Wait for U (Crenshaw Kings, #2)

by Shvonne Latrice

“Don’t leave me, Couture. All this money I’m making, all these hit songs I’m dropping, all these blessings God have brought to a nigga don’t mean shit without you. Don’t leave me. I need you. I love the fuck out of you, but I need you.”

“You remember this next time you want something from the new Chanel line,” I told her as I allowed Kéa to pull me. “I got a rich husband. Don’t you forget.” She winked, tilting her champagne glass to her lips for a sip. “You damn fucking right, love.” Prime appeared, passing Kéa and I onto the balcony. “Yeah, he old though. He don’t got the same connects as me,” I jested, making Kéa and my moms laugh a little. “Nah, yo’ mama know how young a nigga is.” Prime pulled my mother in front of him to hug her from behind, before kissing her on the neck. “I show her on the daily just how young shit is ’round here.”

Prior to even fucking another man, aka Leland, I knew Khari would be the best I ever had. God, I missed that old trifling, fine nigga. The worst niggas had the best dick—always.

The Compton boys had become pretty well known, simply because more than a few of them were famous. With Cemone in the NBA, Shakur in the NFL, Khari rapping, and even young ass Unique booking roles in some top television shows, everybody knew them, and every woman wanted a piece of at least one of them. Bashar was the only one who truly lacked any fame, as well as Asif, because even Lequay had made a name for himself with his shoe line. The latter was the most low key, making the women flock to him just to see what he was about.

A fine nigga, I could resist. But a fine nigga that I already had feelings for and knew what the dick was like? A little bit harder for me.

Although I knew she was in pain like a muthafucka, a part of me believed the real pain she felt was the fact that she may have possibly lost her entrapment of a nigga.

The shit killed me how she was always so astonished when I reminded her ass that this relationship shit was for the media. In her dizzy ass mind, she truly thought that things would take a turn if we spent enough time together. But like I’d told her and the many bitches before her, if it wasn’t Couture, it wasn’t gon’ happen. I meant that shit. I may have been a young nigga when I got with Couture, but I knew then, like I know now, that she was it for me. I’d learned from Prime that the woman for you would have you doing shit you wouldn’t do for any other female. The woman you loved had you giving a fuck about her wellbeing more than yours. She’d have you willing to give up shit you never thought you’d be able to live without, but she also wouldn’t allow you to. The only person I could say I felt that way about was my princess… my baby… Couture.

“Just please let’s try, Khari. You tried with your baby mama, but I can’t get the same?” “If I wasn’t worried about niggas knowing I left you in this room after a traumatic event, which would then affect my career, I’d leave yo’ stupid ass right here in this room. But because of that, I’m gon’ go to the vending machines and get you some bottled water instead of that pitcher shit. Maybe that’ll calm yo’ parched ass down.”

“When the fuck was you gon’ tell me, yo’ fucking husband, that you planning to marry another nigga? Do he know?”

I couldn’t go back to that same young girl who was miserably in love with a man who could never fulfill me emotionally.

“Nah.” Khari shook his head definitively. “Nah, I’m not agreeing to that shit. I told you then if we got married, it was on some for-life shit. Where I come from, ain’t no divorcing.” “Your parents are divorced,” I reminded him. “Nah. They’re not.” He eyed me seriously, letting me know Prime was his father as he’d told me many times before.

“You have Kéa,” I rebutted faster than I could think because the closer he got to me, the more potent his cologne became, and the more nervous I got. “I don’t want that bitch.” He glowered, sizing me up a bit as if I’d offended him. “I’m gon’ forever be lonely when I ain’t got you. But if you tell a nigga you want back in on this shit with me and you, ain’t gon’ be no fucking club appearances or anything else outside of recording, touring, and videos. I promise you. Shit, I proved it to you long ago, but you still left me.”

Khari’s persistence had always been my kryptonite.

“Can’t nobody force me to do a got damn thing, Couture! Fuck you think this is!” I was irate by this point. “You gave me an out! You said it yo’ fucking self! If I ain’t want you, I would’ve left yo’ ass alone when you dipped on me! I would’ve signed them fuck ass papers I just got! I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need you to tell me what the fuck I want or what the fuck I need!” Calming myself some, I took her hands in mine. “And I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry that the shit I was doing did this shit to you. If I could go back in time and change shit, I would. “I would die for you, you know that? I love myself like a muthafucka, but for you, I would give that shit back to God. Life, money, kids, the cars, the houses, the accolades don’t mean shit to me without you. You tell me if that nigga you trying to leave me for would give up everything, including his life, for you, baby. He may not have caused you pain, but he also can’t heal that pain like I can.