Free Baby Momma 2 by Ni’chelle Genovese Page B

the inside of the guys’ arms, so I placed my hand on the inside of his.
    â€œHow are you doin’, honey?”
    I almost tripped over my own damn feet and fell on my face. Out of all the pet name, he couldn’t have called me sweetie or baby? I smiled at him weakly, trying to push all thoughts of Rasheed and Michelle’s drama out of my head.
    â€œI’m good. Thanks.”
    We walked into the darkened theatre and up to the top. He’d gotten us these special box seats; I guessed they were more expensive, I didn’t know. If I was gonna watch a play or anything I’d rather be in the front row than in a seat far up and off to the side, but hey—these rich folk be having they own warped opinions on luxury. I think they just like sitting over top of muthafuckas personally.
    I was half asleep halfway through the play when Darnell leaned over, his breath smelling like he’d gone in on a plate of chitlins with extra shit, all up against the side of my face. I did my best not to turn away completely.
    â€œBaby, you play wit’ it an’ I’ll give you another three grand.”
    Cringing, I tried to hear the words over the stank comin’ out of his mouth. Play with what? was the first thought that echoed in my brain, but I already knew what the hell he meant. Lania said the girls who sucked, fucked, and did extras made the extra money, but my ass had never even seen a real dick let alone touched one. I shook my head no and watched the stage, silently kissing the thought of $6,000 good-bye.
    Once again, “Yuck-Mouf” was assaultin’ the side of my face, whispering loud as hell, about to melt the fake eyelashes off of my damn eyelids.
    â€œC’mon, can’t nobody see up here; it’s dark.”
    I heard the zipper of his pants slide down. “Gimme yo’ hand, baby. It’s three thousand more. Easy money. Make Daddy D happy, baby.”
    Maybe it’s because my ass was high and I just wanted this muthafucka to stop whisperin’ air shit all upside my damn head. I closed my eyes and let him take my hand. I was trying to tell myself it was just like one of our straps at home. But nah, our straps ain’t got super nappy taco meat hair all around ’em and fat rolls. It was like trying to grab a hold of a short-ass soggy eggroll. Darnell kept his hand over mind, directin’ it up and down until his li’l eggroll firmed up. I tried to watch the actors and shit on stage and think about what I’d cook for dinner tomorrow—anything but what the fuck was going on with my other hand.
    I almost gagged when I felt his mouth brush the side of my neck. He was breathin’ vapors of shit fumes right into my damn hair. He started to move my hand faster. I felt like either we was gonna start a forest fire or Indian burn the skin off his dick, and then his body jerked like he was having muscle spasms and charley horses at the same time. Snatching my hand back from beneath his I cringed, trying to find some place to wipe away the slimy, hot mass of yuck that was now sliding down my fingers toward my wrist.
    â€œHoney, you are amazing. Hold on a sec, baby. I got a handkerchief for you.” He handed me the small piece of white cloth and I wiped my hand, still feeling like I needed to scour that muthafucka in bleach.
    When the play ended Darnell walked me to my car and climbed into the back with me to pay me out for the night. He started to hand me six thousand but when I reached for it he pulled it back.
    â€œTen if we fuck.”
    What the hell? If this old raggedy stank-breath nigga ain’t give me my damn money . . . His ass was looking like he just knew I was about to say yes, too. “Sorry, Darnell, I don’t have sex.”
    His droopy face scrunched up in anger. “Stuck-up bitch. You gon’ regret that shit.”
    Money flew all around the back seat. He’d thrown all $6,000 at my face and slammed out of the car.