Eric went to the safe, blocking my view with his body while he worked the combination, some things you just didn't need to see, even if you were family. When he turned back around, he was holding a black Nike duffel bag that looked heavy as hell.
"Two hundred and fifty bands," he said, setting it on the desk.
"Yatta said count it if you want, but trust the count is good,"
"Nah, I'm good." I picked up the bag, testing the weight. "If Yatta counted it, it's straight."
"You know where you going?" Eric asked, walking me back to the door.
"Yeah, he told me."
"Aight. Be safe out there Yah-yah and don’t hesitate to put a hole in a nigga if a mufucka come at you wrong."
I laughed. "I'm good, Eric."
I appreciated Eric looking out, but I’ve been moving in these streets long enough to know how to carry myself. And something told me Sosa wasn't the type to try no grimy shit anyway.
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling up to a Club. It was one of them spots that looked regular during the day but turned into a whole vibe at night. The parking lot was packed, music thumping so loud I could feel the bass in my chest before I even got out the car.
I grabbed the duffel bag, locked my doors, and headed toward the entrance. The bouncer at the door, a big dark-skinned nigga with a bald head and neck tats, put his hand up to stop me.
"Cover's twenty," he said.
"I'm here to see Sosa, from Yatta" I replied, adjusting the bag on my shoulder. "He's expecting me."
The bouncer's whole demeanor changed. He pulled out his phone, sent a quick text, then stepped aside. "Go on up. VIP section, second floor. Somebody'll meet you at the top of the stairs."
I nodded and walked past him into the club. The music was even louder inside. It was some Chief Keef shit that had the whole place turned up. Bodies everywhere, dancing, drinking, niggas trying to push up on every bitch that walked past. I kept my head up and my face neutral, moving through the crowd like I had somewhere to be.
The stairs to VIP were roped off, another bouncer standing guard. But when he saw me coming with the bag, he unhooked the rope without me having to say shit. Word traveled fast.
I climbed the stairs, my heels clicking against the metal steps, and that's when I saw him.
Sosa was posted up in a corner booth, surrounded by niggas I recognized from around the way. He had on all black everything, his dreads pulled back in a ponytail, that silver nose ring catching the strobe lights. When our eyes met, that same feeling I got from last week shot straight through me.
He said something to the niggas around him, and they all got up and dispersed, giving us space. Then he leaned back in the booth, arms spread across the back of the seat, legs open wide, looking like he owned the whole damn building, which he did.
. "Yatta really did send his baby sister to drop my bread off. It must be my lucky night." He joked and I rolled my eyes, while trying to keep my smile inside.
"Don't get too excited," I said, stopping in front of his table and dropping the bag on it with a heavy thud. "Two hundred and fifty bands. You wanna count it?"
"Nah." His eyes traveled up my body slowly, taking their time, before landing back on my face. "I trust Yatta wouldn’t fuck me over when it comes to my money, Plus, I'm too busy being distracted right now to count shit."
"Distracted by what?" I crossed my arms, already knowing where this was going.
"By you." He didn't even try to hide it, eyes roaming over me again like he was memorizing every curve. "Damn, you fine as hell.” "Thanks, I guess"
“Why I aint never seen you around the way, until now.”
“Ion know, maybe you just weren’t paying attention.” I shot back.
"Oh, I pay attention to everything." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Especially when it’s something worth looking at crosses my path. And ma, you definitely worth looking at."
Heat crept up my neck, but I kept my face neutral. "That's cute. You done?"
"Not really." That cocky smile spread across his face. "Sit down. Have a drink with me."
"I'm straight. I did what I came to do."