Wild Cherry Read Free Page A

It wasn’t tight, but it hugged my hips in a way that made me feel pretty. I loved that skirt because it showcased my figure without making me look like a slut. But when you have a thirty-one-inch waist and a thirty-nine-inch ass, lust will stir in the purest hearts. When I walked, I had a bad bitch’s stride and the curves to match, which over the years I had learned to wear like a badge of honor. Niggaz went crazy over this, and for as silly as it may sound, it made me feel more like a woman.
    I walked across the few avenues to Lenox, got a five-dollar pack of Newports, and slipped inside Starbucks. As usual, it was popping with people. I can’t think of one time since they’ve been here that I’d seen the place empty. They had successfully made coffee a good business. It wasn’t necessarily that they had the best product, but their presentation sold them. It was a relaxed little spot I could see myself sitting up in, poring over a good book, sipping something with way more sugar than I needed to have, but I wasn’t there to daydream: I had to handle business.
    Most of the people were young, hipsters, with laptops and paperback books, sipping drinks and making small talk amongst themselves. At the counter, I peeped a nice-looking chick drinking a latte and thumbing through a magazine. The red dress she wore hugged her so snug that I wondered if she’d bust the seams if she made a sudden movement.
    The man I had come to meet with was sitting at one of the far booths, eyeing me over the newspaper he was pretending to read. I ordered an espresso from the pimple-faced young kid and made my way over to the table.
    In true gentleman style, he stood as I approached. His hands slid down my sides and rested on my hips as he pulled me into a lover’s embrace. I didn’t pull away when he kissed me. The coarseness of his lips in contrast to the softness of mine brought back memories of eating dry toast in the mornings before school. It turned my stomach to kiss this man, but it was a delicate situation, and appearances were important. It wasn’t until he tried to put his tongue in my mouth that I roughly slammed my hip into his groin, giving him the signal to back off. Smirking, he slid back into the booth and I slid in next to him.
    â€œDamn, I missed you, ma,” he said, draping his arm around me. He could’ve used another swab of deodorant, but I wasn’t there to enlighten him on hygiene. “So what you been up to?”
    â€œNothing special, just trying to make it happen, ya know?” When I felt his hand under the table making its way up my leg, I reflexively shuddered. He lingered around my knee before continuing up to my thigh. For appearances, I traced the line of his jaw with my finger while gazing into his eyes like I was really interested in what he was saying. The duct tape stung when he pulled it off, but I’d take a few yanked-out hairs to pass that problem to someone else. I promised myself this would be the last time I let Slim talk me into toting his drugs.
    I looked up when I heard the door open. A wiry young man slithered into the coffee shop wearing an Atlanta Braves cap pulled tightly on his head. His bloodshot eyes swept the joint, lingering a half second too long on me and my date. A frog jumped in my throat when he reached into his pocket, but to my surprise and embarrassment he pulled out his wallet and walked to the counter.
    My date didn’t seem to notice him, too preoccupied with his cell phone. I could tell he was ready to skate, and I can’t say that I blame him, since he now had the ten years I’d been carrying. Truth be told, I wanted him and that package the fuck away from me as soon as humanly possible, but the business wasn’t done.
    The chick in the red dress had just noticed the kid in the Braves cap and had a chickenhead moment, squealing like a schoolgirl and draping her arms around him and putting her nasty painted