Page 55 of Own It

I climbed from the truck after letting Mylo know that I’d hit his line when I needed a ride back to the crib, and he nodded to say that was cool.

“Enjoy the night,” the bouncer announced to me as I slipped past him, approaching the young lady behind the window inside in order to pay my thirty-dollar entry fee.

“What you need to come look at girls for? We should be paying to look at yo’ fine ass.” She flirted, sliding my cash toward herself and grinning.

“That would be weird as fuck, lil mama,” I replied, not the least bit interested in conversation.

I needed something to take my mind off my thoughts and the fact that I was sober. And the only thing I loved more than money and pills was women. Wasn’t trying to fuck anything; just look for now.

“True. You have a girlfriend?” she queried, but I took the ticket she’d glided over the wooden booth and swaggered off, pushing my swinging locs back as I ambled around the corner of the club.

“Bulletproof” by YG blasted from the speakers as three different girls twirled around the poles on separate stages.

I took a seat at one of the booths in the back, pulling out a wad of cash once I saw one of the hostesses coming over to collect the fee for the area.

“How you doing?” She half smiled, eyeing me after counting out the cash to be sure it was enough.

“Straight.” I scoped the scene.

“Can I get you anything?” She poked her hip out, tossing the long ass braids in her head.

“Some Hennessy and some chicken wings—wet lemon pepper.”

“Alright.” She turned around, feet hitting the ground extra hard to make her ass jiggle in the tiny ass shorts she wore.

I admired for a while, knowing I would leave it there despite the fact that I was picking up on the signals she was putting down.

Girls in bikinis or, shit, nothing but panties littered the place, meandering through and waiting to be pulled. Hundreds of niggas occupied the tables in the club, being loud, boisterous, and acting like pussy and women as a species was a new invention.

My eyes landed on a pretty, light-skinned chick, with her long brown hair pulled up in the front while the back hung down her shapely frame. She was fine as fuck but quiet, choosing not to flirt or entertain the niggas in the room in hopes of being chosen for a dance. She immediately had my attention.

I waited as she strutted by, pretty face balled up in irritation like she couldn’t be bothered.

“Excuse me,” I called out, allowing my fingers to graze hers as she bypassed my section.

Pausing, she looked to me with her brows raised, attitude on one hundred.

“Yes?”

“I know you don’t make no fucking money here.” I smiled, making her snatch her hand from my light grasp.

Folding her arms, she said, “Excuse me, nigga?”

“I said I know you don’t make no fucking money here. You walking around with the screw face and an attitude, lil mama. You supposed to look welcoming.”

Her frown immediately dissipated as she dropped her arms from being folded across her perky but nicely round titties. The sight made me lick my lips.

“I’m just . . . these niggas make it hard to be nice.”

“I feel you.” I surveyed momentarily, wondering why a woman this beautiful was even working at a strip club.

“Here are your wings and Hennessy.” The hostess damn near bumped the dancer to put my stuff down.

“’Preciate it,” I said, then turned my attention back on the pretty ass stripper. “Come sit with me.”

When the hostess noticed I wasn’t interested in anything further, she sucked her teeth and strutted off mumbling some bullshit. Old girl looked over her shoulder at her hating ass co-worker, making me steer her attention back to me, using her chin.

“Are you paying? I don’t mean to be rude, but this is a job. I have to make money,” she said.