1. Yolani Ian

TEN YEARS LATER… SHORTLY AFTER THE WRAP PARTY…

"Attitude" by Don Toliver blared from the club's speakers as I entered from the back entrance. I caught a glimpse of the goings on in the front part of the club and all the gaudy decorations to celebrate the birth of one of the worst niggas on earth: Cemone Compton.

Only reason I was even here was because he agreed to pay me the ridiculous amount of one million dollars just to sing his ass Happy Birthday. Had I known he was going to agree to that fee, I wouldn't have said I would come.

I was tired of Cemone's ass. In fact, tired was a fucking understatement. Ever since he'd seen me that night at his brother's wrap party, he'd been sending flowers, gifts, and any damn thing else he thought would make me answer his thirsty ass direct messages on social media. I could tell that was what he was used to doing, and I was sure the shit had worked on a plethora of females. He didn't get multiple baby mamas by sitting there and looking pretty. Or shit, maybe he did because I hated to say it, but he was beautiful.

I wasn't sure what his mother and father did, but they had a whole brood of handsome boys from what I saw that night at the wrap party. However, Cemone was the finest and the tallest… of course. The worst men were always the best looking in the group.

I chuckled to myself as I looked in the mirror in the back room, thinking about how I purposely shot my shot at one of his brothers that night, knowing it would bruise his overgrown ass ego. The gesture of mine even made the nigga stay all night, thinking he could get me alone once the party died down, but I was sure to skip out when he wasn't paying attention.

"Aight, it's time." Avery walked into the room, checking his watch. "They want you to make a grand entrance in a couple minutes."

Avery was still in my life, thankfully, and it had only taken a few weeks after his declaration of love for me, for us to get back to normal. He came to me soon after and explained that I was right about us staying like brother and sister, and nothing more. Now, a decade later, we were closer than ever, and he was my phenomenal, hardworking booking agent.

"Okay. Let's get this over with." I straightened my dress that I didn't feel was too short until right now.

Cemone was very forward, from what I had witnessed, and I didn't want him trying anything or getting the wrong idea after seeing me in an outfit with a scandalous ass length.

"Told you not to wear that one." Avery laughed before the club coordinator came to ask me if I was ready.

"Have the car ready and waiting because as soon as I finish singing, I'm hightailing it out," I half joked, making Avery chuckle.

"Probably pregnant. Blood fertile as fuck."

I giggled, shaking my head as I trailed the coordinator to get in place. I listened and waited, mic handed to me, before, finally it was my time. It got preternaturally quiet in the club before I strutted through the curtain, allowing my voice to be heard before I was seen. Once I came into view, singing Happy Birthday as I strutted up the stairs, the whole club went wild. I couldn't help but smile, seeing so many of my fans damn near about to faint at the sight of me.

I kept my eyes on Cemone once I spotted him, getting into character like I always did when I performed.

On stage or in professional settings, I wasn't Yolani Ian; I was just Yolani, the superstar. Yolani was sensual, sexy all the time, very forward but also sweet, whereas Yolani Ian was a normal girl who sometimes had an attitude. All niggas wanted Yolani, while all niggas only mistreated Yolani Ian. It was exactly why I would never even give someone like Cemone the time of day.

A crooked smile burst through his handsome face as he stroked his mid-length beard, Cuban chain blinding me a bit right along with his watch, bracelet, and few rings. Even his bottom teeth had bling, and it took some mental strength not to roll my eyes. Not because I hated how he looked, but because I didn't. He would get so much more if he was humbler and had more of a personality that didn't involve his occupation as a shooting guard for the Bulldogs.

"Mm." Cemone grunted, tucking his full lips in as I neared him, bypassing all his lookalike siblings, seemingly only having eyes on him and singing sexily as I got close, inhaling his expensive cologne. "Pretty ass Yolani." He gripped me, pulling me down into his lap so that I was straddling him as he felt on my ass.

Not wanting to punch him in the nuts in front of all these people and my fans, I tried to keep my anger at bay and play along. It was just an ass grab, something I'd experienced by less attractive men, so I would let it slide.

As the last note of the song slipped past my lips, Cemone covered my mouth with his, kissing me in a way that only a freak like him could. Irate, I yanked back, slapping him so hard across the face that his head turned. His boys and brothers clamored about, and the club exploded into an uproar.

As I climbed from his lap, face balled up, Cemone only smiled as if what I'd done had only turned him on.

Quickly turning away, I darted from the section, down the stairs, and back where I'd come from, security blocking the rabid fans from grabbing at me the entire way.

I continuously wiped at my mouth, utterly disgusted by having his mouth on mine. Cemone was a known ho, and there was no telling where that mouth had been prior to tonight.

Not only that, but I also didn't find him attractive outside of the physical, even in the slightest. Not only was he promiscuous, but he had a horrible temper, was violent, way too cocky, and worst of all, was a deadbeat to however many kids he had. The world knew of two, because one of his baby mamas never shut up about him on social media. By saying that, Cemone was the last nigga I wanted kissing me.

"I need some fucking alcohol," I said to Avery, who instead of having the car running was in my dressing room, chortling and clapping.

"Chill out, Lani. That's gon' burn, but we can get you an STD test," he jested, making me roll my eyes.

"Get the driver, please. I'm ready to go." I clipped my golden curly hair up, staring in the mirror at my smeared lipstick from me hyper wiping on my way back here.

That man's tongue had been in my mouth, and the only upside was that I saw how clean and pink it was. That calmed my nerves a tiny bit. I could still feel his lips on mine and because I was so turned off and disgusted, it was hard for me to focus on how soft his lips were and how good of a kisser he'd probably be if I actually welcomed the action. I even still felt his big hands on my ass and back. His cologne seemed to be embedded in my hair and clothes.

"I am. All this stuff came, so it got in the way of me doing that." Avery lifted from the vanity table, gesturing toward the big bouquet of red roses wrapped in hundred-dollar bills, one big orange bag from Hermes, a couple burgundy ones from Cartier, and then an all-black one with Chanel's logo and donning their signature white camellia flower and white ribbon.

"Well, I'm not taking any of that shit." I shook my head. The nigga even bought gifts for me on his own birthday. I couldn't get out of here fast enough.

"Aight." Avery left, still sniggering as he did so while I gathered my things.

A knock sounded off on the door, and before I could grant entry, Cemone's tall ass was slipping inside, ducking slightly to do so. You knew you were tall when you had to duck for doorways.

"Why you slap me?" he asked, chomping down on some gum with a smirk.

"You're not as dumb as you look, Cemone, so I'm sure it will come to you." I nervously put my makeup bag into my duffel.

My stomach was churning, hoping he didn't come closer or touch me. I didn't know why, though, because I didn't even like him, and this only happened when I liked a nigga. I hadn't felt this gurgling feeling in my stomach in years.

"Aight, Lani?—"

"Nigga, we talking." Cemone cut Avery off as he peeked into the dressing room.

"She don't wanna talk to you. Secondly, I wasn't addressing you, nigga, so don't address me," Avery snapped, fully stepping in and staring up at Cemone.

"Or what, nigga? Fuck you gon' do if I address you?" Cemone closed the gap between them.

"Avery, give me a second. I'm fine," I hopped in, wanting to diffuse things because while Avery was nowhere near a punk, Cemone was temperamental and would fly off the handle at any given moment. A fight would surely ensue if this back and forth continued.

"I'll be right outside the door." He was speaking to me but sizing Cemone up. The latter chuckled, but I knew he didn't find the situation humorous; it was more of a ‘nigga, I wish you would' chuckle.

Once Avery was gone, Cemone came closer, moving my things and sitting down in the elevated chair so he could be right in front of me. In the light like this, I realized he was otherworldly fine. I'd never seen Cemone in person and in bright ass light like this.

If a sighting was in person, it was usually dark, and if it was light, it was usually on TV. He smelled good and looked even better, but on the inside, he was rotten.

"Why you playing hard to get?" He licked his lips, clasping his hands in his lap. His black short sleeved button up and light washed jeans went well together.

Sitting down, he was the same height as I was standing. His knee brushed against me, making me damn near jump back because I never wanted this nigga touching me again.

"Hard to get? I know this may be a foreign concept to you, but some women don't like you or find you attractive."

He frowned like he didn't believe me, saying, "I highly doubt you don't find me attractive. You may not fuck with a nigga, but you think I'm handsome at the least." He grinned cutely when I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

"For your information, a serial baby daddy who can't control his temper and thinks being talented on a basketball court and rich is a personality trait is not attractive," I shot back, enjoying the way that cocky grin melted right off of his stupid ass face.

"You don't even know what the fuck you talking about," he snapped low-key, and now I was smiling, liking that I'd gotten under his skin. "You don't know shit about me, love."

"Exactly, nigga." I folded my arms. "The only thing you show is how rich you are and how well you can dribble a damn ball up and down a court while showboating. I have my own money, probably more than you. I'm talented in my own right, which I don't have to tell you because you paid one million dollars for me to sing to you for about a minute and a half, and I am famous already. So, tell me, Cemone Compton, what would I find intriguing about a man who is only offering me shit I already have?" I cocked my head, waiting on his reply.

I was actually interested, because I knew he had nothing. Cemone was the typical rich celebrity man who treated women like disposable dinnerware, using them, then tossing them aside and never thinking about them again. The fact that he thought buying me shit I could buy myself and him being famous was gonna get me to come up off some pussy, was comical.

I'd endured enough in my personal life already. Every man I'd given a chance to had been unfaithful for one stupid reason or another, but it all came down to the fact that they were immature, just like Cemone was. I'd dated famous and unfamous, and they all had the same result. When I began blaming myself for their transgressions, I knew it was time for me to make a change. I wasn't going to give any man even an iota of a chance unless he came correct from day one, and that wasn't Cemone.

I found no fun in being mistreated by a man anymore, hence me being single for three years. And as badly as I wanted to meet that one, I wouldn't suffer just to say I had a nigga, like some women. The women who judged their value based on whether they had a man or not was not gonna be my story.

Sitting up some and taking my hands into his, gripping them so I couldn't tug away, he said, "Let me show you. You won't even give me ya fucking number."

"No, I don't want you to show me." I removed my hands from his grasp. "You need to focus on your baby mamas and groupie bitches who giggle and squeal when you pull out a basketball or a knot of cash. Because unless you can show me who you really are aside from that, this is never gonna happen." I grabbed my bag from the vanity, and he tried to help me, but I snatched away. He still placed it gently onto my shoulder, snickering some at my irritation. "Oh… and stop sending me shit. Spend that money on your kids, because according to your baby mama, you don't."

Opening the door for me, which I hated because who knew Cemone was a gentleman by nature, he stepped out behind me. That made me wonder who raised him because he absentmindedly did things that most men had to remind themselves to do, like opening doors, trying to carry my bag, and how he just told me he was walking me to the car because it was dark outside, as if my brother wasn't out there already.

Blocking the back door of the all-black Denali, he touched my hand and asked softly, "Damn, I can't get a happy birthday?"

The way his eyes roved over me as his pink tongue glided across his bottom lip gave me the feels. I hated how fine he was, making me want to get a ladder, climb it, and claw his face up. Nigga was so tall he had his elbow rested on top of the truck. I had never seen that shit before.

"You already got a song and a kiss I didn't approve of." I stared up at him. He said nothing, face tugging at my heartstrings somehow and making me scoff. "Happy birthday, Cemone."

"Thank you, beautiful." His face lit up as he opened the door for me. Spotting Avery as he helped me up into the car with his stupid, chivalrous ass, he pointed at him once I was seated and said, "Watch how you talk to me, nigga. I ain't gon' tell you again." Then, he shut the door, swaggering back inside of the club's rear entrance.

"He lucky I ain't trying to get into no shit tonight." Avery shook his head, huffing loudly.

I knew Avery was a thug through and through, so I was shocked yet thankful that he let what Cemone said slide. The last thing I needed was to be in the middle of anything else involving Cemone. I was sure him kissing me and me following it with a slap had already started to make waves.

The ride to my house was pretty quiet, and I knew it was because Avery was bothered by his interactions with Cemone. I had never seen anyone speak to or disrespect Avery in that way and walk away without a broken jaw. At the same time, the world had witnessed how crazy Cemone was, and Avery would have to do more than reach up and crack his face for things to dissipate.

"Alright, I will see you tomorrow." I hopped out as my driver Ronnie helped me down.

"Cool. Be on time, Lani. People don't like waiting. I know it's yo' show and you the superstar, but it would be much appreciated."

"I've only been late twice." I half smiled, laughing when Avery lifted his brows in surprise. "Whatever. I will be on time."

I strutted into my home and immediately brushed my teeth before taking a long shower, scrubbing from head to toe three times over. Somehow and someway, I could still feel Cemone and still smell him on my skin and in my hair. While his cologne was beyond pleasant, it was on him, so I would forever want to rid myself of it.

As I stepped out of the shower, I frowned to see who had been blowing me up during my shower, interrupting my music playing several times. When I saw it was my assistant/good friend Nelly, I answered her hundredth FaceTime.

"Damn! I thought you were busy fucking or something!" she exclaimed, grinning all widely.

"And just who would I be fucking, Nell?" I raised a brow, daring her ass to even say it.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, she sucked her teeth and said, "Nobody. Anyway, how was it? I mean, I saw all on the blogs the way he handled you, but I want the intimate details."

"No intimate details." I tightened my robe around my body and removed my shower cap after setting my phone up on my double sink vanity.

"So, when they said he disappeared shortly after you did, he didn't come see you?" I rolled my eyes, making her say, "Thought so."

"He just came backstage on his same bullshit, thinking all he has to do is smile and tell me how much money he has so that I'll agree to fuck him."

"Why you doing that boy like that, Lani?" Nelly cracked up. "Slapped him, then I'm sure you cussed him out. You been itching to go off on him."

I joined her in laughter while shrugging and swiping my BHA toner across my face, using a cotton pad.

Fanning the solution so it would dry down, I said, "Because I don't like him and hate niggas who act like him. The fact that women have made him believe he doesn't need a personality to get some ass is crazy."

"I meeaannn…"

"Nelly!" I bucked my eyes, trying not to laugh at the way she twisted her lips and cocked her head with her eyes widened.

"What? He fine, he got money, and the nigga got game on the court. And I'm sorry, by the third Chanel bag, I would've folded."

"That's his damn problem, bitches like you." I pointed, moisturizing my face before taking my phone out into the bedroom.

"You right. I wish I was more like you in that department, Lani, but sorry." She grinned, and I shook my head as I lay across my California King bed. "So, no matter what he does, you won't even think about it? Like, even if he turned out to be a cool dude?"

"Nope." I shook my head. "I won't even allow myself to waste my time with him. Every nigga I have dated hasn't been as rich, as famous, and as handsome as Cemone, and they fucked me over. I can't imagine what he'd do to me, and then I'd have to kill you hos' favorite NBA player."

Nelly cracked up, shaking her head at me as I smirked.

"You don't trust men period though."

She was right, and I had no reason to. Every relationship I got into went the same way every time, whether he was famous or regular. They liked what they saw, but as the relationship progressed and they realized I was a regular woman and not the constant sex kitten I was on television, they lost interest and cheated. Or, if they were famous, they became jealous of me due to the fact that I was pretty much a bigger star than every damn body, making these niggas feel like I was dimming their light. Anyway, that then caused them to cheat. Couple that with the fact that I was battling an undiagnosed auto-immune disease behind closed doors, and I was nothing like the alluring Yolani they saw on stage.

My last ex had the nerve to put his hands on me. It was only once, maybe because I left his ass immediately, not giving him a chance to do it again, but it was then that I knew I needed a break from relationships because I was clearly doing some shit wrong.

Cemone was gonna do the same thing because the nigga had no idea what he was attempting to sign up for. He probably thought he could take the Yolani persona home and have great sex, party for a bit, and then he could dip on me, adding me to his long list of pussy trophies.

"Because these niggas don't deserve trust. All they do is lie, cheat, fake, and/or try to belittle you. I have never been happier than I've been in these past three years as a single woman."

"What about sex though? I'm single, too, but I keep a thing or two to handle my needs, when necessary," Nelly admitted.

"When it gets to that point, I pull out my battery powered friend. Niggas is too thirsty for me to use for some dick. They wouldn't have their pants on good before they'd be calling every gossip blog, site, and magazine, telling how they fucked me. Plus I'm not the fuck buddy type."

"That's facts." She sighed. "Well, I have a suggestion. Tell him he gotta give the dick up to your friend to get to you."

"Bye, Nelly." I shook my head, starting to hang up as she tried to plead her case.

"Niggas do it all the time, Lani!"

I hurried and hit the red X before laying my head on the pillow and thinking.

I knew Cemone was bad news, and I wasn't mistaken in not giving him my time, but a part of me wondered if I would ever meet a nigga I trusted enough to take serious.