RIPPED & READY (PART 49)

RIPPED & READY (PART XLIX) 

The drive from Oakland to San Mateo was an awkward one, because every time I managed to start collecting my thoughts and balancing my emotions, Hank's hand would start creeping over until it finally found a resting spot on my knee.  I wasn't even sure if I felt bad about my loss of interest in him -- there were more pressing issues I needed to deal with and, Mr. Weirdly was not on my to-do-list.

Luckily there wasn't any traffic at that time of the morning (2:45 AM to be exact), so the freeway was practically empty.  He couldn't get over the San Mateo Bridge fast enough for the kid and, the only thing worse than his off-key, off-pitch singing was his off-key, off-pitch humming (Damn, he needed to just let Howard Hewitt do the singing). 

Where in the hell was Simon Cowell when you needed him?  (Damn I wish this nigga would shut his creepy as mouth). Whenever, Howard would cruise into the next note, this vocally challenged-coffin-stuffer stripped gears getting into his next note. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if every canine in the Bay Area were howling.  

By the time he pulled up in front the hospital, my already frayed nerves were bouncing up and down inside of my body, ready to jump off the nearest cliff.  When he grabbed me by my arm as I was getting ready to get out of the car, I almost cursed his ass out.  

No he didn't want a good-morning kiss.  

I pulled away from him, and jumped out of the car (and out of that damn horror film I was in).  I didn't want to be totally rude so, I stooped down, and motioned for him to roll down the window.  "Hey, Hank, you've got a lot to offer someone and I do hope you find him one day," I said graciously. 

He chuckled and said, "Marco, I have already found him.  You are one of the nicest guys I have met in a long time -- most of the ones I meet are grabbing at my piece before we can even make it into the house," he said. 

"That's really kind of you to say, bro, but, really, before I can get involved with anyone else, I need to see my current relationship through," I told him.  

He looked at me with eyebrows raised, "I am a very persistent man and, when I see something I want, money is no object, guy," he said, patting his pockets.

I know this motherfucker doesn't think he can lure me back to that haunted house using the fatness of his damned wallet.  I didn't give a fuck how much money he had, I watched too many horror movies over the years to ever get involved with someone who stuffs dead bodies for a living. 

I stood up, stepped back away from the car and said, "Hank, the flattery is pretty cool, but, trust me, I know what I want and I am a very stubborn man," I said, tapping on the top of the window plate. 

With that, I turned and walked away.  A slight chill ran up my back just thinking about being alone with a man I didn't know in a spooky mansion.  Hell, most shady ass shit usually happened inside the parameters of wealth and fame.  Money is the root of all evil.  No amount of money in the world could make me be with someone I didn't love (I know some would say that's a lie, but fuck them, I don't care -- I want to be in love in a real relationship).

My mother and father are clear examples of a life lived without boundaries. That reminds me too, I have got to hook up with my mother and sister to find out what is going on in their world.  I hadn't been over to the house in a month.  I also heard that pops had found him a new woman -- she was three years older than me -- that old bastard is going to die on top of a piece of pussy. 

Once inside the hospital, I stepped into the elevator that was going to take me to the floor where Collin was.  I wasn't in the mood to deal with nobody's attitude right now.  D'Andre's flippant responses to me earlier were unacceptable -- hell, he was the one who made it clear that he was going to be with Denise and that I was merely one for the road. 

Well, you know what, he may have been the more polished of the two, but he didn't have shit on Collin when it came to romance.  Hell, looking back on his approach to me that night as his chain was dangling above me, he sounded more like a Casanova tryin' ta get ova, than somebody truly sincere. 

Like I mentioned earlier, D knew what he was working with and he used it whenever he felt like getting what he wanted.  Let's face it, we're all a little older and that kind of tactic belonged back in that teenage memory.  I swear, D loves himself some him -- he stays in the mirror primping more than a damn woman.  That's why Collin had enough swag to get me that night, because he was a little rough around the collar and not so “got-dayum” rehearsed. 

When I entered the room, I saw that D had his legs propped up in another chair and was asleep.  It was quiet on the hospital ward, and all you could hear was low humming and soft beeps from the equipment.  I walked over to where Collin lay and, he too, was asleep. 

I started speaking to him softly, rubbing his head, gently, "I should've been here when your eyes opened, baby.  I didn't mean to stay gone for so many hours.  M6, Collin, M6 my nigga," I told him.  Tears began coming out of my eyes, hitting him on his bare chest.  I took my index finger and lightly rubbed on the M6 tattoo. 

I was so involved in the study of the symbol that he had tattooed on his chest, symbolizing his love for me, until I didn't notice that he had opened his eyes.  "Collin, I can't be your girl, my nigga, but I can be your guy, and I guess that's just how it has to be".  When I broke my concentration, I looked up towards his eyes and they were now open.  

He smiled.

His eyes were watery.

I smiled back.

I leaned over and brushed my lips across his.  

He whispered, weakly, "You don't have to be my girl, all you have to do is be my Big Daddy built like a truck satisfying like a Caddy," he said, chuckling, then frowning with pain.

"Careful, Collin," I said, stroking his arm gently.

You could have bought me for half a penny. 

I leaned down and brushed his lips with mine again, but when I looked up and over in the corner where D had been sleeping, I could only say, damn.  

D'Andre's eyes were wide open, and the pitiful expression on his face assured me that he had heard most, if not all, of what we had said. 

Shit!