2001 was a hot year, right after the millennium. It had been a year and a half since I graduated high school and a year since I been workin'—workin' niggas, that is. I was a fresh twenty. Most of my peers were in their second year or so at colleges across the country, and me, I was already in the workforce, making plenty of dough and not needing a degree to do it.
School was sickening to me. The whole idea of having to be in a specific place at a specific time at the sound of a bell made me feel like somebody's robot. I wasn't into that shit. Plus, money was always more important than education as far as I was concerned. And when I thought about it, going to school didn't pay your bills but instead it was another damn bill that your ass had to pay. That made no sense at all. So I skipped the college idea and
invested my time in other interests.
My friend Tina had introduced me to a lifestyle I would have never deemed possible for me. She taught me something that most chicks already knew. Use what you got to get what you want. The only problem was chicks didn't have shit. They may have had nice bodies or pretty faces, but they didn't have the brains to mentally stimulate the niggas they were goin'
after. And if they happened to have all three, they were acidity, snobbish-type broads that niggas couldn't stand to be around. But Tina and me, we had everything a nigga could ask for and extra.
Tina was a chunky brown-skinned girl with big tits and a big ass. She had a real pretty face that was accented by her dark eyebrows, thick darkeyelashes, and dark almond-shaped eyes. She attracted a lot of guys. We
always partied together. We frequented all of the clubs and went to every big party in the tristate area, running game on the biggest ballers out there.
It was the second Saturday of the new year, the night of the Kickoff, an annual party over in Delaware that was known for being the first party of each year. Tina and me were there, of course, posted up in some fly shit. I had on some army green booty shorts with the matching cropped, open-chest army uniform jacket by Louis Vuitton. I boldly matched my outfit with a pair of vintage-looking cowboy boots in rusted shades of army green
and gold. I accessorized with big gold bangles, gold hoop earrings, and three gold chains, the longest one almost reaching my belly button. I had on a pair of gold Chloé sunglasses and I carried an alligator clutch by Carlos Falchi. My hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. Tina was in some black leather pants and a black leather halter top. She wore a studded belt that rested on her hips, a studded choker, and a pair of black leather Prada pointed-toe boots. She carried a black studded doctor's bag by Marc Jacobs.
Her hair was parted in the middle and hung down to her shoulders with a
choppy cut on the ends.
"Yo! This party is off the hook!" Tina yelled over the loud music.
"I know," I said. I took another sip on my Malibu pineapple and peered
through the crowded dance floor. Lighter and thinner, I was the complete
opposite of Tina in terms of complexion and weight, but I was a match in
the pretty department. Everywhere I went, guys were like, damn, you
gorgeous, you pretty as shit, you're beautiful. It didn't take me long to get
used to that kind of attention, and it was only smart to use it to my
advantage.
I spotted this dude from across the room. He was hot to death. Dark-
skinned with curly black hair that peeked out from under his Lakers hat that
matched perfectly with his yellow and purple Lakers jacket with Kobe
Bryant's number on it. He had on some hot jewelry too. Tina and I went to
clubs so much that we knew just about everybody that came through. But this was the first time I had seen this dude. I was on him. He got up from atable that was crowded with a bunch of other flashy guys and walked over
to the other bar in the club.
"Tina, I'm about to go holla at Number Eight."
"I was on 'im too, girl," Tina responded, smiling.
I walked around the dance floor to the other side of the club. Number Eight was ordering a drink. There were so many chicks trying to get his attention it was funny. But obviously they were new to it. Guys like him usually didn't crack on girls no matter how cute or slutty they were. You had to swallow your pride and holla at him.
"It's on me," I said as the bartender waited for the dude to pay her for the bottle of Moët.
"Nah, shorty, it's cool," the dude said, smiling and peeling a hundred-
dollar bill from a knot of money. He was surprised at my gesture, but I could tell he liked it a lot.
I let him pay for it, which was my plan from gate, but now the air was
open for conversation. "That's one of my favorite teams," I said, referring to his jacket.
"Oh, yeah? Mine too," he replied.
"What's your name?" I quizzed as I held my empty cup out for him to pour me some Moët.
He smiled and said, "O."
At that point I didn't know which turned me on more, the wad of money he pulled from his pocket earlier or the way he licked his lips before he would flash that sexy-ass smile of his.
"I'm Celess," I said, with my hand extended for a formal shake. I was killing dude softly. He didn't know what to do."Celess? That's a pretty name and it fits you perfect." He was beginning
to flirt.