Big Booty

19

  "Cass, we need to talk."

I frown, glancin' at the clock. It's midnight. This niggah has gotta be kidding me! "Isaiah, are you fuckin' crazy? Do you see what time it is? If you wanna talk to me you shoulda called me earlier, at a decent damn time."

"I told lil' Isaiah earlier to tell you to call me."

"Well, he did. And I didn't feel like talkin'."

He sighs. "I wanna know what happened between you and LaQuandra down at the school today?"

"Niggah, ask ya wife what happened. I'm sure she gave you an earful. She's the bitch who came outta her face all sideways at me."

He lets out another breath. "This shit's gotta stop between the two of you. Every goddamn time I turn around it's somethin'. I'm sick of being in the middle of y'alls bullshit."

I sit up in bed. "What? Niggah, what you mean 'y'all's bullshit'? If you was so damn concerned about not being caught up in the middle of shit, then you shoulda kept ya damn dick in ya pants. But you didn't. So don't blame me because you can't control that dog-faced bitch of yours. I don't fuck with the bitch. That ho came at me, talkin' about DYFS should be called on me. The bitch tried to say that shit Isaiah did down at the school was some shit he learned here when come to find out he found a box of porno in the back of one of the closets over there. That's where the fuck he learned to tell some bitch to suck his dick. Not from over here, like that bitch tried to insinuate. So you make sure she knows that. Then the punk-ass bitch gets a restrainin' order on me, like I'm some damn threat. That hateful bitch was the one who threatened to kill me.

"

"Calm down, Cass, damn."

"Calm down hell, niggah. That bitch crossed the line. But it's all good. You tell that—"

I hear LaQuandra's voice in the background. "Isaiah, who are you on the phone with?"

"Cassandra," he tells her. I grin, knowin' that's gonna set her off.

Jealous bitch!

"At this time of night? What the hell you gotta say to that crazy bitch at this hour of the night that can't wait until tomorrow?"

He musta covered the phone or placed me on mute 'cause now I can't hear shit. I should fuck him for the hell of it, then call her ass to rub it in her face. Fuck with me, bitch!

I met Isaiah—Baby Daddy Number Seven—when I was twenty-five. On one of the hottest days in August. And, of course a bitch like me didn't make matters any better. I had on a pair of white booty shorts, a white gauzy-like blouse over a sexy white sequined bra and a pair of seven-inch red fuck me heels, cranking up the heat hotter than it already was. I had Joshua, who was ten months old, propped up on my hip, strutting across the campus to get over to the Student Center. I had gotten my GED a few months prior and was feelin' really good about myself. With seven kids, I was takin' two college courses, and you couldn't tell me shit. I was gonna be a nurse one day. Or work with kids, maybe.

But shit happens, and dreams get pushed aside. And then you find ya'self layed up with another niggah, knocked up again. Isaiah was that niggah. Anyway, he and some other niggahs were sittin' out on benches when I walked by. Of course, they started catcallin' and whistling. Yes, I knew what I was doing when I wore the skimpy outfit. Shit, I loved the attention. Still, I paid 'em no mind. Well, that is until this caramel-skinned niggah walked up beside me wearing a cut-off shirt and basketball shorts with a basketball up under his arm. I quickly sized him up. He was tall just how I liked 'em, had three tats, and was a real smooth talker.