them away. Life is always filled with regrets.”
True.
fifteen
Dionne
September 14 @ 11:45 a.m. | Mood: Confused
Dionne hated Sundays with a passion.
Sundays meant another weekend of fabulousness was over.
She snuggled deeper under the covers of her four-poster bed in her bedroom at her daddy’s posh duplex apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was face the start of this day, but her stomach was growling like crazy and she was ready to see her daddy. He wasn’t home when she got in from Starr’s yesterday afternoon. She’d thought she heard him come in late last night, but she hadn’t bothered to get up and check…especially since the last time she went running in her dad’s room she saw way more of him and his latest girlfriend than she ever cared to see.
Her new Keyshia Cole ringtone filled the quiet of herroom. Dionne sat up straight in the middle of the bed causing the colorful pillows to fly over the edge onto the floor.
She flipped the Sidekick open.
Hassan.
Dionne knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and truthfully she didn’t really want to. She really liked Hassan’s swagger. She really liked Hassan. Period.
Still she sent his call straight to voice mail.
Hassan didn’t fit into her world anymore. For now memories of their flirting game was all she had left to hold on to.
Dionne rolled out of bed and made her way into her bathroom to squash any morning breath, leaving any thoughts of Hassan and his serious swagger behind with the phone. Once she made sure she was minty fresh and not funky fresh, Dionne left her bedroom and walked down to the end of the hall to the master suite.
Knowing her daddy had a late night she hated to wake him so early, but if he was home they always had Sunday-morning breakfast together before her driver took her home to Newark.
“Rise and shine, Pops,” Dionne called through the solid mahogany door that was as black as hair dye. She knocked two times.
Female giggles mixed with her daddy’s deep laughter filtered through the door. Hoochie in the house. Dionne rolled her eyes heavenward before she crossed her thin arms over her chest, pouting with major attitude on her face.
Seconds later the black door opened and the thick haze of marijuana smoke escaped the room and surrounded her head like her own personal rain cloud. Dionne fanned it away with her hand, her bracelets clinking as she did. Her daddy and his whole crew loved the sticky-icky.
She stepped inside the room, instantly ignoring the blond-haired, dark-skinned, big-butt woman walking her bare-naked, cottage-cheese dimpled behind into the bathroom. Eew!
And there lying in the middle of his bed in all his splendor is platinum-selling rap artist, used-to-be TRL mainstay (before it went off the air), hip-hop magazine cover model, 106 & Park video count champ Lahron the Don. And all of the accoutrements of his hip-hop swagger were already in place—platinum and diamond chains, sagging True Religion jeans, fresh fade and a mouthful of grills. Downstairs were two expensive rides waiting in his spots in the underground garage. His fancy apartment was a long way from his days growing up in the Bricks.
“Really, Daddy, you need to open a window, big-time,” Dionne complained as she eyed him flipping through channels on his flat-screen television on the opposite wall.
“For what?” he asked, pretending to be innocent with a big, bleach-whitened toothy grin.
Dionne arched an eyebrow as she wove her fingers through the disarray of her hair. “Puh- leeze , Daddy,” she drawled, way past the days of faking like she didn’t know the smell of weed.
Lahron stood up and stretched his slender six-foot-five frame before using one hand to yank up his sagging jeans. “You better not let me catch you smokin’, ya heard me?” he ordered more than asked in that gravelly voice his fans loved.
“Weed leads to other drugs. And I’ve lived around enough fiends and ’heads to know I’m not gone be one,
True.
fifteen
Dionne
September 14 @ 11:45 a.m. | Mood: Confused
Dionne hated Sundays with a passion.
Sundays meant another weekend of fabulousness was over.
She snuggled deeper under the covers of her four-poster bed in her bedroom at her daddy’s posh duplex apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was face the start of this day, but her stomach was growling like crazy and she was ready to see her daddy. He wasn’t home when she got in from Starr’s yesterday afternoon. She’d thought she heard him come in late last night, but she hadn’t bothered to get up and check…especially since the last time she went running in her dad’s room she saw way more of him and his latest girlfriend than she ever cared to see.
Her new Keyshia Cole ringtone filled the quiet of herroom. Dionne sat up straight in the middle of the bed causing the colorful pillows to fly over the edge onto the floor.
She flipped the Sidekick open.
Hassan.
Dionne knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and truthfully she didn’t really want to. She really liked Hassan’s swagger. She really liked Hassan. Period.
Still she sent his call straight to voice mail.
Hassan didn’t fit into her world anymore. For now memories of their flirting game was all she had left to hold on to.
Dionne rolled out of bed and made her way into her bathroom to squash any morning breath, leaving any thoughts of Hassan and his serious swagger behind with the phone. Once she made sure she was minty fresh and not funky fresh, Dionne left her bedroom and walked down to the end of the hall to the master suite.
Knowing her daddy had a late night she hated to wake him so early, but if he was home they always had Sunday-morning breakfast together before her driver took her home to Newark.
“Rise and shine, Pops,” Dionne called through the solid mahogany door that was as black as hair dye. She knocked two times.
Female giggles mixed with her daddy’s deep laughter filtered through the door. Hoochie in the house. Dionne rolled her eyes heavenward before she crossed her thin arms over her chest, pouting with major attitude on her face.
Seconds later the black door opened and the thick haze of marijuana smoke escaped the room and surrounded her head like her own personal rain cloud. Dionne fanned it away with her hand, her bracelets clinking as she did. Her daddy and his whole crew loved the sticky-icky.
She stepped inside the room, instantly ignoring the blond-haired, dark-skinned, big-butt woman walking her bare-naked, cottage-cheese dimpled behind into the bathroom. Eew!
And there lying in the middle of his bed in all his splendor is platinum-selling rap artist, used-to-be TRL mainstay (before it went off the air), hip-hop magazine cover model, 106 & Park video count champ Lahron the Don. And all of the accoutrements of his hip-hop swagger were already in place—platinum and diamond chains, sagging True Religion jeans, fresh fade and a mouthful of grills. Downstairs were two expensive rides waiting in his spots in the underground garage. His fancy apartment was a long way from his days growing up in the Bricks.
“Really, Daddy, you need to open a window, big-time,” Dionne complained as she eyed him flipping through channels on his flat-screen television on the opposite wall.
“For what?” he asked, pretending to be innocent with a big, bleach-whitened toothy grin.
Dionne arched an eyebrow as she wove her fingers through the disarray of her hair. “Puh- leeze , Daddy,” she drawled, way past the days of faking like she didn’t know the smell of weed.
Lahron stood up and stretched his slender six-foot-five frame before using one hand to yank up his sagging jeans. “You better not let me catch you smokin’, ya heard me?” he ordered more than asked in that gravelly voice his fans loved.
“Weed leads to other drugs. And I’ve lived around enough fiends and ’heads to know I’m not gone be one,
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