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“She’s a nice girl.”
“She better be.”
“She is.”
“She better not get pregnant up in here either.”
“Cheryl.”
“I’m serious.”
I started walking her right back toward the door.
“I don’t run a fucking brothel in this bitch.”
She stopped and looked at me.
“Yeah, but you own a strip club, and that’s just as bad.”
I stared at her.
She smiled.
“Love you too, Cheryl. Have fun in Aruba.”
“I will.”
“Tell your new nigga I said Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Mind your business.”
“I’ve been trying. Henry keep telling me your shit.”
She flipped me off on her way out.
I laughed and shut the door.
By the time I got back toward the kitchen, Tyler was coming up from downstairs.
This nigga claimed he’d come over early to help a brother out.
Help where?
He’d been downstairs in my bowling alley for damn near an hour knocking pins down like he was practicing for the fucking PBA.
“You done playing?”
“I was testing the lanes.”
“Nigga, ain’t shit wrong with my lanes.”
“One of them pulling left.”
“That’s you.”
“Nah.”
He grabbed a piece of fried chicken off one of the trays.
