Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 23

As Cleo sat staring at the television, she had no idea about what was happening on the screen. Her mind was stuck on stupid. Actually stuck on C's, but since stupid and him went hand in hand, she'd had it right the first time.

Since the night before, when everything had jumped off, he'd barely said two muttering words to her, after pulling Ant, Angela, and her from that nasty ass shed. He didn't even come to bed. His brown behind chose to sleep on the couch instead. Really?!

Hell, he damned near filleted her ass when he knocked her over the coffee table. You'd think that would've been worth two words. I'm sorry. But no, she hadn't got that either, and by the time she awoke that morning, Pimpin' was already gone, along with Ant. Traitor! He should've had her back. She wasn't the only one that C's had gone Ike Turner on. Truth be sold, if it weren't for her trying to help him out, then she wouldn't even have stitches.

The studio audience laughter from the television set snapped her attention back. Her gaze drifted over Putt's living room until her eyes landed on Pep, stretched out asleep on the floor. She smacked her lips and stood. How the hell was he going to ask her to come chill, and he wasn't even awake to distract her with his craziness? The sound of running water in the kitchen tugged at the nosiness in her. Spinning away from the front door, she headed in the direction of the kitchen.

Cleo paused in the entrance way, when her gaze landed on Taz. He leaned against the counter, in a pair of black pajama bottoms with no shirt, reading a magazine that had Hustler scrolled across the front. A naked lady with huge breast, and no shame lay spread eagle on the cover.

Watching his face, as he watched the magazine and lounged in the kitchen half-dressed made her all warm and itchy under her clothes. Embarrassed, she wanted to back away, but her damn feet wouldn't move. What the hell? Before she could explore the loss of control over her legs any further, eyes black as night met hers and added to her paralysis.

"Que pasa, mami? Who let you outta the play pen?" He asked as the corner of his mouth quirked.

She folded her arms across her chest, and rolled her eyes. "What play pen?"

"Weren't you kickin' it with Pep in the living room, watching cartoons and shit?" He asked, having the nerve to cock an eyebrow at her.

"No," she said, straightening herself to her full height. "We were watching Sanford and Sons. While you're talking!"

He shrugged as he returned his eyes to the magazine. "Those aren't the details that matters."

"So what matters?" She asked, not sure why the hell she cared what Putt's cousin thought of her.

A nasty grin pushed at the corners of his mouth, but his gaze remained on the magazine. "What? C's haven't taught you already? Damn he slippin'," he murmured, with a hint of an accent.

Just then the timer on the microwave beeped. Dropping the magazine on the counter, Taz turned around to open the door. With a pot holder in hand he withdrew a huge white ceramic coffee cup. As he peered into the cup his eyebrows knitted together in concentration, with even more concentration than he had for his old nasty magazine. His interest piqued, her own, causing her to walk further into the kitchen, to have a peek at what was in the cup.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely breaking a whisper.

Staring up at her through long sooty lashes, he held the cup out for her to take a look. As she chewed her bottom lip, her eyes left his to gaze into the mug. The inside contained water with a greasy residue, which looked like melted butter, floating on the surface. One whiff of the contents and she knew what it was.