If only to feel better for five more minutes.
Indica burns my nose as I enter Studio B in the 4W Recordings building. The lights are dimmed, and Doechii is playing low.
“If it isn’t Captain Shad himself.”
Wyn taps the built-in screen on the coffee table and turns off the music before going back to her composition book.
She’s sitting cross-legged, in a G$ oversized crewneck and her blonde wig up in a high ponytail. Even dressed down, she’s got on makeup that covers her freckles.
The extra tall styrofoam cup on the coffee table makes me grimace as I sit in the chair next to her.
“How was therapy?”
“Meh. Where everybody at?”
“Wayne is blowing up the bathroom, but it’s just us today. You gone bless me with a hook now that you and my nigga not beefing no more?” She smirks at me and reaches for the cup, but I snatch it from her.
My nose wrinkles when I bring it to my face. This shit is straight tequila.
“I’m not doing shit until you stop drinking, Wyn.”
Her ears turn red as she reaches for the cup, but I pull it away from her.
That just makes her huff, before she smirks and licks her lips.
Wyn stands and straddles me. My free hand automatically goes to her waist as she hoods her eyes. Sweet perfume and alcohol invade my senses, and Lil Shad wakes up.
Wyn loves playing this game. Before she was Wynter Snow, before she was Set’s girl, she was still one of the baddest in the city. And she knows it.
“What you doing, Wyn?”
She leans in flush with my chest, and places those full lips of hers at my ear. “Give me my shit, Rahshad,” she purrs.
She snatches her cup from me and hops up like she’s on fire, cackling and settling back into her seat. “Too fucking easy. I take it you and Sahara are still on the outs?”
She takes a gulp and raises her brows, while I rearrange my dick.
“Using the fact I’m just a man is low. What if someone walked in?”
She shrugs, and closes her comp book. “Then they do. Everyone already thinks we fucking on the low… why do you think my first single is namedHelen of Troy?”
I just shake my head and get up. “I’m billing Sheisty for this session, so yo ass better have something for me… And slow down on the drinking, foreal, Wyn.”
“Just because you’re going to therapy doesn’t mean you’re showing up. Stay dangerous, Shaddy.” Wyn turns the music back on as I walk out.
I don’t have time to think about whatever she’s talking about. I haven’t been called to a Foe Dub meeting in years, so whatever the reason for this, it’s big. I’ve been kind of avoiding everyone besides Nut since BirchFest, so I couldn’t reach out, and Nut’s as clueless as I am.
Reem and Ty have been handling everything while Set recuperates at home from being shot last November. He’s lucky to be alive, and with intense physical therapy, he gained fullcontrol of his arm again, but he doesn't have feeling in his ring and pinky fingers.
Thank God he’s left-handed.
But a Foe Dub meeting isn’t needed to announce he’s back in the field. So I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
I pull up to the Center, noting that almost everyone is here already. To keep the Feds away, Foe Dub is signed up as a basketball team in the adult league here, so any time we meet, it’s listed as a private practice. I make my way through the Center, saying hi to the old ladies milling about from the knitting class, until I get to the utility closet. There’s a hidden door there, and I take the stairs down to the large room where everyone’s waiting.
Set sees me first, and worry flashes for a second before he composes himself. I stand off to the side, away from everyone, and take the scene in.
Set’s standing with three others. The nigga in the middle is big, buffer than my ass, with a S-curl and a scowl on his face worse than Nut. The nigga next to him, off to the side, is his opposite in every way. Light where he’s dark, long hair where his is short, smiling where he’s scowling, skinny as fuck where he’s big. The only thing they got in common is that they’re both kinda tall.
