Page 1 of Just Listen
~~~Chapter 1~~~
Malice
“Stickin’ to the code, all these hoes for the streets. I put it in her nose, it’s gon’ make her pussy leak. Pussy niggas told, ain’t gon’ wake up out they sleep. You can’t hear that switch, but you can hear them niggas scream…”
Bobbing my head to Future, I couldn’t deny that the deejay was on point, if nothing else.
Posted up in a section with my niggas, I’d pulled up to the club, after my boy PJ kept persisting. Everybody knew that the club wasn’t typically my thing, and at the first sight of bullshit on the horizon, I was out.
After taking so many chances in these streets, and managing to duck the laws for years, I refused to let some stunting and capping for strangers be my demise. So, the club wasn’t big in my life, and as I glanced around, I was reminded why.
I loved the niggas I’d grown up with. We’d all gotten it out the mud, and were doing our thing around the H. I’m talking luxury cars, jewelry, designer clothes, to impress the hoes. But that shit was superficial, and I was getting to the point of questioning what was I now doing it for. Meanwhile, my niggas were recklessly blowing a bag in this club, while some of ‘em would be complaining tomorrow, if their BMs asked for a few dollars. Backwards shit.
“Say, nigga, you aint drinking?” PJ leaned over and questioned, while sitting next to me.
He was my nigga, even if he got no bigger. We’d been tight since elementary, and at twenty-five, we knew each other like the back of our hands.
“Nah, I’m straight.” I shook my head.
I definitely wasn’t a prude, and could get fucked up with the best of ‘em, but I was cool on getting too lit in a public setting. Slippers get got, and that wasn’t gonna ever be me.
“I hear you, nigga. Me, myself I’m finna get fucked up. Especially cause I rode with Dro,” he referenced our other partner, who was reclined back on the other end of the couch, bobbing his head to the music. “And I might grab one of them bad muthafuckas in the section next to us.”
Naturally, my eyes traveled to the next section. Before that, I was aware that there were broads next to us, but I didn’t reallyseethem. And I had to admit that they were a group of baddies. All six of ‘em. It was just that I hadn’t really come through to fuck with some hoes, so I hadn’t been paying attention, for real.
“Yeah, they’re straight. And got more bottles than you niggas,” I smirked, as I watched the broads in the next section toss up premium liquor. They were filming themselves, as they was either rapping along to the music, or twerking.
“Yeah, they definitely over there flexing.”
“Hell, yeah,” I mumbled, as one broad in particular was full out throwing that ass.
Baby was dressed provocatively, clad in a cropped denim jacket, cropped Gucci tee, denim distressed booty shorts, and Gucci printed thigh-high boots. Her long hair was swingingacross her back, as she was holding onto a railing that separated V.I.P. from the rest of the club. Her moves was raunchy, yet seductive, at the same damn time.
Curiously, I couldn’t stop watching. The way baby was working those hips had me wondering if she stripped by profession. I was mostly getting a side view or her backside, and couldn’t miss that build for nothing.
I remember this old skool cat had once told me that some women were so pressure that they could redefine whatever it was youthoughtwas your type, and I think that I was now understanding what he really meant. Baby was a thickem. I’m talking perhaps what may be considered plus sized, technically. Meanwhile, I had always thought that slim-thick was my jam. A petite something with curves on her. And there was absolutely nothing petite about this broad.
Ole girl had wide, childbearing hips. Smooth, massive thighs. Meaty, sturdy legs. No cellulite in sight. A perfectly round, robust ass. Attached to the tiniest waist. Maybe she’d had some work done. I don’t know. Because those type of proportions weren’t common for girls her size.
Her body oozed of sex appeal, and she had the nerve to have quite a noticeable bowlegged stance.
“Nah,” I grumbled, as I shook my head. “Anybody with a body like that is usually a butter head—” Everything looks goodbuther face. That’s what I was telling myself. And then she turned in my direction. “Damn.” Was all I could say.
Big Baby was everything I didn’t expect. I’d figured that either she’d be the typical outside bitch with the caked-on makeup and lace wig or a muthafucka with a below average facethat niggas looked past, due to the shape. Surprisingly, she was none of the above.
Her honey brown skin seemed to have a glow, even in the dim club. She had the prettiest slanted eyes. A cute button nose. High cheekbones. Full, pouty lips. Ocean deep dimples. With long, thick, shiny, curly hair that I couldn’t determine if it was all hers or not.
Big Baby was fucking gorgeous. And I’m not talking on a simple level. I’m talking about the type of gorgeous that the rappers, and ball playing niggas chased. The type of gorgeous that could gaze in your eyes, while digging in your pockets, and you’d gladly let her take everything she finds.
There was no way that a girl with that type of body, along with that mug, wasn’t some nigga’sbiggestproblem.
Then she had the nerve to cockily stand there, with her hands on her hips, and gaze directly at me.
“You’ll be sayin’ no, no, no, no, no. When it’s really yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…”
That old, slower version of Destiny’s Child song was floating from the speakers.
Big Baby sang along, while our eyes locked.
