Taste Test (A Dave East Story)

Chapter 6

Dave

"Yeah man. Do I think he was wrong in the situation? Hell nah. She was putting her hands on him and by the looks of it, he wasn't even trying to fight. She was clearly the aggressor in the situation" Charlemagne says.

"I think he handled it well. It's not like he hit her or something. He looked like he was trying to leave and his baby mama wasn't trying to let that happen," Angela Yee adds.

I turn the radio off as I drive down Boulevard on the way to the gym. This is getting out of hand. I'm still getting messages, calls, and mentions out the ass about the security footage. People need to just let me live, damn. I guess shit like this comes with the territory.

I get to the gym and meet up with Duck and Shooter. Shooter has been my mans since way back. I met him when I was still doing the whole basketball thing in college. If loyalty can be defined as one person, it's him. In '17 my nigga started rappin' and shit and I'm glad he gets to make some money the right way. We used to slang and shit back in the day and we've been trying to get away from that lifestyle. That's my blooda forreal. I'd give my life for him and I know he would for me. Duck has been a friend of mine since diapers. His real name is Dawayne, but when we was kids we called him duck because he had big lips. He's one of the 3 cats that are on my security team when I need them.

"Wassup my boys?" I say to them as I come out of the locker room.

"Nigga you always late. That's that light skin shit," Shooter says.

"Nigga shut up," I say back.

"Man I haven't seen yo ass in a minute," Duck says. "I guess you been running around here without security huh?"

"Basically. You should've came with us last night. I told Drew to tell you about it," I say as I stretch.

"Yeah man he told me. I already had something planned with my lady," he says.

Duck lays on the bench press seat and Shooter spots him. I don't know what his little ass is doin'. He know he won't be able to pick up all of that weight that Duck loaded onto that mothafucka.

"Speaking of ladies, I saw you with shorty last night. She looked real familiar," Shooter says while looking my way.

"Yeah man, that was Kennedy. The one that cooked the food for moms party," I say.

Duck puts the bar on the rack and sits up, "Wait a minute now. You gotta new one already?"

"Yeah and she bad as hell too. She be cookin' and shit," Shooter laughs.

I get onto the leg press machine and shake my head, "Man it's not even like that. She's not my woman."

"Well shit, I can't tell. Duck you should've seen the way they were all over each other. I mean, sending notes on napkins and shit, grindin' on the dance floor. Shit they might as well been fuckin'," Shooter says.

Duck looks at me and I smirk. Shooter looks at Duck and nods his head. I look at them and smirk.

"This nigga done fucked the chef!" Shooter yells. Duck and I both laugh.

"Yeah man we know that look," Duck says, "You only been off off Mills for a few days and you already on to the next one."

I finish my sets and get up and grab some 50 pound dumbbells. "Well actually, I kinda fucked her after that dinner at moms crib," I admit.