sideways now.”

She started laughin’ ’n shit. “I’m just sayin’.”

I raised my eyebrow, placin’ my hand on my hip. “Bitch, is there somethin’ you tryna tell me?”

“No, I’m just sayin’. I mean, she really does her thing, musically. And some of her joints got a freaky-sexy groove that be makin’ me wanna get it in.”

“Well, ho, you make sure you ain’t tryna get it in here. I don’t wanna split ya shit up for tryna get at my pussy.”

“Bitch, please,” she said, laughin’. “I ain’t on it like that. I was just askin’. Besides, you ain’t my type.”

“Mmm-hmm. Yeah, aiight. Try that freaky shit if you want.”

“Whatever…aaah, shit,” she said, jumpin’ up when the song “I’m Diggin’ You” came on. “Bitch, you need to burn this shit for me. Who made this mix for you? The shit is tight.”

“I did,” I said, watchin’ her shake her big, round ass and swing her hips. On some real shit though, if I was into chicks, I’d probably strap on a dildo and rock her ass. But I wouldn’t tongue-fuck her. That was out. This ho done had too many dicks up in her. I frowned at the thought of havin’ my face between her legs. Ugh!

My phone rang. I picked it up off the counter and glanced at the number. It was my aunt Rosa again. I sat the phone back down. Two minutes later, my cell rang, then my home line again. I turned my cell off.

Chanel looked at me, then the phones. She took a pull from
the half-blunt, then exhaled the smoke up into the air. “Don’t you think you should at least check ya messages? It could be ’bout ya moms.”

I shrugged. “I ain’t beat.”

She opened her mouth to say somethin’, but I raised my brow and gave her a warnin’ look to keep her muthafuckin’ mouth shut. And she did.

Thirty minutes later we were sittin’ at the table eatin’ our food, drinkin’ and smokin’ mad trees. My phone kept ringin’ off the hook, and I kept iggin’ the shit.

Chanel set her fork down and eyed me. “Kat, you—”

“Don’t,” I warned, liftin’ my index finga to stop her.

She raised her hands up. “Okay, you got that.” She picked up her fork and started eatin’ again. In between her forkfuls of shrimp, she asked, changin’ the subject, “What’s good with you and that fine nigga Grant?”

I eyed this bitch, but kept it cute. “We been talkin’,” I offered, slowly slidin’ a forkful of vegetable lo mein into my mouth. I chewed, then swallowed. “We actually went out a few times.”

“When?” she asked, surprised. “And why am I just now hearin’ ’bout it?”

“A few weeks now,” I told her, tryna front like it was no biggie. “I didn’t say shit ’cause there ain’t shit to say. We kicked it a few times, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Please tell me you gave the nigga some pussy.”

“And why would I do that?”

She popped her eyes open, and bobbed her neck back ’n forth, makin’ suckin’ sounds with her lips. “Uh, duh, ’cause ya ass ain’t tasted dick since dick tasted you.”

I laughed. “You’re a fuckin’ nut.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, laughin’. “Somethin’ ya ass needs.” She looked at me, tiltin’ her head, then raisin’ her eyebrow. “So you went out a few times with dude, and you didn’t even grind up on the nigga.”

“Nope,” I lied. “Not yet.”

“So you don’t even know if the nigga’s packin’?”

I shook my head, shiftin’ my eyes ’round the room, then started rollin’ another blunt. On some real shit, I don’t know why I felt like I had to lie to her, but I didn’t feel like discussin’ his dick game with her, which is what the bitch would be askin’ next if I told her the truth. We always had a rule that if we were diggin’ a nigga we’d never ask the other ’bout his dick skills, but the way her hot ass was checkin’ for him at the club, I would have to watch her real close if I did decided to fuck with him. Girls or not, a bitch’s pussy tended to think for itself when it came to fuckin’ someone else’s man. Fuck what ya heard. A bitch in heat has no conscience. I sparked another blunt, took two pulls, then handed it to her.

“I ain’t on his dick like that,” I answered.

“Hmm…well, speakin’ of dick,” she said, takin’ a pull of the blunt. “Oh, fuck…”
Pssssph. Pssssph.
“This is some good shit.” She took another pull, then held it in her lungs before blowin’ it out.

“Bitch, will you shut ya fiend-ass up, and tell me what the fuck you was gettin’ ready to tell me.”

She took another toke from the blunt, then passed it back to me. “I fucked that fine nigga Coal.”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out! Bitch, you lyin’. When?”

She started gettin’ all amped ’n shit, tellin’ me how he called her a few days after she had slipped him her number at the 40/40 Club. She told him she wanted to fuck and he was down, but
couldn’t get at her until his chick went outta town on business or some shit. And as soon as she did, he’d be ready to dig her guts out. I tilted my head and stared at her ass in disbelief.

“What? Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Un-fuckin’-believable,” I said, stickin’ a forkful of sesame chicken in my mouth. “I can’t believe you fucked him.”

“When have you ever known me to lie on some dick?”

“Never,” I admitted, grinnin’. I twirled my fork. “Go on…when and where did this illicit affair take place?”

“Two nights ago,” she said, dippin’ her spring roll in a plate of duck sauce, then takin’ a bite. “The nigga hit me up and told me to meet him at the Brooklyn Marriott, and that’s all she wrote. The nigga had the room for two days, and we fucked day and night. Girl, that muhfucka got an extra-thick, black dick, and can go the distance. Oh, my God, Kat, that nigga can fuck. It ain’t all that long, but when I tell you he knows how to use that shit, oh, my God. Humph. I can see how a bitch falls in love with a nigga’s dick. He fucked me so good, I started to shake.”

I laughed at her silly ass as she rapidly shook in her seat like she was havin’ a seizure or some shit.

She stopped. “Kat, that muthafucka almost had a bitch in tears.”

I shook my head, chucklin’ at the thought of Chanel’s ass boohooin’ while gettin’ dicked down. Now I’ve had my share of some good dick, but not any good enough to make a bitch break down cryin’.

“And where was Divine while you were out gettin’ ya pussy stretched?”

“In Miami doin’ him. You know if his ass is around ain’t no way I’ma be able to ride another nigga’s dick. Hell, that nigga would be tryna get some pussy as soon as I stepped back up in the house.
And you know a bitch gotta give her pussy at least three days’ rest to snap back, feel me?”

I laughed. “You’se a damn fool.”

“Fuck that,” she said, handin’ me the blunt, “I might be a ho, but I ain’t a messy one. There’s three things I won’t do, and that’s let a nigga who ain’t my man go raw in me, let a nigga nut in my mouth, and fuck my man right after fuckin’ another nigga. That’s straight nasty and an absolute no-no, which is why I live by the three-day rule. So the only way I’m fuckin’ another muhfucka is when I know Divine’s ass is outta town and I got at least three days to regroup.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “And did the nigga hit you with some paper?”

“Nope,” she said. “That’s not what I wanted from his ass.”

I blinked, then blinked again. Now, I knew if the nigga was Cash’s nephew, then he was a get-money nigga. Ain’t no way Cash would have that nigga bummin’. Then again, if he fucked as good as she said he did, maybe his chick was lacin’ his ass. Nah, fuck that, that fine, black muhfucka had to be sittin’ on some ends. “Well, did you at least get a handbag or some heels outta his ass?”

“Nope,” she said, twistin’ her lips and frownin’ up her face. “That’s what I got Divine for.”

“So what happened to all that ‘I’ma be fuckin’ ya man and runnin’ his pockets before the end of summer’ shit?’”

“Oh, please,” she said, wavin’ me on with her hand, “he can keep whatever’s in his pockets. I ain’t beat.”

I stared at her ass. Now, either this bitch had changed her gold-diggin’ ways or that nigga Coal had literally fucked her brains inside out, ’cause the ho looked at me like I had snot and boogas hangin’ from outta my nose or some shit.

“Okay, so you’re sayin’ you wanted nothin’ from the nigga?”

“Not a damn thing. Just a ride on that sweet, black dick; that’s it.”

“Wait a minute, so you fucked this nigga, knowin’ he got a chick, just for the hell of it when you got a nigga who laces ya ass lovely?

“Yep,” she said, grinnin’. “And the nigga fucked me like the world was endin’.”

“Bitch, is you serious?”

“I sure am. Now, don’t get me wrong. Divine holds it down, and I dig him for it. But like I told you a while back, his dick game is real whack. Granted, the nigga can fuck nonstop if you let ’im. However, no matter how many times I try to teach him, he still insists on fuckin’ me like a damn bunny rabbit, and bustin’ off all quick. I’m sorry, but all that quick humpin’ and nuttin’ ain’t doin’ it for me. I don’t care how many times he can get it up. At the end of the day, I need a nigga who knows how to rock this pussy inside out.”

I rolled my eyes. I tell you, bitches ain’t ever fuckin’ satisfied. If they got a nigga who’s lacin’ they asses and treatin’ ’em right, it ain’t good enough. The bitch’ll still find somethin’ to complain ’bout. He can’t fuck, his dick ain’t big enough, he’s too fuckin’ borin’, he ain’t hood enough, he ain’t rough enough, blah, blah, blah. Give me a fuckin’ break!

“So you mean to tell me you’d risk losin’ a nigga who treats you right for some dick from a muhfucka who ain’t comin’ to the table with nothin’ but a hot nut and who ain’t ever gonna leave his chick for ya ass.”

She stared at me, then blinked. “Hell yeah,” she said, snatchin’ the blunt outta my hand, then puffin’. “I ain’t tryna marry the nigga. I fucked him for a tune-up. He stretched this pussy out, knocked the sides around, and now I’m good. If we hook up
again, cool. If not, no biggie. I wanted to fuck ’im and I did. But a muhfucka who got a wifey ain’t someone I’m tryna check for.”