Snatch (A Dave East Fic)

vodka

Down the long carpeted hall to the wide elevator and into the open lobby, Havana walked with her eyes on her phone screen. She didn't need to look up to notice the niggas standing and talking amongst one another. One said something and another took a step back like he couldn't be still. She pocketed her phone and joined the semi-circle with the attention shifting onto her again.

This time, some of the men had on jewelry. Some of it she could tell was real. To take or not to take she debated in her mind. She knew they had to have something in their wallets. Whether she'd finesse them or not hinged on whether she'd see these guys again and she wouldn't catch her flight until the next day. She'd have to watch her back until then. Was it worth it? Nah.

"Sup," one guy said, watching her. She nodded. Her eyes flashed to the giant she'd seen in the 7-11. So he was the one Hamilton was referring to. Hm. She looked back to the guy who greeted her.

"Hey."

"Aye so we ready. Damon and Chris riding with Dave and Tim and Doc riding with me," Hamilton spoke up. When the group split, Havana was a little disappointed. She felt swindled. That tall nigga with the cornrows was the cutest in the bunch yet she was riding with a lanky black ostrich with a fro. At least the ride is free she had to remind herself. She'd take it.

When they got to the car, she immediately climbed into the passenger seat leaving the two tag-along men to stare at each other and scratch their nuts in confusion. She didn't say a word, she only smirked.. inwardly of course.

"One of y'all was gonna be in the back anyway," Hamilton reasoned with his hands on the roof of the car, "Just sit in the back."

Yeah sit in the back, she wanted to laugh.

---

Big bank take lil' bank, bank
Big bank take lil' bank, bank
Type of money you gon' need a safe
Type of money you gon' need a bank
From the hood, this type of money make you stay awake
Type of money, she gon' let you put it in her face
Big bank take lil' bank, bank (yeahhhhh)
Big bank take lil' bank, bank

Havana danced in her heels as comfortable as she would have been if they were Jordans. She rapped the lyrics bar for bar.

Speaking of bar, she was tipsy as hell.

"What'll it be," the bartender asked looking at her shot glass. He already knew the answer. She didn't know why he thought he still had to ask.

"Vokka," she blurted, her southern roots coming out. Her glass was filled.

She refused to pay for her own drinks. She'd blinked at a nigga across the bar and he'd surrendered his coins thinking he had a chance. Now he was all up on her and in her face. Hamilton was lost in the crowd somewhere. She ain't care where, but he kept popping up to check on her like they were actually together. She went with it, using him as a distraction to keep the irritating nigga at bay. She wanted the coin, not all the extra that came with it.

"More vokka," she pointed to her empty shot glass with a long green nail, gold rings stacked on her fingers. The nigga was still stuck, staring at her titties.

"Damn. You can drink huh?" The irritating nigga's eyebrows went high like his hairline. That shit was missing from his head. "You drink a lot? Your tolerance must be high as hell."

"Mm," she mumbled pointing to her glass. Shut up is what she wanted to say.

"How many drinks before you think you and I can go somewhere?" He leaned in close.

"Four," Havana said only planning to drink the one in her hand. She was approaching her limit. Luckily, she heard the beat creep in to one of her songs. Slamming her drink back, she skitted into the crowd, pushing her way forward to get hype.

Ayy! This shit
This shit, this shit
My life, my life
Nigga this shit brazy
Nigga this shit brazy
This shit, this shit
This shit brazy
This shit, this shit
This shit brazy
Nigga this shit brazy, oh Lord!
Nigga this shit brazy

---

Drinks still everywhere, they'd brought out the coke and men and half naked to fully nude women got lit while Havana danced. The way she moved was natural and when she wasn't sober, her body was even more loose. Multiple people tried to dance with her, but nobody mattered in the moment, it was just her and the music.

A short distance away, Hamilton and the other dudes passed a blunt. Her eyes fell on that tall drink of water she kept seeing. He was popping pills. She'd counted two passing his lips. As for her, she was fucked up enough. If she weren't alone she'd get buckwild and dance on a table top, but she had to stay on alert.

She made her way to the weed section, Hamilton choking on his smoke before a nigga hit his shoulder and he looked up. "Sup, uh.. whatcha name again? Beautiful?"

"Yup, that's my name," Havana lied.

"Come sit with me," he nodded with no one moving. She wasn't about to drop all that wagon she was draggin in his lap. Nah baby, that cost. She roamed to the left sitting on the arm of the sofa directly next to the percocet king, the tall braided nigga.

"Um hello?" His brows knit together and he looked up with a raspy voice. "You jus gone step over me like that?"

"Wasn't nowhere to sit," she shrugged.

"And why you bougie? You saying hi to the bros but you won't fuck with a nigga?" He shrugged rubbing his arms, on a roll. "I'm ass naked, ain't got my hoodie and you here making shit cold."

Damn he talked a lot. Maybe it was because he was high.

"Hey. Whatever ya name," she greeted as she stared. He took a smooth hit of the blunt and it was so sexy to her she couldn't help but stare at his pink lips. He ate that smoke like a pro.. and he passed her the blunt as he exhaled.

"You don't know my name?" He looked shocked. She could see he really thought he was THAT nigga. "I'm Dave East. Surprised you ain't heard of me. Where you from?"

"Mizizipi," she blurted wondering why she should know who he is.

"Damn you country as hell." He sat back as she passed the blunt back blowing her smoke in the air.

"You wanna ride back you better get that thick ass back over here," Hamilton laughed but she could feel that he was serious just like everyone else nearby could feel it. She ain't like that.

"You're gonna give me a ride back no matter where I choose to sit because you're the one who invited me out and then wouldn't move when I needed a seat," she asserted.

"Damn," Dave uttered.

"I got your seat," Hamilton smirked throwing his head back, emboldened by the weed.

"Fuck it. I'll drive you back. I like a little spice," Dave smiled cockily, a laugh coming through. The glitter from his watch caught her eye. Ching ching. He might actually be somebody afterall.

Havana wanted to be repulsed but she was looking dead at him. His white teeth, clear skin, dark beard. He knew he was attractive. He knew that's exactly what she wanted. She left the conversation right there.

And she didn't move.