Donte's POV
I stared at my cell phone, contemplating this shit in my head. If I called Shorty, would she hang up? Would she carry on a conversation with me? Lord knows, I deserve that much; all the mess I've been through lately.
And Shorty was only making it harder. I was on the run, having lost all my street cred and dignity, and I didn't have my baby with me.
And I had already given up on finding Marcus. He wasn't even my child. Fuck that.
I tapped her number and waited for the ring.
"Hey, I can't take your call right now so please leave a message at the sound of the tone and I'll get back to you at my earliest convenience. Thanks." Her voicemail sounded like the flowing of honey. I don't know. It pissed me off to not have her wrapped in my embrace, covered in my kisses.
I was acting too much like my momma when she was a stripper: always too attached. I couldn't get attached to these hoes. I shook my head and didn't leave a voicemail.
"Yo, Imma head out." Rich popped his head into the hallway.
"Nigga, what?" I said, obviously confused. "Yeah, I met a bitch downstairs in the lobby. Imma head over to her house."
"Are you stupid or somethin'?"
I brushed past him into the hotel room and stood next to the desk, glaring. The longer I was with these fools, the more idiotic I would become.
"Nah, I'm serious. I'm cooped up in this hellhole with y'all like I like y'all or somethin'. So Imma go over to her house and chill for a moment."
"She work at the desk?" Boss asked.
"Yeah, man. She freaky." Rich smirked and crossed his arms.
"Fine. Don't do no dumb-ass shit. We already stuck."
"Coo'." And he disappeared out the door.
YOU ARE READING
Diva (Urban)
Teen Fiction"...Baby, you live up to yo name like no other." ~Donte, drug dealer, Diva's boo Diva Anderson (also know as Shorty) has a hustler boyfriend. When a better opportunity comes knocking, she's torn between money or true love. THIS IS NOT A CORNY NO...
