Zoey saw the tweet.
Of course she did. And truthfully, out of all the venom she spit outside of the restroom, the accusation of the tattoo not being a reference to her burned the shit out of me. Who else would I refer to as Ni?a? She’d seared me with that fucking jab. I wanted to toss her over my shoulder and take her to the nearest bed to remind her of my obsession with her, my never ending desire for her. Shit… Seeing her in that tight ass mini dress did shit to me while inhaling her familiar fragrance.
Fuck!
My phone went off in my lap.
Alton: I found this shit on Nisha phone bro. WTF!
Then another text came through. This one an image of a bedazzled telephone screen. Within seconds, I could surmise it was an exchange between Tynisha and Zoey where Zoey said she was finally going to go through with it and that she was on her way to her suite with the “Frenchman.”
I didn’t think. I leaped to my feet and ran out of the door. Behind me, I could make out Erika’s alarming, “Babe! Hold up! What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
I had no time to answer; I needed to get to Zoey’s hotel, which I knew was around the corner and a few blocks from mine.
“Hang on, chief?” Barry called after me once out in the hall, but I didn’t answer. I hauled ass to the nearest exit and down the stairs.
I don’t know if I registered the stragglers in the lobby or in front of the hotel building, I just ran. The Frenchman reference ran through my brain. I knew who this “Frenchman” was. I’d been keeping tabs on Zoey and knew Jacques Moreau was sniffing after her ass. With a few calls, I was able to learn he was an associate of a friend of mine, Steve. In no time, I understood he liked black * and clearly wanted Zoey’s. I didn’t think he’d ever get Zoey’s because he was too forceful and I knew that characteristic would serve as a repellant to her intelligence.
So what the fuck, Ni?a!
“Hood, chief! Put on your hood!” I recognized as Barry’s tenor behind me.
That demand rolled over me. I didn’t consider being recognized by anyone. Somewhere deep in my psyche I knew it was after two in the morning, but I couldn’t give a shit. At some point, I felt rain drops and ironically thought then to drape my head with the hood of my sweat suit. I don’t know how long it took to get to the Hilton, but I wasn’t there fast enough. I didn’t have to ask for her room info at the reception desk. I made a dash for the staircase there and flew up to the penthouse level. Once on the floor, I looked left then right before heading for the suite map. My lungs felt like they were bleeding, racing wild. I found her door, banged on it with urgency. Feeling my entire upper body roll in uncontrolled rhythm and my legs burn, I waited two seconds and banged again.
The fuck!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Then I heard the sound of the exit door behind me. I glanced and found Rob and Barry seconds later, heaving just as hard as I was, if not more. Rob flogged his arms. I didn’t have time to answer. With a keen ear, I heard the faint sound of music through the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“No, baby…no!” I caught the cry in my own damn voice. “Answer the fucking door, Zo!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Then I heard movement. Someone looking into the peep hole. I froze, not knowing what to expect. I didn’t have time to think. The door slowly pulled open to a dark suite. Zoey’s small frame came into view. Her long thick hair damp, freshly washed and pulled over one shoulder. She wore nothing but a thin pink silk robe, distinctively bare beneath. Her eyes were rimmed in pink. She’d been crying.
No!
“Ni?a…” I cried dried tears in that single word…it was a question.