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know you had it in you,” Peaches said, lighting a blunt she pulled out her bra.
    That’s because God has kept me from fucking you up, that’s why , I thought. “What was y’all fighting over?” I asked, glad to see Eve and Michel finally leave the club. I took my purse from her and reached inside for the little gel flats I usually put on after the club.
    “That big bitch stepped on my toe and I told her Precious, Magilla Gorilla, Fat Albert, Al Roker, and Biggie-looking ass to get off my fucking toe!” Peaches jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the girl walking up the street with her friends. “Shit, did I lie?”
    When Eve tried to hand me my shoes—both of them—I eyed her like she was crazy. “You can throw them pissy motherfuckers in the trash,” I said, dead serious.
    Michel raked his slender fingers through his hair. “I know that’s right,” he agreed.
    Eve looked back at me like I was crazy. “Fucking Louboutins? I’ll rock these pissy motherfuckers then.”
    I shrugged. I wasn’t the type of chick to waste money, but I didn’t want to drag nobody else’s piss and possible germs in Make$’s car or our apartment. Nothing.
    “Oh heeeeeeeellll no,” Peaches said, stepping up next to Eve and pulling a plastic grocery bag from her purse. “Put them Loubies right in this bag, beanpole.”
    I rolled my eyes, even as I wondered who in they right mind carried grocery bags balled up in they pocketbook. Why? Who? When? Why? How?
    “You not gone waste my son’s money, Miss Chocoliscious,” she snapped. “And I’m gone tell Terrence that’s how you living. I told him he need to let me handle his money while he gone. You ain’t had job the first since you fell off the stripper pole and you just wasting money like you Keyshia Cole, Mary J. Blige, or some shit. Fuck you and fuck what you thinking, baby boo. You wait ’til I talk to him.”
    “Girl, you right, Peaches,” Nikki Façade cosigned, digging under her loose tracks to scratch her scalp.
    Eve and Michel and I shared a long look. I knew they had to be thinking what I was thinking. I just fought a bitch for her ass and she flipped the script on me in a heartbeat.
    I wasn’t worrying about fucking up my cash flow. Peaches was on a strict allowance outside of the house he bought her, and there was no way he was trusting her crazy ass with his money. Hell, I barely had a lot of access to it.
    Still, that bitch was dirty. I should’ve left her laid the fuck out on the floor, but hindsight is always clearer.
    Dumb bitch.
    Since Make$ was out of town, Michel and Eve spent the night with me. A couple of bottles of moscato and retelling about our club escapade kept my mind occupied, but as soon as I set them up in the guest room and made my way to our master suite I felt all my loneliness again. That shit was starting to fit me like a second skin.
    Sometimes it felt like it was suffocating me.
    Most bitches would spend his money, enjoy his whip, lamp in the nice crib, and find a jump-off for a little phone conversation and sexual stimulation on their terms. But no other nigga did it for me. I didn’t want nobody but Make$. A couple of his friends—like his childhood friend and fellow rapper Tek-9, had even tried me on the sneak tip, but I played like I couldn’t read between the lines. Besides, I couldn’t even picture myself chilling with—and definitely not sexing—another dude.
    My mama always taught me that a woman can’t do the shit a man do. Our bodies are built different, and trying to handle two or three dicks in steady rotation would fuck up a woman’s reputation and her pussy walls.
    I picked up my cell phone from the bed, hating myself for checking to see if the ringer was off and I missed his call or text. I felt disappointment before I even confirmed that there wasn’t shit wrong with my phone but there was a lot wrong with my relationship—at least when he was on the road. When he was home we were straight.
    We spent a lot