Kiss the Ring by Meesha Mink Page B

with deep dimples.
    Naeema reached up quick as shit and grabbed the collar of his plaid shirt in her left fist tight as hell as she pressed the clutch with her right and started to drive ahead, steering with one hand.
    â€œHey,” he hollered in a high-pitched squeal like a straight bitch as his body jerked out of the window some more.
    Naeema kept rolling forward slowly even as he gripped her wrist and tried to free her hold on his disrespectful ass. The driver of the Hummer accelerated to keep up with her and to keep his boy from falling out of the window as he kept hollering like a fucking pig being dragged to slaughter. “You punk bitch,” she hollered to him.
    She glanced forward real quick and spotted a police car in the distance headed toward them. Letting his shirt go andthen slapping the shit out of him, she accelerated ahead with a laugh and rested low in her seat as she left them clowns behind easily before turning down Clinton Avenue.
    Her heart was pounding and her pulse racing as she jetted the rest of the way to Hawthorne Avenue. Slowing down the motorcycle, she turned off the busy street and pulled to a stop in one of the parking spots lining the front of the minimall. She parked and removed her helmet.
    â€œWhaddup, Naeema.”
    She smiled and waved to whichever of the dudes already lounging in the lot had spoken. It was just a little past eleven but the spot was already crunk with those who didn’t have shit to do all day but chill or hustle. She knew as she crossed the lot and walked into the building that every eye of every dude posted up on the cars outside was on her. She didn’t even need to look back to confirm that shit. It wasn’t ego, just knowledge about horny-ass dudes in a pack acting like they were about to pounce.
    The scent of the aftershave hit her as soon as she stepped inside the barber shop. It smelled good as hell to her. Familiar. Just like all the faces of the dudes she worked with. “Whaddup, y’all,” she said with a smile as she looked up and down the two rows of ten chairs each, then she removed her book bag and set it on her station at the front of the shop.
    Naeema steeled herself for the bullshit she knew was about to go down.
    â€œLook who turned the fuck back up.”
    â€œWell, damn, where the hell you been?”
    â€œWhaddup, Naeema.”
    â€œI thought you quit, shit.”
    â€œWe was ’bout to do a APB on this bitch!”
    Naeema sat down in the chair, swiveling back and forth as she removed her clippers from the book bag. “Come on, that’s all y’all got? Y’all had a whole week to get y’all shit together. For real,” she teased, crossing her legs as she waved her fingers to beckon more of the teasing.
    â€œDon’t let these negroes fool you. They missed you.”
    She twirled in the chair and looked up at the owner, Derek Majors, standing on the second level outside his glass office. He motioned with two fingers for Naeema to come upstairs, then turned before he could even see if she agreed and walked back in his office.
    The men turned their conversation off Naeema’s sudden reappearance while she stood up and made her way to the back of the shop to jog up the stairs.
    â€œLook, I wouldn’t give a damn how long it takes or how effed up the website was at first. I wanted in on Obamacare and my black, uninsured, sick of running up high-ass emergency room bills and fucking up my credit ’cause I don’t pay those ER bills self, was patient as a motherfucker. Ya heard me?” one of the barbers said from behind her.
    Naeema glanced back over her shoulder as the men, barbers and customers alike, all threw their opinions in the mix.
    â€œObama should have made sure there was a smooth roll-out—he gave the Republicans all the bullshit they needed to complain,” someone said.
    â€œOh man, your ass. Y’all know damn well them Republicans paid somebody to