Page 102 of Kissed By the Trillest Thug 2

“AND WE FUCKING HAVEN’T?” I was yelling.

He stood up and took a couple steps toward me. I was so damn mad that my heart was beating out of my chest as it rose up and down in anger.

“Ghost, I’m not choosing them over you. I’m choosing myself.”

“Na,” I shook my head, “You’re choosing a bitch.”

“Watch your mouth.”

I could see the anger all over him. This was the same kind of argument that started that fight in the alleyway. He looked like he wanted to hit me, and I was hoping that he would because with the amount of anger that I was feeling right now, I would have beat the shit out of him.

I looked him up and down before laughing. This nigga was pussy whipped, and I don’t even know if he even got the chance to smell it yet. I walked over to the front door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

“Get the fuck out.”

At first, he didn’t move.

“I said get the fuck out.”

I pointed outside.

“Go be with them. Go eat Sunday dinner with them. Go to their little family functions. And go be the extra son that nigga always wanted.”

When he walked past me, a smirk pulled at his lip.

“You need to heal that heart of yours,” he said as he made his exit.

When he stepped outside, I slammed the door so hard the pictures on my wall rattled. My chest heaved as I stood there staring at the door. Then I grabbed my phone. When I openedInstagram, the first thing that popped up was a picture from the gender reveal. It was Trigga and Maliah’s whole family standing there smiling like life was perfect. I clenched my jaw until it hurt.

“Man…” I threw my phone across the apartment. “Fuck all of ‘em.”

TRIGGA

By the time I pulled into my apartment complex, all I wanted to do was take a shower and clear my head. The conversation with Ghost had been playing on a loop ever since he slammed the door in my face. I let out a tired breath as I unlocked my front door. The second I stepped inside, I stopped. The apartment smelled like baked chicken.

“What the…”

I kicked the door shut behind me and followed the smell into the kitchen. Maliah stood at the stove with one of my oversized T-shirts on over a pair of biker shorts. Her curls were piled on top of her head while she stirred a pot of mashed potatoes.

On the counter sat a pan of baked chicken and a bowl of broccoli. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“There you are.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You put your key to use.”

She laughed softly.

“I did.”

I walked over and kissed her forehead before looking around the kitchen.

“When did you get here?” I asked.

“A little while ago.”

She put on oven mitts, reached into the oven, and pulled out a pan of corn bread.