Caught Up by Amir Abrams Page A

pour me a glass.
    She looks at me and shrugs. “Whatever. More for me.” She snaps her head back and swallows the dark elixir in one gulp. She refills her shot glass and tosses it back. “Aaah.” She shakes her shoulders and shakes out her hands as if she’s having a seizure. “Whew! The devil is a lie. Henny does the body right. We need some music up in here.”
    I watch her as she scuttles over toward her Sony Bluetooth speaker, holding up her phone. A few seconds later, Trinidad James’s “All Gold Everything” starts playing.
    â€œWoo-oooh!” She snaps her fingers. “This ish right here goes hard.”
    I shrug.
    She dances over to where she’s left the drinks and pours another shot, then tosses it back. “And please don’t tell me you wearin’ some big ole nasty granny panties underneath them jeans. Please, don’t. I’m goin’ to hop in the shower. Don’t be goin’ thru my ish, either, bish .” She laughs. “Let me stop effen wit’ you. I’ll be back in a sec.”
    She shakes her butt out of the room.
    Several minutes go by and her Samsung rings over on the dresser. She quickly stalks back into the bedroom with only her purple thong on. “Ooh, I thought I heard my phone. It’s about time this ninja hit me back.”
    Her naked breasts sway. I quickly avert my eyes, reaching over and picking up the latest issue of Ebony . I flip through the pages, pretending to be interested. But, honestly, my mind is starting to race about this party we’re going to. Like who’s going to be there? What types of guys are going to be there? Stuff like that.
    â€œHello? Yeah . . . uh-uh . . . where you . . . ? Oh, okay . . . We gettin’ dressed now . . . Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah . . . I know . . .”
    I feign interest in some article about the woes of the music industry until I stumble on an article about how most New Yorkers don’t use condoms during sex. I cringe. “Ohmygod, that’s so nasty,” I mumble, reading on. It states that only one out of three adults in New York used a condom the last time they had sex. I read on, wondering why anyone would jeopardize their health like that, knowing the risks involved. I shake my head as I finish reading.
    â€œYeah, she’s here . . .” I look up from the magazine, glancing over at Sasha as she prances around the room half-naked. “Yeah . . . the chick I was tellin’ you ’bout . . . hol’ on . . .”
    â€œHere,” she says, shoving her cell into my face. “My boy wants to holla at you.”
    I frown, staring at her hand. “Who is he?”
    â€œSomeone who’s gonna change your life; that’s who.”
    I shake my head, pushing her hand away from me.
    â€œGirl, don’t play. I been talkin’ you up to him ’n’ he’s tryna get at you. So you better act like you know ’n’ get wit’ the program. I’m tryna upgrade you, boo.”
    Upgrade me?
    â€œYou can thank me later. Now here.” She shoves the phone back in my face. “Hello,” I say in a low whisper.
    â€œYo, wat’s good, ma?” I hear the smooth voice on the other end of the line say. I’m not going to lie. He has a really nice voice. “I’ve heard a lot ’bout you from my peoples.”
    I shoot a look over at Sasha as she heads out of the door, telling me over her shoulder that she’s going to take her shower.
    â€œOh,” I say, fidgeting with the diamond Tiffany cross around my neck. A gift from my grandparents given to me on my thirteenth birthday. “Who is this?”
    â€œMalik. But cats in the streets call me Money.”
    â€œOh,” I say again. Not sure what I’m supposed to say after that.
    â€œSo what’s good? You got a man?”
    I shake my head. No, but I want one. Hazel Eyes comes to mind. But I immediately shake any thoughts