Page 26 of It’s The Dawg In Him For Me

She didn’t know I was that nigga, but she was gonna find out.

I pulled up slow, cut the engine, and just sat there for a second before getting out. Not because I was heated or anything like that, but ‘cause I was still running the conversation back in my head.

The way she was standing in that doorway like she was the one controlling the pace of shit. The way she carried it as if my words didn’t even matter to her.

I can’t lie, it threw me off, but at the same time it made me want her even more.

I walked into my crib and closed the door behind me with her still on my mind, and all I could do was shake my head.

She wasn’t like the usual joints I would deal with.

Shorty had dreams and goals. I peeped all that shit off our first phone conversation.

Usually, getting a mad bitch to come around to what I wanted was light work. A few words here and there, a lil’ energy, and shit would move my way, but her? Nah, she wasn’t bending. She wasn’t smiling it off. That shit was different for me.

I laid my shit on the counter, then went and jumped in the shower trying to calm my mind on thoughts of her, but she wasn’t going away that easy.

After my shower, I dried off, threw on some sweats and a T-shirt just in case I had to slide out again, and went into my living room and rolled up. As I sat there letting the smoke cloud hit the ceiling, my mind was still doing laps of Nylah, and I shook my head.

“She’s different,” I said to myself with a slight smile.

I needed her. I was going to get her.

I was feeling myself a lil’ bit and decided to send her a message.

Me: You know you feeling a nigga, let me show you what I'm really like.

I left her thread open and caught myself staring at my phone.

“Nigga, you trippin’ ova some pussy,” I said to myself as I turned on the TV and put on Power.

Between the weed and my show, I got lost in the shit and realized an hour had passed since I had texted her. I picked my phone up and checked her thread and laughed to myself.

She had left me on read.

Of course she did.

I leaned back on the couch, phone still in my hand, just staring at the screen like that was supposed to change something. It didn’t even piss me off the way it should’ve. It was more like…I expected the shit from her, but hoped it was a chance she would lighten up.

But she wasn’t. She was standing on everything she had said to me.

I locked my phone and tossed it beside me and told myself to let that shit go for the night.

But I couldn’t. I checked my shit five minutes later, and she still didn’t say shit to me.

I let the TV run, weed hitting, mind drifting back and forth between the show and her. Every now and then I’d catch myself replaying how good she looked standing in the doorway. Calm, solid, not impressed by none of the shit I was saying.

That was the part that stuck out to me.

Once the show ended, I turned the TV off, got off the couch, and headed to my room.

Before I closed my eyes for the night, I exhaled, getting comfortable, my eyes getting heavy. I wasn’t gonna carry the shit with Nylah into the next day. I already knew what it was. She wasn’t gonna be easy to lock down, and a nigga was still gonna try.

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm, as usual. The first thing I did was reach for my phone on the nightstand with no hesitation. I had messages from my niggas, junkies trying to get right, and bitches that wanted some of my time, but still nothing from Nylah.

I smirked a lil’ as I sat up in the bed.

“Oh yeah, she really be on that shit,” I said to myself, so I sent her a message.