Not A Good Look by Nikki Carter Page B

spaghetti. Like for real, gangsters gotta eat, too.
    â€œIt’s cool. It’s actually a good look for you,” I comment. “You can’t be thugged out twenty-four seven.”
    Truth grins at me and hands me a plate. “You don’t like thugs? I thought all y’all liked thugs.”
    â€œI like for-real people, so if you’re really a thug, do you.”
    â€œDreya never told me how cool you are, Sunday. I feel bad now for letting you walk to the bus stop all those times. I coulda dropped you off.”
    â€œIt’s all good. Me and Bethany weren’t trying to interfere in y’all little morning dates or whatever.”
    Truth licks his lips and looks me up and down in a way that makes me totally uncomfortable. I’m not one for doing anything shady with my cousin’s boyfriend. I don’t roll like that.
    â€œYou and Sam did y’all thing on Dreya’s album tracks,” Truth says as he finishes making the second plate.
    â€œThanks. Sam is really good and we’re on the same page. That’s pretty rare, so I’m glad we found each other.”
    Truth replies, “Found each other? Sounds kinda romantic. I thought you were talking about writing songs.”
    â€œYou sound jealous.”
    Truth chuckles. “Nah, not jealous. I can have any chick I want—even you.”
    This dude is beyond cocky, I guess because he’s about to blow up in the rap game. And I guess he is kinda built. He’s got muscle tone that won’t quit, and the black tank top he’s wearing isn’t hiding any of it.
    But none of that makes me wanna holla at him, because all that thuggishness cancels the good stuff out. I’d take a chill dude like Sam any day. Sam’s swagger isn’t oozing from his pores, but it’s there.
    I take the other plate from Truth. “Thanks for the grub.”
    â€œSo you just gon’ leave me by myself, making the last plate?” he asks.
    â€œPretty much. Your ego can keep you company.”
    I hear Truth laughing as I turn my back on him and walk away. Dude has left a bad taste in my mouth.
    When I get back to the lounge with the plates, Sam and Bethany are both sitting on the couch. Dreya is up here, too, fanning herself and swigging off a bottle of water. I pause because I’m not sure where to sit down. Bethany knows that something might be up with me and Sam, so she should’ve sat on the other couch or chair, because there is not enough room for me on the couch with her and Sam.
    I hand Sam his plate. “This enough for you?”
    â€œYes. Thanks, Sunday.”
    Dreya’s eyes dart around the room. “Where is Truth?”
    â€œIn the kitchen fixing my food,” Bethany says.
    â€œWhat?” Dreya asks. She closes her eyes like she’s trying to contain herself. “Bethany, you better be glad I have to preserve my voice, or I’d be cussing your big butt out right now.”
    Dreya storms down the hall toward the kitchen and I give Bethany the serious eye.
    â€œYou’re dead wrong for that,” Sam says.
    â€œWhat?” Bethany gives both of us her fake innocent gaze.
    Before I get a chance to chime in, we hear some kind of pandemonium going on in the kitchen. Sounds like plates and glasses breaking. I guess Dreya’s in there regulating.
    â€œAre you gonna see what’s up or am I?” Sam asks me.
    I put both my hands up and shake my head. “Not me. I don’t do drama.”
    But neither of us have to go, because Truth and Dreya both come back into the room. Dreya’s face is about three shades of evil, and I’m not surprised that Truth is not holding a plate of food for Bethany. From all the commotion I heard, I thought that Truth would be wearing that plate of food.
    â€œIf you want something to eat, go and get it yourself,” Dreya tells Bethany in a quiet voice. “My man don’t fix plates for nobody.”
    Ha!