Page 32 of Just Listen
Needing to escape the walls that were closing in on me, I twisted down to my garage. With the quickness, I opened the garage door, before hopping into my Maybach SUV.
Hastily, I backed out, not wanting Zae to have time to catch up with me, in case he’d heard the garage opening.
As I hit the corner, leaving my block, I opened the sunroof, wanting to soak up some of that warm Houston weather.
I was thinking of where I wanted to go, when I realized that I needed gas. So, I whipped into a Shell’s gas station, and pulled up to a pump.
Like second nature, I grabbed my lip gloss out of the cup holder and added a nice coating to my lips, while scoping out my surroundings. Eventually, my eyes settled on the truck parked in front of me, causing me to arch a brow.
“That definitely looks like his truck…but it can’t be. As big as this city is, there’s no way that I’d just run into him. Because that would mean that God is trying to tell me something…” I trailed off, as I noticed somebody stepping out of the store in my peripheral vision.
Focusing on the guy, my heart skipped a beat. “That’s fucking him—” I cut myself off, as I rolled my window down. “Mr. Malice.”
Clad in Dolce, that nigga was a walking dream. His long dreads were freshly twisted at the roots, while his line-up was crisp. His goatee was neat. His bright brown eyes held a certain glint, as the sun’s glare reflected off them. His long lashes were mesmerizing as they hooded his almond shaped eyes. There were two hefty chains around his neck, while that bowlegged stance was driving me over the fucking edge.
“Who dat?” He squinted, while craning his neck.
I rolled my window lower. “You still don’t recognize me?”
“Oh, shit,” he smiled. “Big Baby. The fuck is you doing in a Maybach?” He questioned, as he approached my truck.
I shrugged. “It’s just a vehicle.”
“Just a vehicle? Come on, baby. You know this some rich shit. You popping it like that?”
“If that’s what you wanna call it.”
He licked his thick lips. “Yeah, alright. Anyway, how you been?”
“I been good.”
His eyes swept over me. “And you look good too.”
“Thanks. And you do too,” I complimented.
“’Preciate it. But what’s up, though? That nigga finally gave your phone back?”
I smiled weakly. “About that—”
“You was mad at the nigga, and ran to get a lil’ outside dick?”
“No. That’s not it. I don’t cheat, for one. So, we were broken up and he was having a hard time accepting that.”
“Let me find out that you be playing with niggas’ feelings.”
“I try not to,” I offered.
“But you just can’t help it, huh?”
“I don’t know ‘bout all that. Did you block me?” I had to ask.
He frowned. “Nah. You tried calling me?”
“No. I texted.”
He stood and seemed to ponder on it. “You know what?” He snapped his fingers. “For a few days my memory was completely full on my phone and people kept calling, saying that I wasn’t responding to their texts. I paid for more storage, but then I didn’t think nothing of it, because they could still call when the texts wasn’t going through. So, why you didn’t call?”
“Because. I’m not much of a caller.”
