Can I Talk to You (G Street Chronicles Presents)

  G STREET CHRONICLES PRESENTS

  CAN I TALK TO YOU

  by

  Nicole Jackson

  Copyright 2015 Nicole Jackson

  Published by:

  G Street Chronicles, LLC

  P.O. Box 1822

  Jonesboro, GA 30237-1822

  www.gstreetchronicles.com

  fans@gstreetchronicles.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written consent from both the author, and publisher G Street Chronicles, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person. All the characters, incidents, and dialogues are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, entities, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author/publisher.

  Join our social networks

  Like us on Facebook

  G Street Chronicles

  G Street Chronicles CEO Exclusive Readers Group

  Follow us on Twitter

  @GStreetChronicl

  Follow us on Instagram

  @GStreetChronicles

  Table of Contents

  For my readers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  For my readers

  This book is definitely a break from the usual from me. This book has been in my archives for quite some time. It’s really a simple love story, but tackles an issue we often shy away from…insecurity. I feel that as women we are definitely multi-dimensional, and although we try to exude confidence there are sometimes things in our past that shape the world in our eyes. So, be prepared to read about a REAL woman and her issues; flaws and all. It aint all pretty, but sadly this is actually some women’s story.

  Ooh…and a special shout out to my group Nicole Jackson’s Read-A-Lot. The love is real, and no matter what the nay-sayers bring I will keep coming. That’s a promise. This aint no fly by night thing for me. I puts in work, and I do it for the readers. That’s all that matters at the end of the day. So, in advance I appreciate the continued support, which gives me the courage to write outside of the box. There’s so many versions of Nicole the author, and I hope this one is well received like all the others.

  Chapter 1

  Keirah

  2004

  “Keirah, why are you wearing that?”

  “What?” I ask as I look down at my clothes.

  “Why are you wearing that dress? It does nothing for your body,” my mama tells me.

  I ignore her, step in front of a mirror, and take a better look at myself. I have a nice amount of cleavage out and a huge part of my thighs is showing. The black dress is clinging to my size fourteen body and I thought that I was looking good.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with this,” I say to Mama as I stand in the mirror.

  “The dress is cute, but it’s clinging to your stomach. You are supposed to try to hide that small tire you have around your waist.”

  “Tire? I think that you are taking things a little too far. I can stand to do some sit-ups, but I definitely don’t look that bad. I have a pudge, but it’s not that noticeable. I’ve seen chicks with much bigger guts showing a lot more skin. I think that I look sexy despite that one little flaw.”

  “Girl, please. You shouldn’t be trying to be like all those other sloppy young girls walking around here. And not just that, but why do you have to have your breasts all out like that? All those niggas gon want from your ass is an easy lay.”

  I had to stop myself from going off. My mama wore tight, revealing, clothes all the time. We were the same damn size; give or take. We were just built differently. She carried a majority of her weight in her ass, while mine was in my breasts and thighs. She still had a gut; but for some reason, she thought that her ass excused her from having to cover her belly up. It’s obvious that she thought that I had a bad shape; so in her mind, I should wear shit that doesn’t touch any part of my body. This shit was crazy; because of her, at twenty years old, I was just learning how to find clothes that were right for my body. Listening to her, I would wear clothes that made me seem fifty pounds heavier.

  I’ve discovered that I should wear things that were clingy to show the contrasts of my body. I didn’t want to look like one big round butterball with no definition. I am curvy despite the fact that I don’t have the world’s biggest ass. I’m okay with that. Shit…it ain’t like I can do something about it if I wanted to. So, I’m trying to work with what I have.

  Out here in Houston, everybody in the club scene keeps it sexy; so sexy slinky dresses are in, no matter the size of the woman. So, why in my own mother’s eyes if I try to embrace my womanhood and sexuality, am I’m looking and acting like a slut? One might say that she’s just old fashion, but I’d have to beg to differ. You see, my mama is just fifteen years older than I am. So, while I’m twenty, she’s just thirty-five. Hell, when we’re out and about, we attract the same men. The thing is, a few years back, my mama’s boyfriend got drunk and tried to force me to kiss him – on the lips. He didn’t live with us, so once he left, I informed my mama. She claimed that his ass was history, but weeks later, she asked me if I would be cool with her continuing to date him if she kept him away from our home. I wanted to call her all kinds of selfish bitches; but instead, I just told her that I didn’t give a damn. Just by the tone of my voice a blind man would know that I didn’t like the situation one bit, but that didn’t stop my mama. No…she kept right on seeing the man despite my objections; right until the day he dumped her ass.

  Now see, my mama thinks that she is fine as wine with her big butt and all, so why would any man jeopardize losing her for my no ass having ass? That’s her line of thinking if you ask me; or at least that’s what she tries like hell to convince herself of, and me as well. And what’s really fucked up is that I sometimes find myself falling for her bullshit. I’m 5’6”, light brown, with hair that reaches the middle of my back. I’m constantly told that I’m just so pretty; but I get balanced out with my mama reminding me that if I correct this or do that…then I could look much better. I guess having a shape like hers it supposed to be considered fine, but it’s ironic how she has no man to speak of.

  “Whatever, mama,” I sighed. “As long as I feel that I look good, that’s all that matters,” I said as I grabbed the brush to spruce up my hair one last time
.

  “That’s your ass. Don’t call me when the vice squad picks you up,” my mama said as she headed for her bedroom. If she was any other person, I would have been chopped her ass down to size with all the skeletons she has in her closet. Some she knows that I know about, while other shit would probably bring her ass to tears if she knew that I knew about it.

  Mama always tries to fuck up my night, but I wasn’t going to let it happen this time. My girls and I were about to hit up Metropolis and it was about to be on and poppin. I just hated that I had to be the one to pick everyone up. It was sad how none of my girls had their own vehicles. If they would get off their asses and get a job, we wouldn’t have this problem; but that’s another story for another time.

  I took one last glance in the mirror, grabbed my keys, and headed out the door. I hopped into my Toyota Camry and headed toward Angel’s spot. She lived in the same complex as me and my mama. I didn’t even bother to get out after I pulled up in front of her door. I simply blew the horn. A minute later, she stuck her head out the door.

  “Here I come,” she yelled.

  “Hurry up, bitch! I still have two other people to pick up,” I yelled back.

  It was ten thirty and I had to go pick up Tameka and Kerry. I hated waiting on Angel because she lived with her boyfriend and seemed to always ask him if she could go out at the last minute. I don’t understand what the ‘asking’ shit was all about. Aren’t we all adults? I’m sure that he doesn’t ask her when he decides to go somewhere.

  After waiting for ten minutes, Angel finally brings her ass outside. Her boyfriend sticks his head out the door and waves at me right before he allows the two kids to come outside too.

  “Where are they going?” I ask her as she slides in my front seat.

  “We have to drop them off down the street,” she told me, even though we both know that she hadn’t asked me a damn thing.

  “Hey, Keirah,” her oldest son spoke to me as he and his brother climbed in my backseat.

  “Hey,” I spoke back. “Angel, why didn’t Tee keep them?”

  “He said that he was tired.”

  “So what? He could have put their asses to sleep then.”

  “I didn’t feel like arguing with him, so I just asked my mama to keep my kids,” she said, acting like she was becoming annoyed. Didn’t she have some nerve?

  “Well, one of those boys is his, so he shouldn’t mind keeping them,” I threw that out there for the hell of it.

  “Whatever,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

  I simply put my car in reverse and headed out the complex. I am a very outspoken person that doesn’t mince my words, but I’m too kind hearted. No matter how much shit I talk, I can’t seem to tell people no.

  The one problem with all my girls is that they had higher expectations for me than they had for the damn men in their lives. That shit was just crazy because I ain’t fucking any of ‘em.

  Take Angel for example; there she was living on Section 8 housing and paying thirty-dollar rent, and maybe a hundred dollar light bill. Her man worked full-time and paid those two small ass bills for her. Shit, I had to give my mama more than that to live with her. Tee had plenty of money to play with. He had a nice Cadillac that she couldn’t even think about driving. She hadn’t had a house phone in months. Shit, I hadn’t seen her with her hair fixed in damn near a year. She’d gained weight after giving birth to Tee’s first son and her second. The weight definitely didn’t agree with her. She didn’t have much ass, her breasts were just there, and her face was fat as hell. To be honest, she was just like a size twelve or fourteen, but she was built sloppy with it. She was the kind of person that only looked good at like a size five. She’d been wearing her weave for so long that it had a strange odor to it and she tried to cover that up with some cheap perfume. That’s my girl, but she was the welfare-recipient type that lived off food stamps and had no drive. She didn’t even know enough to realize that her man was doing the bare minimum for her and her kids. She thought that she was something like a housewife, but she was getting used in a major way. That man didn’t even have to contribute half of his paycheck into her household and she gave him license to run the show. My theory is that a man has to pay the cost to be the boss, and he just wasn’t doing enough to run anything other than her bath water. She was constantly calling me for rides, or to borrow money when she had a man at home that had all of the above. These bitches thought that they could use me while their man used them. But see, mama didn’t raise no fool. I do shit from the kindness of my heart, and I don’t go out of my way unless it’s what I want to do, and they all know it.

  Luckily, Angel’s mama lived right around the corner from Tameka, so I didn’t have to go out of my way to pick her up. So, I dropped Angel’s rugrats off and was outside of Tameka’s apartment three minutes later. I was prepared to wait for a little while because Tameka’s situation was even more fucked up than Angel’s. Like me, Tameka didn’t have any kids, but she had one jealous ass nigga. Ace was her man and he was a trip. Meka did hair and would often give him all the money she made so that he could score some coke. He’d then get his hustle on, but the thing is, he didn’t pay her back. That bitch was crazy. You might as well say that he was hair-pimping her ass. They lived with his mama and his five sisters and brothers along with all their kids. She was cute, but very skinny, which was cool most of the time because most dudes didn’t mind a slim chick. Her man knew that she was a down ass chick, so his insecurities about losing her led him to be too controlling. So, although he stayed in the clubs, he tried his best to keep her ass at home. So, she usually had to sneak out, or literally make a run for it as he chased after my car. Their shit was the craziest.

  I was just about to grow impatient when I spotted Tameka running down the stairs of their apartment building.

  “Oh shit. Oh shit!” she yelled as she ran up to my car and jumped in the backseat. “Bitch, drive!” she shouted.

  Right as I was putting my car in reverse, Ace ran his skinny ass out of the apartment. “Tameka, you better bring your ass back here!” he barked as he made his way down the stairs.

  I cracked up laughing as we zoomed out of the lot. “Bitch, while you’re laughing, your ass is gon get it later. Watch and see!” I told her.

  I was glad that she was going out with us, but I thought that she was crazy to risk that ass whipping just to hang for a couple of hours. I don’t know why she wouldn’t just go back to her own mama’s house.

  “You ain’t never lied. He gon kick your ass, Tameka,” Angel laughed.

  “Fuck Ace!” Tameka waved off.

  I think that a part of her liked when he acted a plum fool. Maybe that shit made her feel loved. She was the one that said that she liked my ex-boyfriend’s aggression when he used to yank me by the hair. She claimed that she wanted a man to rough her up and show her that he was in control. In her mind, that would reveal how much he cared when she fucked up. They say be careful what you ask for. Now she was covering up bruises and black eyes every other week and I guess that she thought that her man loved her like no other.

  “Bitch, you too laid back for me. I’d be pulling out my hair if I had to deal with all the shit you put up with,” I told her.

  She stuck her head between me and Angel. “Keirah, I know damn well that you ain’t talking. How many times did Ken go upside your head?” she asked me.

  “Fuck Ken!” I spat. “He may have put his hands on me, but I never let him beat me. We’d fight like cats and dogs before I’d let that shit happen.”

  “Whatever,” she said as she rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat.

  Personally, I was so tired of them bringing up Ken. He was my ex-boyfriend, which means that he’s a thing of the past. I met Ken when I was about six or seven and he was about eight or nine. He was the ugly friend of my two boy cousins. I hated to see Ken coming because he was so damn ugly and tall. For years he had a crush on me and I hated him. Finally, when I was like eleven, I told him
that I’d be his girlfriend. Never did I imagine that I’d grow to love him. All the dudes around the hood couldn’t believe it either. Ken’s mama had like six kids and he was the oldest and the worse. He never had much, and the little he did have, he often took from someone else. I, on the other hand, was an only child that didn’t lack in material possessions. I was slim, with a nice complexion and long hair; so all the boys had expressed interest in me at one time or another. So, eventually the other guys grew frustrated with my loyalty to Ken and started hating. They were always talking about how ugly, dirty, and goofy he was; although, when shit got hot and they needed muscle, he was the first person they called.

  Over the years, Ken was in and out of some type of jail and it was during those times that I would date other boys. Soon, I realized that not many were willing to go out of their way for me like Ken did, so whenever he’d come home, I’d drop whoever I was with like a bad habit. I also discovered that each that time Ken would go away, I’d gain a little weight. It was never significant enough to say much about, but Ken would jokingly say that I was fat. In fact, Ken never gave me compliments about my looks. No matter how many of his boys told him that I was pretty, he wouldn’t go along with it. He claimed that my head was big enough without him complimenting me. He was right because I knew that he was crazy over me without him even having to say it. No matter what I did, he wouldn’t break up with me. I would sometimes talk to other dudes from the neighborhood, but he wouldn’t even confront me about it. He’d just catch the dude by himself and try to fight him.

  The dynamics of me and Ken’s relationship changed after he’d gotten out of state jail when I was eighteen. He’d been away for fifteen months and swore that he was going to get a job and get his life together. A lot of his boys had been burglarizing local businesses and had been making some good money. So they all had nice slabbed out cars and expensive jewelry. Ken couldn’t resist and went headfirst into the game. I tried with all my might to keep him out of trouble; but the influence of his friends and the call of the streets were way too strong. No matter how I screamed and shouted, he would just leave and do his thing. After a while, I got tired of trying to stop a grown ass man from destroying his life and I said fuck it. He was getting money and didn’t mind looking out for me, so money wasn’t even an issue. I was working at Home Depot making my own money and he just added to my pockets. So, I often took my girls out to eat and splurged on whatever I wanted. I think that I picked up about twenty pounds without even noticing.