Torn (9 page)

Instead of wearing her hair down, she wore it pulled to the side in a bun. Gold angel wing earrings were in her ears and a long gold necklace with an angel wing pendent adorned her neck.

Dudes kept on trying to get Mo's attention as she made her way through the club, but her mind was on the bar. She was dying for a glass of Hpnotiq. Mo flagged down the bartender, but just as she was about to place her order, she was rudely interrupted.

"Yo, my man, let me get a Hennessy and coke," a guy asked, butting her.

"Umm excuse me, but did you not see me standing here?" she snapped, checking him.

"Oh my bad, lil' mama." The guy turned toward Mo, giving her his full attention. He was instantly taken aback by her beauty. Her long, lean, cocoa thighs and legs were hypnotizing his eyes. Mo, by far, was the baddest chick up in the club.

He had to put in his bid and try his hand with her.

"Like I was saying, my bad. I ain't even see you standing there." He looked her up and down, undressing her with his eyes.

"Next time just pay a little bit more attention."

"How about I make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink.

What you drinkin'?"

"I was about to get a glass of Hpnotiq."

"Alright, I got you."

"Thanks but no thanks. I'll buy my own drink." Mo played him by pulling out a fat knot of bills from her purse.

"Damn, you doing it like that? Shit, you need to be the one buying me a drink," the guy joked, showing off a perfect set of thirty-twos.

She knew he was a baby but for some reason, Mo couldn't help but be attracted. There was something very sexy and alluring about him. He was tall, rough and rugged, just the way she liked 'em. His skin was a mesmerizing shade of caramel that reminded her of sweet butterscotch candy. He stood six feet and weighed a buck seventy. Low cut, sleepy brown eyes, dimples, kissable lips, mustache and chin hair made up his facial features. A Chinese tattoo stood out on the side of his neck begging to be kissed, while plenty more tattoos decorated his arms.
If I wasn't engaged, this lil' nigga could most definitely get it
, Mo thought as she, too, eyed him up and down.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"It's Mo, and before you ask what kind of name is Mo, my real name is Monsieur. But everybody calls me Mo," she answered.

"Calm down, shorty. I wasn't gon' even ask you that, but thanks for tellin' me."

"My bad. I'm sorry. I'm known for having a smart mouth, so excuse me."

"It's cool. Just tone it down a bit." He checked her.

Thinking
no he didn't just read me
, she asked out of curiosity, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Twenty? Oh hell no," Mo chuckled in disbelief. She knew he was young, but damn!

"Why, is that a problem? 'Cause I would hate for an age difference to ruin our relationship." He got in her face, invading her personal space.

"We don't have a relationship, sweetie." She laughed at his forwardness.

"Oh, so it's like that? I was planning on making you my wife."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah ... and since you all up in my business, how old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

"Word, you look sixteen."

"Cute."

"Look shorty, frankly I don't give a fuck about ya age, and neither should you. You fine as hell and I'm tryin' to get wit you, so quit being so insecure and give me your number."

"First of all, I'm far from insecure and secondly, even if I wanted to talk to you, I couldn't." "And why is that?"

"'Cause I'm already someone's wife." She flashed her seven carat diamond ring.

"Yo, is that real?" He picked up her hand and examined her ring. "'Cause that muthafucka lookin' mighty cloudy. I don't see no blue streaks in it or nothing."

"Boy, if you don't get out my face, I will slap you." Mo laughed. "Do I look like I wear fake rings?"

"Yo, you don't even want me to answer that, but check it, didn't I see you pull in with that '82 Honda? And don't even lie

'cause I saw you. As a matter of fact, that's why I followed you in here, 'cause I know you gon' need a ride home later."

"Lil nigga, not only is my ring real, but the car I drive is so muthafuckin' fly and expensive that yo' illiterate ass probably can't even pronounce it. And not only that, but my man will come up in here and squash yo' little bitty ass so please do us both a favor and get the fuck out my face."

"Yo' man ain't gon' do shit but stand back and admire the way I got you all up in my face smiling," he shot back, getting into her personal space.

Am I smiling?
she thought.
Damn, this lil' nigga do got
me smiling.

"Yeah ... okay ... lay off the drinks, playa. You gon' fuck around and get me shot up in here." She laughed, trying her best to seem unaffected by his powerful presence.

"Listen ... since you tryin' to be so hard, let me put it to you like this then, lil' mama ... it's written all over your face that you're feelin' me. And I know it's obvious that I'm feelin' you, but your mouth is fuckin' ridiculous, so when you get it together ... you come find me, a'ight?" He eyed her up down again, grabbed his drink and then walked away.

Hating the fact that he was a rude bastard but loving the way he joked and kicked game to her, Mo eased up and yelled, "It's 555-4212."

Happy that he'd gotten his way, the guy turned around.

"But don't call me after nine o'clock."

"Oh, and I thought I was the one who was supposed to have the curfew." He flashed a broad grin.

Unable to think of a quick comeback, Mo rolled her eyes and caught back up with her crew. They were all seated at a table right in front of the dance floor.

"Who was that all up in yo' grill?" Mina questioned immediately.

"Some lil' nigga. I don't even know his name."

"
Guuurl
, please! You better go back and get his name.

That nigga was sexy as hell. Lookin' like a lil' killa," Delicious joked.

"He do, don't he," Mina agreed.

"Hell, yeah. You better get on him,
gurl
."

"Delicious, what I look like fuckin' wit that lil' boy? There ain't shit he can do for me but mow my lawn." Mo scrunched up her face, waving off the idea.

"Well at least you gettin' yo' grass cut. What the fuck you complaining for, it's free. You better get wit it. I can think of a couple of things he can do to me. Better yet ... I can think of a couple of thangs I can do to him," he replied, fanning himself.

"Don't cum on yourself."

"Oh no you ain't tryin' act brand new." Delicious shot Mo a look. "Everybody at this table know you a hoe. This bitch will suck a dick for a Diet Coke."

"Ah uh, no you didn't take it there," Mo exclaimed, offended.

"Yes I did but don't worry honey ... you ain't gotta be ashamed. Shiiit, I suck dick just for the taste of it."

"Oh hell naw!" Meesa coughed, almost choking on her drink. "Y'all are silly."

"That's his stupid ass."

"Mo, is that you?" a female voice exclaimed, interrupting their repartee. Looking over to her right, Mo found her old club-hopping buddy Unique McClain. The girl looked fabu-lous, as usual. Unique was known for always rocking the hottest new shit.

"Unique?! Hey girl! How you been?" Mo greeted her with a hug.

"Good, just got married." She showcased her ring.

"I ain't mad at you. I'll be walking down the aisle soon, too." Mo held up her hand.

"That's what's up. Tie that nigga down, girl."

"Let me introduce you to everybody. These are my two best friends Mina and Delicious, and Mina's sister Meesa."

"Hi." Unique waved.

"Hi," everyone replied in unison.

"So you and Bigg got married?" Mo questioned.

"Yeah, got a baby and everything."

"He owns Bigg Entertainment, right?"

"Yep, the company is doing real well, too. '
XXL Magazine'

just named it as the fastest growing independent label of all time. "

"Wow, do you know if he's looking for any A&R work?"

"Who knows, but here." Unique handed her a card. "Call him and see. Just tell him I gave you the number."

"A'ight, cool, good lookin' out."

"No problem. It was good seeing you. Don't forget to tell Quan I said hi."

"I won't." Mo smiled as she walked away.

"She seemed nice," Delicious commented.

"She is once you get to know her. I'm happy I ran into her, though. I've been dying to put my degree to some use." "Don't think we're letting you get off that easily. Back to lil' daddy. Delicious was right, he was a tender. You give him your number?" Mina continued.

"Yeah, but ain't shit happening. I stopped fuckin' on twin beds years ago."

"You wrong for that."

"Hell, I'm serious. His mama ain't gon' beat my ass for fuckin' her son. And anyway, how his young ass get in here in the first place? It's supposed to be twenty-three and older tonight. He told me he was twenty."

"He probably got a fake ID."

"You's a good one Mo, 'cause I will fuck a young boy," Delicious declared, sipping on his drink.

"Nigga, you'll fuck a midget if you could."

"You got that right. Anything over eighteen is all good wit me. I don't give a fuuuuck and neither should you."

"I'm good, besides, me and Quan are finally gettin' things back on track. I ain't tryin' to fuck that up for nobody."

"I feel you." Meesa nodded her head in agreement.

"Look at Miss Thang tryin' to grow up," Mina said, surprised.

"Well look, if she don't want him, I'll take him," Delicious announced, searching the club for the guy.

"Boy if you don't sit yo' ass down ... let's make a toast!

Here's to life, love and happiness!" Mo cheered, toasting her friends.

"I second that," Mina agreed.

"CHEERS!" It was damn near three-thirty when Mo got home. As soon as she entered through the front door of her house, the smell of weed smoke hit her smack dab in the face. Instantly, she was annoyed. Mo had no idea that Quan was at home. Usually, he would still be out at this hour. When she walked into the living room she found him sitting on the couch dressed in nothing but a wife beater, hooping shorts and socks, with a fat blunt hanging from his mouth.

One of his legs was propped up on the coffee table while he played Madden 06. Heineken beer bottles were everywhere and marijuana seeds were scattered on the table and floor.

There was even a plate with leftover chicken bones and pizza crust on her end table. Mo was pissed. She had spent the entire morning cleaning up. She didn't do that shit for her health. Quan was on the phone discussing business, so Mo placed her vintage Valentino purse down and cleared her throat to let him know that she was in the room.

"What's up, baby?" he spoke without even looking in her direction.

Mo didn't even speak back. She simply rolled her eyes, quietly slipped off her heels and then curled up on the couch next to him. She wanted to cuss him out for not cleaning up behind himself, but that would be rude, and she didn't want to embarrass him while he was on the phone, so she decided to wait until he got off. Instead she focused her attention on her lovely living room.

It was so spacious and big. The walls were white. Their couch was a beige suede sectional decorated with blue and orange throw pillows. A large glass table from Z Gallerie sat in the middle floor above a Persian carpet, while colorful vintage art hung from the wall. Behind them was a spiral staircase leading to the third floor. The railing was made of pure twenty-four karat gold.

"Nah, Dig, I ain't coming back out tonight. Tell that nigga I'ma holla at him tomorrow. "

"Is that Diggy?" Mo whispered, tapping Quan on the arm.

Diggy was Quan's crazy little bother.

"Yeah."

"Tell him I said hi."

"Ay, Mo said hi. He said what's up." While Quan wrapped up his conversation, Mo couldn't help but stare up at his tan-colored face and oval shaped eyes.

Sexiness just exuded from his skin. Girlfriend was addicted for real. She couldn't imagine her life without him. Every breath she breathed was for him. Each day that passed she fell deeper in love. He was her superstar and she was his number one fan. No other man would ever compare to him in her eyes.

"But ah, like I was saying, we can handle that shit tomorrow. Just hit me up in morning. A'ight, one." After hanging up his cell phone, Quan looked down at Mo with a screwed up face.

"What?"

"Did you just get off the pole? What the fuck is this?" he asked, pulling on her dress. "Niggas been callin' you Candy and shit and what the fuck you doing walkin' up in my house at three o'clock in the morning like you ain't got no man?