Page 68 of Just Listen
“So, what’s up, hoe?” Tootie questioned on the other end of the phone.
I smirked, while my phone sat on my lap, as I had her on speaker. “What’s up with what?”
“With you,” she clarified. “You know a bitch been on a mean birthday run, so I’m just sitting down to evaluate some shit. And I’m realizing that we haven’t seen your face since Saturday night.”
“Yeah…about that…you know that I ran into my baby’s daddy…and he’s in her life now.”
“Wait, what? Girl, if you don’t stop fucking playing. Just last Thursday your BD didn’t exist, and now you want me to believe that he’s in the picture?”
“I ran into him Friday,” I revealed.
“So, he’s the nigga that was holding you hostage on the phone all night?”
“Pretty much.”
“Biiitch. So, you back fucking him already?”
“Girl, hell no. Thus far, it’s been completely about Khari.”
She sucked her teeth. “I didn’t see Khari nowhere in the club, when you was on that phone all night. Better sell that dream to somebody else.”
“Girl, whatever,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, I know. So, what’s tea? I thought that you was leaving him where he was at, because of his gal or whatever?”
“As far as I know, they’re still together. We got a DNA test, and the results came back earlier today. He texted and said that he was going to tell her the truth.”
“Well, I’d love to be a fly on that wall.”
“Tell me about it—”
Ding-Dong
“The fuck?” I mumbled, as somebody unexpectedly rang my doorbell.
Lifting my phone, I scrolled through it and checked out my ring surveillance.
“Oh, he’s getting too comfortable already. Just popping up over here,” I fussed, while sliding off the couch.
“That nigga at the door?” Tootie nosily questioned.
“Girl, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, before glancing over at Khari who was quietly sitting in her swing, sucking on her pacifier.
“I’m surprised that you aint at ya mama and daddy’s,” Tootie commented, as I was jogging downstairs.
“Shit, me too,” I admitted, before opening my front door.
“What’s up?” Malice questioned, as he stepped inside, with noticeable fresh scratch marks peppering his face. Clad in a muscle shirt, basketball shorts, and Jordans, he was dressed down, but smelled delightful. “Who you on the phone with?” He peered down at my hand, while I held it near my mouth.
I frowned. “Excuse you?”
“You heard me,” he claimed, before boldly grabbing my phone. “Who is this?”
“Shit, nigga, who isyou?” Tootie feistily rebutted.
“Oh, this a broad,” he mentioned, before handing my phone back to me.
I arched a brow. “And if it wasn’t?”
