Free Boyfriend Season by Kelli London Page A

no—”
    â€œNo! He didn’t ask for anything. He just kind of mentioned he was short on the money he needed because today’s Sunday and the bank’s closed.”
    Silky’s eyebrows shot toward the heavens.
    Like a vampire, Pretty Boy and two of his friends appeared out of nowhere. “Come on, lil momma,” he said, taking his cup from her and lacing his fingers through hers again. He looked at her softly from the corner of his eye, then shook his head in what she assumed to be disbelief.
    In seconds, they’d walked into one department store, and made an immediate right into Louis Vuitton, which was housed in a room all its own. And Patience was in heaven. She loved bags. All bags. Ones with names and others without.
    â€œThat’s hot right there,” Pretty Boy said, pointing to one of the newest ones.
    Patience nodded. “It is, but that one—” She pointed to a different one. “I don’t know, it may be nicer. If I was your mother, I’d want that one because it’s more subtle.”
    Pretty Boy looked at her and smiled. “Subtle? I like that.” He turned his attention to an employee, pointed at the bag he’d picked out, then the one Patience had chosen. “We’ll take both, and we’ll need shoes and sunglasses to match.”
    â€œOkay. And what size would you like?”
    Pretty Boy looked at Patience. “Tell him your size, lil momma.”
    Patience pointed at her chest. “My size?”
    â€œExcuse me?” a little girl no more than ten walked up to them, tapping Pretty Boy on his arm.
    They both turned and looked at her.
    â€œI’m sorry to bother you, but can I please have your autograph and a picture?”
    Patience looked at the little girl, then at Pretty Boy.
    â€œMe too, if you don’t mind, sir,” the salesman asked.
    Patience froze. “I’m sorry.... What’s your name?” she finally asked him.
    â€œOMG,” the little girl said. “What tree have you been living in?”
    The salesman tilted his head. “Honey, he’s only the biggest rapper on the planet, and he’s buying you shoes and bags and sunglasses. Are you kidding me?”
    Pretty Boy just nodded.

7
    DYNASTY
    D ynasty sat under the sorry excuse for a tree, cradling her prized dictionary in her lap, studying her words of the week. “Foment . . .” The sun crept into her eyes, making her shift her position on the flimsy piece of cardboard that separated her from the ground. The red clay was too dry to properly nourish the tree, and the sparse leaves had all but disappeared, allowing light to glare on the pages. But it would have to do; Aunt Maybelline was having a grown-up party, complete with Al Green albums blasting from the old-school record player, cigarette smoke, and loud liquored-up adults who turned up their volume more and more with each drink, so there was nowhere for her to study in her tenement. But she had to get her words in for the week. She had a date—yes, a date—but she couldn’t let that deter her from her mission: to get out of the PJs and into an Ivy League college.
    â€œ Foment . Foh-mehnt. Verb. To incite or arouse . . . like agitate. Used in a sentence: The students tried to foment a food fight in the cafeteria with the class president because he was perfidious , and had sided against the school offering soda. Perfidious . Puhr- fih -dee-uhs. Adjective. Willing to betray one’s trust . . . like disloyal.” She closed the dictionary.
    Leaning to one side, she looked over at her nonexistent butt, making sure she hadn’t gotten her one pair of good pants dirty. She’d taken the ten dollars City had given her to the local under-twenty dollars store and bought them after he’d made sure someone had bought Aunt Maybelline’s beer and cigarettes. A car engine roared, pulling her attention. City was due to pick her up at any moment, and she