Chapter Text
Present Day
Elbows off the table, don’t rest your chin on your hand— look interested!
As soon as Riri stepped off of the elevator and onto the balcony dining area, her eyes chose their anchor before her mind could agree: A potted plant.
It kind of looks like a baby palm tree. But its trunk is more of a thick stem. What’s the name of it?
Dragon tree—no, there’s another one she’s thinking of….
Dracaena marginata.
The voice in her head has an accent, funnily enough. It’s soft, definitely not American.
‘They’re very pretty,’ she remembers hearing from the voice. An offhand comment from a conversation she doesn’t remember the origin of.
Aw fuck, she thinks, in her own voice this time.
Why did she pick this spot again?
“You look real good.”
Her eyes slide from the Dracaena—uh, anchor, to the woman seated across the very small table from her.
She smiles. It’s the type she does whenever she’s in front of a camera, all professional and shit.
“Thank you.” Again.
It was a simple compliment, one she’s heard four times already since they met up.
Her lower lip is caught in between her teeth as she busies herself with the menu. The one she’s seen far too many times to even need to look at.
She already knew what drink she’d be ordering before she stepped foot in the building. But for the sake of not blowing up her own spot, she picked up the leather bound booklet anyway.
“You know what you’re getting?” she asks, flipping to another page.
“Uh … nah.”
Over the menu, she stares at the other woman. She scratches at her freshly retwisted locs while scanning the menu, skimming over words Riri’s sure she cannot pronounce.
It’s okay, she can’t really pronounce them either. She never needed to. Someone else always spoke for her.
“Whatchu want?” The woman’s husky voice cuts through her thought process.
“Umm,” she begins, her voice going up a few octaves, mimicking the other woman’s action to search the menu. “The Sauvignon looks good.”
She neglects to continue reading the menu in favor of watching the other woman locate the item.
Her left brow twitches as she wrestles to keep her expression blank.
Go on.
“Damn,” the woman laughs. With an impressed smile, the woman nods, before closing the menu. “Aight,” she shrugs. A smug look masks her face.
Riri’s laugh is hollow.
Don’t get too cocky.
The woman twists in her seat, her head turning to look for the professionally polite young man that seated them. “Uh, where’s the waiter at?”
Why don’t you just call them?
Careful to keep her exhale light, she picks up her phone.
“‘Scuse me—‘scuse—“
The words crack around her sturdy voice.
Don't roll your eyes.
“Are you ready to order?”
The waiter’s chipper voice prompts her to set the phone down.
“Yeah, we could get a bottle of the … Sauvignon?”
“Of course.” The amicable waiter disappears just as fast as he’d come.
Before the woman can meet her gaze, her eyes slink over to her anchor, the plant.
That good ‘ole plant.
The same one she’s laid her eyes on thousands of times. She’d seen it from all angles, because it was never forgotten that she loved sitting on the balcony.
She only told her that once.
Not the woman across from her, someone else….
“Riri,” the other woman calls.
“Karter,” she replies, a teasing edge to her velvety voice.
An up-and-coming rapper, from New York. After three consecutive hits, she moved to LA, confident in her career. Shit is working for her.
And if Riri plays her cards right, there’ll be a photo of them hanging out together circulating by tonight.
Sitting back in her seat, Karter regards her with low eyes and a lip-lick that can’t be mistaken for one born of innocent intention.
“Tell me how your day was.”
When they first met, Riri found the native New Yorker’s voice to be attractive. She remembers when she was younger and used to be obsessed with a New York accent.
But she met someone, and New York took second spot to another place.
A country, rather than another state.
Irritation fills her now as she hears Karter’s voice.
It’s too low. It isn’t soft enough. And it’s nowhere close to being the right accent.
“Ri’?”
She blinks. “My fault, I was tryna remember everything.” She caps off the sentence with a laugh too fake for her to even enjoy.
As she goes on about her less-than-exciting day, entertaining Karter, she attempts to rid her mind of the woman plaguing it.
“So….” Riri begins. One hand toys with the utensil to her right while her chin rests on the knuckles of the other. “You got plans after this?”
Her eyes flick up, curtained by her newest set of lashes.
A light chuckle pours past Karter’s lips. She leans forward in her seat, not too shy to let herself get caught staring at Ri’s glossed lips.
“Only if you tryna slide wit’ me.”
This shit better be worth it.
“Alright.”
☆
1 month ago
The room was filled with nothing but laughter and yelling, as the women cheered on their mutual friend who found herself standing on top of the couch, throwing her ass to a Drake song.
She put on her best show for their cameras, not bothering to pull down her shorts that were riding up dangerously high.
The one to blame for such behavior was the almost empty bottle of D’ussé. Thank God, they had another bottle.
The woman had finally decided she was done, facing the cameras with a bright smile. All the women, and it was only four, moved to take more from the bottle or to sit back on the couch.
No one had spilt anything on her cream cushions just yet, but she would remain on guard about it until they all left.
Sitting back, her legs tucked underneath her, Riri cradled her cup whilst opening Instagram. She could tell she would need it.
Her eyes traveled to the top of the screen, looking for one profile’s story in particular. Finding it, she wasn’t pleased to see the gradient circle around the picture. A new story but she had yet to get a message back?
She tapped on it, eager to know what was so much more important than her messages.
She hadn’t bothered to view the third story, swiping out instead.
Lifting the cup, she let out a deep breath before downing half of her D’ussé.
She swallowed it down with ease. The liquid was like a power up. It only added to the tipsy feeling she was already experiencing.
Her thumb tapped against her screen to bring her to her messages.
She couldn’t fight back the eye roll. Her upper lip twitched with a scowl.
“Why the fuck Ri’ over there looking stressed about a nigga?”
She glanced up to catch her friend’s—Shianne’s—-gaze. The much taller woman sat on the side opposite of her on the wrap-around couch.
Riri wanted to wipe that fucking smile off her face.
Combing a manicured hand through her long tresses, Shianne grabbed her own cup to take a sip. Her low eyes were enough to tell everyone this wasn’t her first drink.
Riri wished she choked on it.
“Cause she is,” another woman, the one who’s been dancing on the couch, named Leah, chimed in.
“Shut the fuck up,” she muttered. The comments and laughter were not something she wanted to hear at the moment.
The sharp sound of someone sucking their teeth came from over her hunched shoulder, causing her to whip around.
“Tell me you’re not talking to Shuri.”
Riri found herself face to face with Cianni, the third woman.
“Get the fuck out my phone.”
“Shuri?” Shianne shreaked. “Oh my fucking God—”she choked out a laugh. “What the fuck? You guys were serious?”
Riri couldn’t help the twisted expression on her face. “I never said we were serious, and why the fuck do you care?”
“Never said I did, relax,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But if you guys were talking all this time, then…,” she shrugged.
Leah’s brows were lifted. “When did y’all … get together?” She looked around at the other women, confusion written on her face.
“Does it matter?” The liquor was turning her sour. “And we’re not together,” Riri made a face of disgust. “We just talked.”
“I don’t know, it looks like y’all are still talking to me.”
The smirk on Cianni’s face irked Riri. Anger spiked inside of her as she got the urge to shut her up.
“I thought you were over her shit after she went out with ‘ole girl?” The cheeky smile on Shianne’s face seemed to only grow.
The furrow between Leah’s brows deepened. “H-how long were y’all talking?”
Peering down at her own phone, Cianni lifted her brows. “Too long.”
“Forreal,” Shianne laughed.
“I thought she was single,” Leah mumbled.
“She is and so am I.”
Why had she said that?
A sarcastic laugh tumbled past Shianne’s full lips. “If y’all were speaking for that long, she’s basically you’re nigga.”
“She wishes shit was like that. But everybody knows Shuri don’t claim shit, like, ever. And Riri is too much of a simp ass bitch for that,” Cianni laughed.
Riri desperately wanted to tell her to shut up, that she was wrong and that she was speaking on shit she didn’t know. But it was obvious she knew more than Riri thought.
“Yeah, honestly, Ri’, I would’ve never pictured y’all together,” Leah began. “Like, you just don’t seem like each other’s type. Shuri gives me ‘hoe’ vibes.”
“Where did you hear that from?” Riri asked, her tone defensive. “And if we chose to fuck with each other, why the fuck would it matter what anyone else says.”
“Girl, chill out. She’s just tryna warn you … but I’m sure you’re already aware of the shit Shuri does,” Shianne said. That time, there was no laughter in her words.
“Okay, but I’m not a fucking child, so y’all don’t need to speak to me like I am. And who said I don’t ‘hoe’ around either?”
“Lemme stop you right there,” Cianni cut in. “You’re not. Be fucking serious. But if you wanna be cheated on because you wanna be delusional, no one is stopping you.”
“Or, you can get out my pussy, and mind the business that pays you. Thank you, though, for your concern.”
Rolling her eyes, Riri shifted in her seat, pushing her hair out of her face.
Cianni scoffed. “Bitches get a couple inches of that plastic dick and start acting fucking ditzy.”
“Oh?” Shianne covered her mouth and looked to Riri, awaiting her reaction.
“And bitches start fucking with hood niggas and forget they’re actually pussy.” Riri pushed herself off of the couch, trudging into the kitchen.
Leah cradled her head, already seeing the destination of this conversation “Okay, y’all, it’s not that serious—”
“Who’s pussy?” Cianni sat up, her voice a lot louder than before.
“Who the fuck were you calling a bitch?” Riri shot back.
“You guys, this is not worth fighting over!” Shianne yelled over them.
“Who the fuck is fighting? I’m just saying the truth. She’s mad I’m telling her that she’s being delusional about a bitch that won’t even claim her! Like a fucking clown—”
“So get the fuck out my house! Since I’m a fucking clown!”
“Guys, c’mon,” Leah pleaded, looking between the two women across the room.
“Gladly, the fuck?” Cianni shot up, snatching her things with no time to waste.
“Yeah, and don’t bother coming back, block my fucking number, too!” Riri yelled.
“Ditzy ass bitch!”
Before Riri could respond, the door slammed shut.
“She doesn't even know what she’s talking about!” Every step she took was heavy. “Why the fuck would I chase after someone when we’re not even serious?”
Leah and Shianne glanced at each other.
“Like I didn’t fuck another nigga three weeks ago!”
Any item she deemed trash was being snatched up and thrown into the garbage.
Shianne inhaled, pushing herself up from the couch. “Okay, girl. You seem like you want to be alone.”
“Yeah, so we just gonna … get outta here. My Uber’s on the way,” Leah said, grabbing her jacket.
“Bye,” was all Riri could huff out.
She hadn’t spared the women any more attention, not even when they left. She just kept moving, kept working until she found there was nothing more to throw away, nothing left to move around.
Plopping down onto the couch, she felt like she was sinking. Her body was buzzing and her mind was racing.
Pulling out her phone, she opened their messages.
Where’s the rest of that D’ussé?
☆
Present Day
Behind her dark shades, her eyes are wide. Her brows practically touch her hairline with how high they’re raised. And her teeth are on display for all those around her to see her bright smile.
She can’t even fucking hear herself over the music, let alone her own thoughts.
That’s how she likes it.
Tonight, she’s at her favorite spot in LA: Ivy.
It was Okoye’s idea to have her celebrate at the club. Her closest friends and family are in attendance: M’Baku, Ayo and Aneka, Nakia and T’Challa. Even Attuma tagged along.
Shuri knew she liked him for a reason.
Ivy’s finest section is theirs tonight. It isn’t tucked away like how she usually likes it, only because Okoye knows her well enough to know that when it was her time to shine, she wanted to shine the brightest. They’re in the middle of everything, incredibly hard to miss.
Behind the glasses, her eyes scan the scene, rolling over hundreds of moving people. Bitches are shaking ass, there’s drinking, smoking—the place is alive tonight.
Nodding her head, her smile grows. “Shit’s fire!”
Okoye’s distaste for American slang never gets old. Usually she’ll get a remark of some kind, something sarcastic. However, an eye roll is all she gets from the older woman. She figures Okoye only lets it slide on account of it being her special day.
“Yo we got a big name in the house tonight!” The DJ's boisterous voice cuts through the music. “She don’t ever hesitate to show love to us, so we not hesitating to show love right back!”
She doesn’t bother trying to stretch her neck to locate the man on the mic. Her phone is already out, recording herself with the flash on.
“She’s in the house tonight; We wishing you a Happy G-day Shuri!”
Dragging out the last syllable of her name, his voice is drowned out by Dougie B’s Uzi. The bass rocks the club. She cheers, catching the last few seconds on camera before posting the clip to her story.
Drill isn’t often played at LA nightclubs clubs, so she can only assume Okoye had it arranged when she planned this whole thing out. She’ll have to thank her for that later.
There’s a heightened buzz in the crowd, pulling Shuri’s attention away from those who had already viewed her story in the short time she posted it. A parade of people cut through the busy crowd, garnering the attention of many.
At the head of the line, two bottle girls carry two big bottles in hand. Close behind, two bartenders hold large, burning sparklers high above their heads. At the tail end of the short parade, are four dancers dressed in matching two pieces. They hold up a glaringly bright sign, two on each side to accompany its weight.
It reads, ‘Happy G-day Shuri!!!’
Her smile only grows as they enter her section.
Flashes of light obscure her vision, from the phones of the other club patrons and from the photographers accompanying her crew. It’s hard to see the direction they’re coming from. She doesn’t try to, she only poses.
Pulling at her bottom lip, she flashes the cameras her newest set of grillz, even the chain icing her neck and the rings decorating her fingers.
She can’t see anything past the lights, but she knows all eyes are on her, how couldn’t they be? The cameras love her, and so do the people.
The pictures haven’t stopped. She’s sure there’s enough off-guards of her to last a lifetime.
Things only get more lively as the night goes on. Her section holds considerably more people than they started with.
Glancing over at her friends, she sees that Aneka let Ayo drive the boat while Nakia and Okoye dance to the music.
Leaning forward, Shuri grabs a vacant hose from the hookah they brought out for her. She’d chosen to discard her glasses a long time ago, tucking them away in the pocket of her pants.
Smoke billows from her pursed lips, some of her gloss getting on the mouthpiece. She’ll have to reapply some later … eh, fuck it.
Her vision slides from the women dancing in front of her to Attuma, who’s far too entranced by Okoye to notice her staring.
The corner of Shuri’s mouth twitches with a smile and she shakes her head before looking somewhere else.
On the table, standing by the hookah, is the second bottle of liquor, untouched. The first one is on its last few sips. Taking another hit, she wonders just how long she’ll deny herself the liquor before she’ll give in.
“Yeeeaah!”
Shuri stands on the section’s couch, leaning over its back to get to the crowd of fans who hope to garner even the slightest bit of attention from her.
Despite it being her birthday, she guesses she’ll be granting wishes tonight.
Retrieving the second bottle of liquor—which she’s not sure what kind it is, but she knows it’s expensive—she pops it open and laughs as the crowd seems to grow even more rowdy.
“Who wants to driving the boat?” She screams over the music, laughing when she gets the response she wanted.
The crowd doesn't burden her with the task of having to choose, as one woman pushes herself to the front.
Shuri reaches over, softly cupping the woman’s jaw. She can’t hear shit anyone says, and she can hardly see properly with crazy lighting, but she can just make out the words the woman yells out.
‘Happy Birthday.’
She’s standing on her toes, trying to get as close to Shuri’s face as possible.
It’s hilarious.
“Thank you, baby!” She yells, feeling her voice crack. Thankfully, no one will have heard that.
As she lifts the bottle, the woman opens her mouth wide and Shuri pours some of the bottle’s content in her awaiting mouth.
The crowd cheers loudly, moving wildly.
Pulling the bottle back, she swipes the corner of the woman’s lips. Shuri wasn’t even sure she spilled any liquor on her, but it was anything for the fans.
She throws a subtle wink at the woman before pulling back.
“Who’s next?”
She looks over to her left, seeing M’Baku record the entire interaction, to which she laughs at.
Before she continues, she takes a gulp of the liquor herself, though she doesn’t think she needs anymore to be drunk. She’s already there.
Bringing her attention back to the crowd, she finds a new woman before her, and she goes to repeat the process.
The crowd is really showing out tonight, and Shuri definitely had more than two bottles delivered to her section.
All the liquor in her system had definitely interfered with her fine motor skills. The spilt drink on the chins and chests of the women she fed were evidence enough of it.
But she’d gotten no complaints. The bitches love it, and they’ll let her do anything she pleases.
Even taking them back to her place.
The liquid courage is getting to her, enough that she’d invited a couple girls to her section. And one in particular is giving her all of her attention right now.
She’s whispering in this girl’s ear, having her giggling. She doesn’t even know what words are coming out of her mouth, but all she knows is that she’s saying the right shit.
Shuri pulls away, her eyes hanging low and her grillz glistening as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip. The eye contact with this woman before her is strong.
Shit, she doesn’t even know her name.
The woman’s long, brown tresses are caught in Shuri’s fingers.
“What’s your name, pretty girl?”
The woman giggles behind a manicured hand. “Giselle.”
Shuri nods, her eyes focusing on Giselle’s pretty and glossed lips. She doesn’t part her focus as she stretches to retrieve the open bottle on the section’s table.
She leans in close, her lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “Share a drink with me, Giselle.”
Giselle nods. She knocks her head back just as Shuri gets to her feet. Just as she’d done to those other women, she feeds Giselle the drink.
Eye contact between the two doesn't break. Shuri finds it quite easy—too easy—to forget about their surroundings.
She half expects for Giselle to pull back, thinking she might’ve had enough of the drink. Yet when Giselle feels her pull away by a fraction, her manicured fingers curl around Shuri’s wrist.
Her throat bobs as she continues to take down the drink, neglecting to stop for air. All the while, she lifts her tongue to slide the tip against the lip of the bottle.
Shuri’s brows raise. “Damn,” she mumbles, almost breathlessly.
The flashing lights illuminate only fractions of Giselle’s face. And at some points, Shuri finds herself looking at a familiar face.
Damn, I miss her.
The thought almost makes her choke on her breath. Bringing herself from that trance, she spills a little bit of the drink.
The liquid pours down Giselle’s chin and throat, going straight to her exposed cleavage. Which, speaking of, looks great.
And yet, Shuri exercises some form of self-restraint, and doesn’t ogle. Instead, she apologizes for the mishap. Giselle only laughs it off, pulling Shuri closer to her.
Shuri’s gotten wasted enough to want more than just hookah, drinks, and innocent conversation for entertainment.
Yet another rap song she doesn’t know plays overhead. But it could be ‘Old McDonald’ playing for all she cares, all she knows is that this stripper is following the beat.
She doesn’t stray from it once. And as she works for her tips, Shuri showers her in twenties.
When she has no more bills to thumb through, her hands are free to explore all that’s being presented to her.
Rubbing, grabbing, smacking—the dancer doesn’t seem to mind either. She only continues, a large smile splitting her face.
The beat overhead switches up, and she isn’t afraid to throw it back—hard.
Grabbing hold of both sides of her hips, Shuri pulls her back to meet halfway with hard thrusts of her own. The bounce of her ass is mesmerizing, enough that she doesn’t notice Ayo recording her at first.
When she does, Shuri doesn’t stop. In fact, she looks into the camera before rolling her eyes back and dropping her mouth open, feigning euphoria.
Ayo’s laughter brings her out of character, prompting her to join in.
Shortly after, Ayo puts the phone away, but Shuri’s sure that she’ll see that entire interaction from another point of view on an Instagram story later.
Fuck.
That’s a problem for future Shuri to worry about. It’s her birthday, she’s allowed to act up and show out for the night.
She was sure to tip the dancer again before sending her on her way.
“You’re acting bad tonight!”
Spinning around, Shuri finds Okoye seated on Attuma’s lap. The couple grin at her. All Shuri can do is laugh and give a half-hearted shrug.
Moving past the couple, she returns to her seat within the section. She wastes no time pulling out her phone.
Viewing her friends’ stories, she sees numerous angles of what has taken place within the last few hours. She swipes to Ayo’s story to assess the damage.
The first story isn’t bad … and then she sees the second one, with her head knocked back and her giving the stripper the most devious backshots she’s ever been recorded giving.
Saving herself any further shame, Shuri swipes out from Ayo’s story. What was just a quick social media check-in, becomes a lot longer as she begins to scroll down her timeline.
It’s dry, which is good news.
She swipes to her explorer page and refreshes.
She does a quick scan. So quick, she almost misses something. Ever the diligent one she is, Shuri finds a post that catches her eyes.
And she knows she’s getting herself into trouble, because it has nothing to do with her. So why is she so curious?
Her eyes skim over the caption again and again and again. She doesn’t spend as much time looking at the post itself. And the comments are not even on her radar.
Shuri swallows and releases half of the breath she’s been holding.
It’s forced out as a curt laugh. Letting go of the rest of her bated breath, more laughter tumbles out.
She has to stop herself before it gets out of control, and so, she bites her bottom lip, resigning to just shaking her head.
If that’s how you want to play….
She double-taps the post and shuts off her phone. She exchanges the device for the large shades in her pocket.
The echo of Okoye’s words sound in her brain: ‘You’re acting bad tonight!’
And Shuri fully intended to live up that.
“Happy Birthday to me,” she mutters to herself, getting to her feet.
Now to find Giselle.