We should've gone to Inferno. After Hours wasn't really going and I wasn't in the mood anymore after talking to Cree.

I headed home to call it a night after two hours of putting up with the heat wave and perfumed scent of sweat and body spray that was the club. The boys and I parted ways and I drove off on my own. I wasn't even in the kitchen door before my cell rang.

         Troiann's name and number flashed across the screen and I could already tell what she wanted.

         "Yeah?" I answered as I shut the door behind me.

         "You made your point, now leave me and Cree the hell alone!" The call ended before I could even reply.

         I shook my head. Hadn't she learned by now that I didn't take disrespect too kindly?

         Access to Marcus's phone where he kept a certain steamy photo of Troiann wouldn't be that hard to get. If that wasn't a bitch move, I'd have pulled it to teach Troiann a lesson about respect.

         My phone rang again and this time it was Marcus.

         I let out a chuckle. Yes, he was whipped.

         "Yeah?" I leaned against the counter, bracing myself for his version of telling me to leave Cree alone.

         "Man, are you happy now?" he asked.

         "Why wouldn't I be happy, Marc?"

         "With Cree Jacobs, Dre."

         I shrugged. My point hadn't quite been made just yet. "Can't say that I am."

         Marcus sighed. "Troy was just sticking up for her friend, I mean, you and Trey were cornering them."

         So he had been there when I had simply tried to make amends for a little disagreement before Cree got brolic with me? Or was he seriously defending some girl over me?

         I had to admit it was cute of Troiann to think that talking to Marcus would get me to leave Cree alone, as if I answered to him. Until Marcus manned up and claimed Troiann, none of what he was saying would stick. But I had to hand it to Troiann; at least she wasn't fucking for free.

         "Doesn't matter, I'm enjoying this, immensely." It had been fun watching Cree squirm earlier at the club. Troiann had done well in talking her into coming out for the evening and she definitely did well in telling Cree to dress nice. The short black dress she had been wearing complimented all that her mother had given her. One look at her figure and I could tell Cree wasn't the type to wear a push-up bra or even contemplate taking ass shots. She was all natural. At least she had that going for her.

         "Why? You're not going to get anything out of it. Cree would never give you the time of day."

         I looked at my phone, making sure it was on and I'd heard right. Cree was the same person who was friends with a girl who wouldn't give guys like us "the time of day." Troiann was acting all stuck-up and shit as well, but she was smashing Marcus. The same Marcus who fucked two sisters just because he could, the same Marcus who once had a pregnancy scare with a girl and still went out and did him, the same Marcus who was just about money over girls like the rest of us. I was the dog yet Marcus got a pass? Bull-fucking-shit.

         I got it. Girls like Cree and Troiann were not groupies or bunnies. They didn't chase after us and they weren't our biggest fans. But to act as though they were above and beyond us? That was straight trash, Troiann was fucking Marcus, whether she was a groupie or not, she had gotten down with the Club in the end.

         Cree would be no different. If I were interested in "running" game on her, she wouldn't know which way was up or down after I was through with her.

         "Never say never, Marcus."

         "Cree would never give you any anyway, so you might as well hang it up."

         Closing my eyes, I shook my head. This was coming from my best friend, he knew me, and he knew what I was capable of. How could he doubt me? "Wanna bet?"

         Marcus chuckled. "Shit, bro, if it wasn't for Troiann, I'd take you up on that."

         In the end, it wasn't even about trying to smash Cree, that was a given. It would be too easy and that would also prove my point, but I had a better idea in mind as far as showing Cree that everyone was down with the Club. "Cree isn't bad enough for me to even think about her in that way. She couldn't get a dude as real as me or who could do it as good as me on her best day, she's lucky I'm even toying with her right now."

         "Troy—"

         "Is not my problem or concern," I replied. "Since when are you two official?"

         "We ain't official, I'm just tryna smash."

         Liar. He had already succeeded in getting the box from Troiann, unless she squirted gold and rainbows, he had gotten caught up. Why else would he be considering her feelings?

         "So why are you hung up on her?" Troiann was bad and all, but I wasn't seeing why he was giving her more than one night. When it came to us, sometimes we shared, but something told me Troiann was off limits, not that I would want to pursue her with her mouth and attitude. "Why are you selling her a dream?"

         "I'm just...having fun, Dre. Chill."

         He just couldn't say he liked her. Pussy.

         I loosened up. Troiann was Marcus's problem, and when it came to Cree that was my own personal business. "By the time this is all said and done, Cree's gonna be the one apologizing to me. And then I'll be done with her."

         "Remind me never to piss you off," Marcus mumbled with a sigh. "See you tomorrow, Dre, no more messing with Troy, got it?"

         Swallowing down the first sarcastic remark that came to mind, I instead said, "Sure thing, Marc, we'll stay out of each other's way."

         I hit END and headed in to the den where I heard the TV on. More than likely it was one of my older brothers, Devonte mostly since Darnel was away at college. Devonte was a senior and in the fall he'd join Darnel at Ohio State, making waves on their basketball team as well.

         I guess one could say basketball just ran in the family. With our dad being a retired player, it was a no brainer what sport we all picked up by the time we were able to walk. Our mother wasn't in the picture and she hadn't been since I was three and it was no arguing when it came to our father's demands for us to push basketball before everything else.

         Devonte was on the phone, sweet talking some girl as he lay back on the sofa flipping through the channels. He was saying all the right things but his face said he couldn't give a shit if he tried. Half a minute later he ended the call and dialed another number and started talking to another girl, saying different yet sweet things as well.

         Shaking my head, I took the seat at the chair in the corner, tossing a pillow at him to signal for him to leave the TV on BET.

         Devonte clicked his tongue and sighed. "Babe, ain't no other girl for me right now, it's just you, so why you trippin'? What, you don't trust me or something? That's foul...." The rest of the conversation went with him putting himself down and playing into the role of being insecure before turning it around and telling whoever the hell he was talking to that they weren't putting enough faith in their relationship.

         That was one thing I didn't do, fill girls up with lies. I didn't do relationships. It was in and out for me and if a girl wasn't down for that, then I bounced, there was no time for games, no time for lies, and no time for drama. Tremaine and the other guys didn't exactly follow in my footsteps, hence why they were the ones with the most shit flying their way. Loud mouth girls waving their manicured nails in their faces, cocking their heads from side to side as they talked slick. That was not my style and something I didn't want to be subjected to. It was just easier to be blunt about it.

         Devonte ended his second call and tossed his phone aside, looking over and smiling at me. "I'm too good."

         More like too messy. If he were really good he'd talk both girls into a threesome and kill the bullshit.

         "Sure," I replied.

         Devonte smirked, rather proud of himself. "Gotta keep it swagged out, Dre. Never let them catch you slippin'."

         Swagged out? I shook my head in disgust. "I can't take you seriously when you talk this way. Do better."

         Devonte flipped me the bird. "What's up with you, see anything interesting at the club?"

         I thought about the girl I'd met at After Hours, the girl whose number was in my pocket. As fine as she was, she was wearing green lipstick, lookin' like she had just given dome to a Martian. The shit that some girls thought was attractive was beyond me.

         "No," I said. "It was empty tonight."

         Devonte nodded. "Yeah, that's why I stayed in. It's Tuesday, wasn't going to see much no way."

         Together we both watched TV, viewing the rest of the censored version of Bad Boys in silence. I could've said something to Devonte, the same way I could've said something to my boys about the stupid shit they did when it came to girls, but why waste breath? Some people wouldn't learn until they touched the stove and got burned anyway.

         Footsteps sounded in the hall and soon we were graced with our father's presence. He was carrying a cold bottle of water from the fridge as he peeked his head in the room.

         Devonte nodded towards him before standing and retreating up to his room.

         My father patted his shoulder as he passed before coming and standing in the doorway, eyes on me.

         "What's up?" he asked, taking a glance at the TV.

         Most parents would freak out if their kid came in at one in the morning on a school night, not our dad.

         I shook my head. "Nothing, just getting in."

         "Have a good time?"

         I shrugged. "Not really, we should've gone to Inferno."

         My father chuckled. "Inferno? Who lets you boys in there?"

         He wasn't blind or out of the loop, he knew about the shit we got into, and as long as my grades were up and I didn't lose on the court, he was okay with it.

         "Chris has connects," I said.

"I bet that boy does. Anyway, I was on some business calls earlier, and we're gearing up for the design for the Parker 8s. I want your take on the colorways," my father said of his popular eponymously named sneaker line.

I sat up, staring him square in the eye. "Are you gonna take my advice, or just go with your first instinct as always?"

My father leaned against the wall. "Okay, let's hear it."

"Baby blue/bubble gum, orange/bubble gum, light green/bubble gum, purple/bubble gum, black/bubble gum, white/bubble gum, no matter the leading color, bubble gum is the undertone," I said.

My father's brows furrowed in confusion. "What's with that?"

I smirked, tapping my temple. "Unisex. Girls loves sneakers as much as we do, girls love ball as much as we do. Make an exclusive line of women's shoes for the Parker 8s to match the colorway and you'll double your profits exponentially."

My father stood back, marinating in my idea. In another moment, he furnished a smile as he wagged his finger at me. "I'll see what we can do. Someday, Dre, after you've been in the league for a while, you'll be talkin' to your boy about how to design your latest sneakers."

Making it pro wasn't a what if, but a when. I was a Parker. I was born to play ball.

My father was a champion. A warrior. An icon. He played his whole twenty-year career for the Cincinnati Chargers, acquiring five championship rings to boast before retiring five years ago at the age of thirty-eight. Before there was LeBron, Ohio had Darrel Parker. A fifteen-time NBA All-Star that happily settled down in his home city of Akron, Ohio.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he'd said when journalist asked him why he didn't go west or south upon retiring.

Ohio was home, especially Akron.

         My father covered his mouth as he yawned. "Better get to bed, Dre, you know you gotta be up at five."

         My father had his rules for us. We had to be up at five a.m. every day almost to run around our neighborhood. It was training. We had to be in great shape if we were ever going to make it to the NBA like he did.

         My father ran a tight shift raising all of us on his own. We didn't whine, we didn't get emotional, and we didn't lose. We just did our best to do better. Without our mother we were three variations of our father, taking nothing from the mother that wasn't there.

         People liked to think that we had it easy, that we were spoiled, rich kids. My father was rich, not me. He gave us an allowance, but it wasn't something we just got, we had to earn it. He didn't plan on leaving us trust funds, his money was his money, we were expected to make our own. I worked my ass off doing extra to impress him and to earn my cut of allowance. I played hard, but I worked harder.

         And when it came to Cree Jacobs, I wouldn't stop until I got the big score.