3. Yolani

CCompton22: You got about two and a half more times to ignore a nigga and I'm popping up on yo' ass everywhere.

I smirked as I read the message before leaving out of the conversation thread. These messages he sent were a far cry from the Cemone the world knew. If I was a bitch, I would show them to the public, proving Cemone would actually simp behind closed doors. He was known for being a player who didn't have to work hard to get his needs met and would never put in any type of work for pussy. Yet here he was in my DMs, sounding like David Ruffin.

I wasn't going to entertain his messages for multiple reasons. For one, Cemone thought he could be a player-pimp in the public but send me shit like this in private to keep up the fa?ade. Sure, he commented shit on my pictures, but they were never in this tone. Secondly, I just didn't want him.

While he was gorgeous, tall, and had everything most women wanted, he was rude, had a bad temper, and seemingly didn't take care of his children. No man was fine enough, rich enough, or tall enough to make me overlook shit like that, especially the deadbeat part. A man who took care of his responsibilities was so much more attractive than a nigga who went through life like a childless human, especially one as rich as Cemone.

Lastly, I knew Cemone truly had no idea about who I was as a person. He saw my pretty shell and thought that was what he wanted. He didn't know I was a normal woman on the inside, that I had a pretty crippling disease that would be worse if I didn't take loads of medication, that I didn't party as frequently as other celebrities, that my career demanded a lot of my time, that I dedicated my summers not to yachting in Mexico or sight seeing in foreign countries but to helping my elderly grandparents in Mississippi, and lastly, that I had an overbearing father who didn't care that I was a wealthy, grown woman—he would never approve of someone like him.

"Okay, Miss Ian." Dr. McCall walked into the room, sheet of paper in the air as she read another clipped to her clipboard. "I went ahead and refilled your medications. You have to understand, though, that every time you need a refill, I need to see you." She leaned against the counter.

"And this will be for my joints and stomach pain, correct?" I inquired, making her nod.

I'd been fine until I turned eighteen and started having chronic pain in my joints and abdomen, which also made me gain weight around my stomach seemingly overnight. As you may have guessed, that was a huge problem for a professional singer that needed to be slim at all times and ready to perform at all times.

My mother and father hunted down several of the so-called best doctors, hoping to diagnose then treat me, but it was to no avail. None of them could figure out what it was, and then finally, we came across Dr. McCall, and though she wasn't able to figure my specific condition out, she was able to provide me with medication to tone the pain down. As far as the random weight gain in my stomach area, I'd found a way to work around that, and thankfully, it only lasted about a week, sometimes longer if I had a period at the same time. It was rare that I had to actually get up and make an appearance with my bloated abdomen but it did happen.

"It will, but as I always advise, Miss Ian, only take the medication when necessary, like when you have to work or if it is unbearable."

"I'm sorry. So she just has to deal with things until you guys figure shit out, which you have yet to do? She's been coming to you for the past seven years, and it's the same old stuff, her paying high amounts for this medicine that she can only take at certain times and no answer," my mom fussed.

I hated when she made time to come to my appointments because she always got like this. I understood that, in her eyes, I would always be her baby, so I let her do her and never interrupted, no matter how much it irritated me.

"I understand your frustration, Mrs. Ian. I would feel the same way. However, I don't want your daughter taking this medicine all the time because it is not a treatment; it only suppresses the pain. Until we find out exactly what is going on with her and can provide treatment, it is best we follow this method." Turning to me, Dr. McCall smiled sympathetically. "Other than this, Miss Ian, you are very healthy. I appreciate you for working with us and not deviating from our recommendations on diet, exercise, and the way in which you take the medicine. This will only help all of us."

I nodded as my mom sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. I knew as soon as Dr. McCall left, my mom was gonna go on her usual tirade of how she was gonna find someone else to help me. Then, she would call my father, who would agree with everything she said to keep his angry wife happy, and they would search for a while, only to realize Dr. McCall was our best bet right now.

"I don't like her." My mama started as we left the doctor's office.

Laughing, I replied, "I don't think she cares, Ma, as long as she is getting paid."

"Yeah, well, she'd better enjoy it while it lasts because your father and I are gonna find someone to take her little task since she can't do one simple got damn thing."

"Simple?" I raised a brow before shoving my shades onto my face to block the sun and the potential fans I would run into. It only shielded my eyes, not my golden-brown hair that had become my signature, so it was likely I would still be recognized if I didn't hop into the back of the black truck that Ronnie, my driver, was driving.

"Well, it should be, for her ass. All that damn school she went to." My mom fussed, digging deep into her Chanel Deauville tote, fishing for her phone. "Let me call Darrell."

I didn't respond as she called her husband and ranted to him for half of the ride. It was unnecessary for several reasons, but the main one being we were literally on the way to my parents' home, where she could tell him this in person. Old people were annoying.

"Lani!" My baby sister, Yailey, greeted me happily like she always did as if she hadn't seen me in a while.

"Hey, boo." I gripped her just as tightly as she did my midsection.

"You have to come see my new bedroom design." She tugged on me.

"Okay, give me one second to talk to Daddy." I smiled, and she nodded politely before rushing off.

Yailey and I were seventeen years apart. My parents had tried several times to have children shortly after I was born, but nothing ever came from it, so they gave up, happy with their one child and then their bonus child, Avery. However, they got a nice surprise when I was sixteen years old, and my mom found out she was pregnant. It was crazy how at the same time, I was dealing with my own pregnancy, something I planned to take to the grave.

To this day, only Avery and my teenage boyfriend knew I had been with child, and I planned for shit to stay that way. I wasn't worried about my ex Brandon spilling the beans on me, because the least he could do was keep my secrets after cheating on me shortly after such a life altering event.

"I will start dinner. Are you staying, Lani?" my mom asked.

"I can. I guess." I glanced to the TV, seeing my father was watching a basketball game. Of course, the Los Angeles Bulldogs were one of the teams playing.

"So," my father sat down on the couch, telling me to join him by waving toward himself, "there is a charity event I have you booked for next weekend."

"Okay. What do I have to do?" I asked skeptically.

I loved charity, but a lot of times, they wanted you to do a bunch of crazy shit, and I wasn't in the mood. Not to mention, I'd been feeling worse than usual lately.

"Nothing too much. People pay to come take photos with you and get merchandise signed. Any merchandise sold, the profits will go to the charity of your choice. All items being sold are exclusive to this event, so they won't be able to get it anywhere else," he explained.

"I can do that." I leaned back on the couch, watching Cemone do his thing. The way he moved up and down the court was so fluid as if he'd been doing it since he came out the womb.

"He will be there." My father broke through my thoughts.

"Who?" I feigned ignorance.

"Cemone Compton, the one you're watching." My dad sipped some of his water.

"I am not watching him."

"Good, you shouldn't be, but I didn't mean anything by it. Anyone who watches a game where Compton is involved is most likely watching him. But I was kidding with you, sweetheart. He's impressive, only on the court though." He side-eyed me.

"Why are you telling me?" I chuckled, standing so I could exit this conversation, using my sister as a scapegoat.

"Because everyone heard about what happened at his birthday party, and I'm a man, so I know that look he had in his eyes. I want you to understand he isn't an option for you, baby."

"You think you have to tell me this?"

"Yeah, you tend to gravitate toward the men who don't mean well. Avery told me about all the flowers, gifts, and how he's laying it on thick. I want to be sure you stay focused and do not become blinded by the things he's doing. I'm telling you as a man who knows how other niggas think, baby. He's only doing this because you haven't given into him. Once you do, he will treat you the same way he does all these other women."

"Okay, Dad, let's give me some type of credit here. My last boyfriend was three years ago, and you can't honestly believe no one has tried since then, do you?" I hiked a brow, and he smirked, shaking his head ‘no' in response. "Exactly. The thing about dating a bunch of fuck boys is that when you run into another one, you can see the game from a mile away. Cemone has been after me for several months, and I haven't so much as given him my number. You have nothing to worry about. Not unless I throw getting married out the window and suddenly develop a torture or humiliation kink, then I might mess with him."

I meant every word I'd said, but I had to admit that Cemone's persistence was attractive to me. The things he said, though only within private messages or conversations, were flattering. I just wished it was a different man doing it because he had so many negatives that it cancelled out the good.

All he had going for him was looks and talent, which honestly, I could find anywhere. Niggas in the hood could hoop and were fine, so I wasn't sure why Cemone thought he was so amazing and otherworldly when his personality was trash and he was a slut, making him less appealing than a simple accountant with a beer gut and receding hairline.

"That's my girl. I'm ya father, though, so I'm always gonna speak up if it means protecting you."

"I know, but it's not needed at the moment." I leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"We'll see, because he'll be at the charity event. Steer clear of him to avoid any more headlines."

"Will do." I turned my back, rolling my eyes, not at my father but at the fact that I would have to see Cemone again.

T he back door of the black Escalade opened, and Dane Hill hopped down before me, turning slightly with his hand out to help me down. Dane, better known as D-Hill, was a shooting guard for the Boston Eels and was one of the many NBA players in my inbox. However, he had more decorum in person than Cemone.

I had no real interest in D-Hill. He was corny and reminded me of those self-proclaimed nice guys who would attempt to guilt trip you into dating them, claiming if you didn't want them, then you didn't want a good man.

But I wasn't here with him for any other reason than to show Cemone I could in fact get a nigga just like him. I mean, what was the difference between him and D-Hill? Both were in the NBA, both were six feet six or seven inches, and both shooting guards. Since Cemone wanted to act as if he was my only chance to get a nigga of his caliber, I was gonna show him better than I could tell him.

"soak city" by 310babii was blasting through the speakers that sat in unknown places all over the huge lot in downtown LA. I could see the fans lined up, and it was so many of them that it curved a few blocks and down the long ass streets of DTLA.

A smirk covered my face as D-Hill led me past where a lot of the ball players were, and I immediately spotted Cemone. He stood out, and I hated the reason behind it. He seemed to get finer the more I saw him, especially frowning the way that he was at seeing D-Hill and I holding hands.

Cameras flashed and fans screamed upon seeing me, commenting asking if D-Hill was my man. A few tried to hop the gate, but security was on it, threatening to tase anyone attempting to hop the gate again.

"This is me." I smiled up at D-Hill, wrangling my hand from his. He was holding onto my shit for dear life and had been smiling ear to ear since I'd met up with his ass. He was just too happy to be with me, and it was just such a turn off.

Not that I wanted a nigga to treat me like I was less than, but I wanted a man who saw me as normal, and it was clear D-Hill didn't, despite being a celebrity himself.

"Aight. I wonder if, somehow, I can keep my booth next to yours." His head whipped around, and I prayed that he wasn't able to.

As I waited for him to realize he couldn't and leave me be as the event coordinator explained to security how they needed to keep me safe, I noticed Cemone making his way over.

He was dressed down in Adidas track pants, a wife beater, and classic black and white Chuck Taylors. His iced-out Van Cleef choker and cuban chains laid perfectly on his chest. I could spot his diamond pop outs on his bottom teeth, making me roll my eyes at how over the top he was and how I found it sexy.

"This what the fuck you on, Yolani?" He stopped at my table, pointing to D-Hill as if he wasn't right there.

I loved the way he said my name. There was an accent only thug niggas from LA possessed, and it was my favorite.

"It is." I cocked my head. "Since you seem to think I can't get a nigga on your level." I hated to expose to D-Hill why I had even agreed to come to this event together, but it wasn't as if I actually liked his ass. "Now please go back to your booth." I waved him off, trying to keep my laughter at bay. "D-Hill, baby, can you help me straighten this." I used a voice I never had, making it extra syrupy sweet and pretending as if I didn't feel Cemone's pretty amber and green eyes staring me down.

"Aye," Cemone hit D-Hill's chest pretty hard, halting his steps toward me, "keep yo' fucking hands to yo'self, nigga."

"Man—"

"Heed to that warning or don't, but you can't say I ain't told you when you chewing on the bottom of these Chucks, nigga."

D-Hill was speechless as Cemone swaggered off back to his table, bypassing the screaming girls. You could tell which ones were here for me and a few other of the female celebrities and which ones were here for the NBA, NFL players, and male singers or actors. The latter had on barely any clothes, and the weather wasn't exactly the warmest at the moment.

"You know him well?" D-Hill quizzed, still watching Cemone like he wished he had enough balls to hit him in the back of the head.

"About as much as you do." I focused on my table, admiring the merchandise I had never seen.

"Then why he acting like you his?"

"Because he's crazy. Everybody knows that."

D-Hill laughed, and I followed suit.

The event started, and I was pretty happy with the way security handled the fans. They only let a certain amount in at a time, so I was able to actually meet, chat, sign merchandise for, and take pictures with them. I hated events where I had to basically sign some shit and toss it their way, unable to actually give them a meeting experience.

There were only a few issues for some of us, where some of my fans were hysterical and didn't want to leave the booth. I saw a few girls that came to meet Cemone had to be damn near thrown out, holding signs that they wanted to be his third baby mama. The sight of it made me suck my teeth.

"Hey, I was thinking we could get some dinner and see where the night goes." D-Hill brought his ass back over before I could even get my shit together.

"Um, I actually have plans after this, but I will call you." I checked my phone to see if Ronnie was here, already knowing I didn't want to ride back with D-Hill.

As I tried to move past him, his big hands graced my waist as he pulled me back toward him.

"You don't even have my number, and I don't have yours. Come on, baby. I been trying for a minute."

Before I could even respond and tell him to get his hands off me, D-Hill was flying to the ground and sliding across the uneven gravel on his ass, scraping his palms.

"What I tell you, nigga?" Cemone walked closer toward D-Hill, but I tugged lightly on his smooth but strong arm to stop him.

His scowl softened as he turned slightly to look down into my face.

"Damn, man, what the fuck is wrong with you?" D-Hill stood, slowly inspecting his raw palms.

"Want me to show you?" Cemone was about to step closer, but again, I put my hand on him.

D-Hill, not wanting to get into anything with the crazy Cemone Compton, turned and walked off, shaking his head repeatedly.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to do all that." I started to walk, but Cemone cut me off, making me run into him due to how abrupt the action was.

His hands took over the place D-Hill's just were but with a much gentler approach, surprisingly.

"Aye," he called my attention to him, and I could see how serious he was as I looked up at him. Even with the sun slowly disappearing, I could see how handsome he was. "Tell me what I have to do for some of ya time, Yolani."

Inwardly, I was smiling, but I kept it cool on the exterior.

Stepping out of his warm hands, I replied, "I already told you. Show me something that has nothing to do with you being rich, famous, and talented on the court."

When he didn't respond, I slipped around him, jogging toward the truck as Ronnie held the door open for me.

A s I watched my dancers, I noticed they looked unfocused, making me glance over my shoulder to see Cemone. I couldn't get away from this nigga, even if I tried.

Currently, we were in a theater in Hollywood rehearsing for my upcoming summer tour, and somehow, this man found me and had intruded on my shit.

When he noticed me, a smile covered his sexy face as he stroked his beard, nodding to me as if to say continue.

Ignoring his presence as much as I could, I turned back to my dancers.

"We have to be focused, ladies, please." I huffed. They started the routine over, but I could tell that Cemone had some of them a little flustered, so instead of continuing or having security attempt to throw Cemone's ass out, I chose to let the women go. "Okay, we will be back at it tomorrow." I waved for them to stop, and they did, looking as if they were relieved.

Once the ladies had gathered their things and slowly strutted past the theater seats as if waiting for Cemone to call out to one of them, I began packing my shit as well.

"We gon' act like I'm not here, huh?" I heard his deep voice closing the space between us. "I'm a hard nigga to ignore, love."

Turning to see him standing at the edge of the stage, resting his elbows on top because, of course, his ass could, I asked, "Is there something you need? I don't need anymore dancers at this point."

When he laughed, it made me smirk as I zipped up my duffel bag.

"Nah, I came to kick it with you since it seems the only way a nigga can get a little bit of ya fucking time is if I stalk you." He hopped up to sit on the edge. "Sit yo' ass down."

For some stupid ass reason, I sat my ass down.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to have an attitude but the way he looked at me broke my mask, causing me to giggle.

"Yeah, kill all that shit. I know you not as mean as you pretend to be." He eyed me, making me feel uncomfortable as his eyes roamed all over my face as if he was committing my features to memory.

"I actually am, just not for as long as I have been mean to you."

"So now that shit makes sense as to why you talk so much shit and be ghosting ya future husband. You must not be ready to get married and shit yet."

"I actually am ready; it just has to be the right person. But I ghost you and am mean to you because I want you to understand that I don't like you like that, and I don't want to date you. If I am even nice to you for a damn second, you will get the wrong idea."

He turned to face the seats, giving me a glimpse of his perfect side profile as he nodded, chewing on my words for a beat.

"I see."

"Also, you're very rude, aggressive, heartless, impregnated best friends, an absent father, and you choose who can party with you by how their pussy looks. That is a disgusting thing." I felt my lip curl. When Nelly told me that shit, I couldn't believe that Cemone could get any worse.

Chuckling in that raspy tone of his, he responded, "That's true, but I only do that shit to get a lil' peek and shit. I love all pussy, so I don't judge a pussy by it's cover. Some of the ugliest ones been good as fuck."

He guffawed as I scoffed, shaking my head at his ass. I was realizing this nigga could actually get worse.

"That is repulsive. You know you get worse every time I see or hear about your ass." I shook my head, staring straight ahead.

"You don't know me though, Yolani." He got serious. "While a lot of the shit you said is true, especially about me being on the temperamental and rude side, the best friend shit, and the party entry requirements, the other shit is rumors. One thing I ain't gon' ever claim is being an absentee father.

"Did I keep my distance, only doing small shit here and there before I got them fucking results, absolutely. I wasn't about to let nobody play a nigga. Same time, I wasn't gon' be completely out the fucking picture, just in case they were my kids. And when I found out they were, I been there ever since. One of my baby mamas puts shit out there into the media because I won't give her the shit she expected from a nigga when she had my baby."

"Cocky much?"

"Nah, just some real shit. When I won't hit, she mad. When I won't see her, she mad. When I won't front her money outside of child support for some shit she want, she mad. I ain't never been the type of nigga to lie, so best believe the shit I'm telling you is the real." He captured my eyes with his.

For some reason, when he looked into my eyes, it made me uncomfortable, but not in a creepy ass way. I felt like every time he looked into my eyes, he was convincing me to like him, and I couldn't allow it.

"So you just let her say things about you that aren't true?"

"Pretty much. All I give a fuck about is basketball, my family, and making sure my kids is good. What the public thinks about me outside of them games, I couldn't give less of a fuck about."

I wasn't used to this Cemone, the one who talked like he had sense and wasn't so focused on showing me how much he was that nigga. Right now, he seemed like a normal nigga, and it was nice but also weird. It was a side I didn't even know he had. But maybe this was how he roped women into his web. My dad's words suddenly infiltrated my mind.

"I get that, but you're a public figure, Cemone. As fucked up as it is, you kind of have to care about the public's opinion because it can affect your job. It's not like it was years ago, when all people cared about was your talent. Now people want to know you're a good person before they will attend your games, listen to your music, or go see your movies.

"And the worst thing a man can be other than a rapist or pedophile is a deadbeat father. You shouldn't let people believe that about you if it's not true."

"I get what you saying, but I don't really give a fuck, love." He tittered so softly it was barely audible. "People gon' always believe bad shit about you when you got a lot going for yaself. They'd rather believe something negative than anything positive. No matter what I show these muthafuckas, they gon' always think what Solene's bitter ass is saying is facts."

I wanted to provide a rebuttal, but he was right. When I first came out, people loved me, still do, but it wasn't until I catapulted into superstardom that random ass rumors started to spread about me, and I saw people so willing to believe it that it didn't matter that there were no facts to support it. Then at the same time, good things posted about me were always questioned or looked at with skepticism. So Cemone had hit the nail on the head; however, I still didn't believe he should let people only have Solene's side of the story.

"That's true, but my statement still stands. Some stuff I ignore, too, but something of that nature, absolutely not. You should think about it." I was about to get up, but he stopped me, taking my hand in his.

"You know what I'm about to ask yo' ass, and a nigga is gon' keep asking until the end of fucking time."

Giggling, I said, "Even thirty years from now?"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't I ask my wife on a date?"

I despised myself for the grin that appeared as I looked into his beautiful eyes that seemed to blend well with his almond complexion.

Who raised him had circled my mind yet again. The things he said and the way he spoke came off as something natural and not rehearsed like game often was. I was being pulled in different directions. My head was saying this was all a ploy and Cemone's way of getting into my pants. But my heart was falling for his little lines and gestures.

Even the way he stood and helped me finish standing. Little things like that came with men who were raised right. I'd been with men who came from two parent households and forgot to open the door for me. Strangely enough, Cemone Compton usually didn't give off the vibe that he'd been raised by anyone but Don Juan or Suga Free. That was before I'd been around him in person like as of late. Now I saw something different.

Sighing, I shook my head at myself and said, "Yes, one date. But the only way I will go is if you promise to leave me alone after."

"The fuck?" His face balled up, and even that was fine.

"Either you agree to that or no date, Cemone. How bad do you want it?"

"Real bad." He spoke lowly, erasing the gap between our bodies. "Aight."

"Aight, what?" I chuckled.

"I'll leave you… alone… after." He exhaled heavily as if he was already regretting it.

I smiled up at him, making him return the gesture with a closed-mouth smile. I didn't realize he was holding my hands, caressing the backs of them with his thumbs in a circular motion until I heard a familiar voice.

"What's going on, Lani? I thought you was rehearsing." Avery frowned, looking up onto the stage at Cemone and me.

"We having a conversation, nigga. Step out," Cemone interrupted, nodding toward the exit.

Avery gritted his teeth but turned to leave the room. I knew he only did it for my sake because Avery typically didn't fold like that. Had this been just him and Cemone, this whole venue would've been rocking.

"Are you always rude?" I quizzed.

"That was rude? Usually, I would've put a muthafucka on his ass for talking while I'm talking. Listen when I tell you, that was nice." He dug through his sweatpants pocket for his iPhone. "Let me get ya number."

Begrudgingly, I read it off to him, and when I felt my bag vibrate, I held it up so he could see I hadn't played with him. He leaned forward, and I gasped lowly, before he placed his lips to my cheek. I'd assumed he'd try and peck me, but thankfully, he didn't. Therefore, I relaxed immediately, feeling slightly embarrassed for assuming.

"Byyyye." I gave him a finger wave as he walked off.

I watched him for longer than I should have before finishing packing up. When I heard the doors to the large auditorium open, I whipped around, only to find Avery. I didn't miss the slight disappointment I felt that it wasn't Cemone who'd doubled back.

"Aye, what the fuck is you doing, Lani?" Avery bolted up the stairs to meet me on the stage, clearly peeved.

"Sorry about that. Rehearsal ended early because Cemone distracted the girls." I tried to chuckle it off, but Avery was stoic.

"You know what the fuck I'm talking about, Lani."

"We were having a damn conversation, Avery." I shoved my things into the pockets of my duffel. "I'm a grown ass woman. I can talk to whomever I want."

"It's not about that. It's about who the fuck you talking to and choosing to talk to 'em while you 'posed to be working."

"I already told you I let the girls go! And I've been busting my ass for a while now, so I think I can afford half an hour off!"

Avery sighed, looking off momentarily.

"I'm not trying to fight with you, Lani. I just don't want you and that happening. You know damn well that wouldn't be a good situation. Plus, you know better than anybody how hard it is to work when these niggas break yo' heart. You wanna be dealing with that again? Only shit will be worse because the public ain't gon' have no sympathy for you for fucking with a known fuck-boy then getting played."

Standing closer to him, I said, "Nobody is gonna get played, Avery. You saw me talking to him and nothing else. All you need to worry about when it comes to me is booking the venues for this tour, not who you think I could potentially end up fucking. If I decide I just want some dick from Cemone, that is my business. If I decide I wanna ride it long enough to allow him to play me, that is also my business.

"I don't step in between you and Tilsa, so don't try to step in with this, especially when it is nothing. Cemone and I will never be, no matter how many times you see us talking. But even if I one day decided for it to be, let me worry about that."

"I see I can't express caring about you these days." He huffed.

"No, you can, but when you start acting like Darrell Ian is when we have an issue. You're my brother, not my father. And I told him the same thing, that Cemone is not convincing me with his act."

"I hope not."

"Don't hope, though, just work. This tour takes precedence over anything else I have going on," I called out over my shoulder as I ventured down the steps and left the room.

I appreciated my father and Avery, but these niggas acted as if I was a misguided teenager. True, I had run across some terrible men, but I knew better now and, therefore, would do better.

I would go on this date with Cemone, and then I would pray to God that he got tired of the chase and left me the hell alone. Actually, I didn't need to pray, because I knew he would get wore out, and I'd never hear from him again.