BFF

Studio session go in

Dave POV

I had been locked in the studio all day—laid down five solid tracks, no skips. I was in the zone.

Incoming Call: Baby

"Hello?"

"And where you at?" Tia's voice already had that edge.

"Studio."

"You gone be there all day?"

"Going to the barbershop after this."

"Oh, was I going to be informed?" she snapped.

"What you need, ma? 'Cause I'm not dealing with the hormones right now."

"What the fuck do that mean?"

"See—I'll talk to you later, Tia. Daddy working."

"Whatever. Bye."

Call ended.

I shook my head, finished recording the last song, then slid over to the barbershop with Chris and Bully.

"Wassup, East," echoed through the room as we walked in.

"What's up, man?" I nodded back, heading straight for my usual chair.

"Same as always," I told Ricky, my barber, as I sat down.

Across the room, some niggas were deep in convo.

"I know y'all heard what happened to Josh," one said.

"What happened?" I asked.

Reggie, one of the other barbers, chimed in, "Some nigga shot him over a gram of weed. A gram, bruh."

"A gram?" Bully echoed. "I'd give a nigga that on the house. That's wild."

Chris shook his head. "The fuck? Niggas killing over that now?"

"That's these young cats," I said. "Tryna act like they know the streets. But they don't. They don't know shit."

"Who was Josh even working for?" Bully asked.

Ricky responded, "Some new cat in town. Word is he used to live here and just moved back."

"You don't know him?" I asked.

"Not that I know of. Ain't seen the dude yet," Ricky replied.

That stuck in my head. I didn't like new players moving quietly, especially if they were careless enough to spark up body bags over a gram.

While I was sitting in the chair, my phone started buzzing—Tia.

Text Mode

Me: Chill, I told you I was getting my hair cut.
Tia: Why the fuck you always taking me as a joke?
Me: What you talking about?
Tia: It's cool. Ima show you.

Text Mode Over

Next thing I know, my phone blew up with notifications. I was tagged in a picture from the club a few nights ago—some chick all in my face. I was drunk, we weren't on nothing, but it looked bad. Real bad. Tia saw it, and now she wasn't texting anymore. That's how I knew she was pissed.

I sighed, pushed the phone back in my pocket, and tried to shake it off.

Across the shop, the conversation shifted again.

"Man, please. Rihanna look way better than Beyoncé," Reggie said.

The old head in the corner leaned in. "Shit, I'd give them both a run for their money. Literally."