The Preachers Son by Carl Weber Read Free Book Online

I thought out loud, looking up at the cashier in a panic. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Don’t look at me.”
    The first thing that came to my mind was that my mother had stolen it. She had a habit of going through my things while I was asleep and stealing whatever money she could find. But then I remembered I’d purposely taken my wallet out of my bag and placed it under the sofa cushion just for that reason. I let out a thankful sigh then gave the cashier a weak, embarrassed smile.
    “I left my wallet at my house. Can you hold this to the side while I run home and get it? I’ll be back in five minutes. I promise. I only live down the block.”
    She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Damn, now I gotta void this shit outta my register. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass that is?” she mumbled as she picked up the intercom from next to her register.
    I wanted to say, “No, and I really don’t care. Just do your fucking job,” but instead I smiled weakly and said, “Sorry.”
    The girl sucked her teeth then spoke into the intercom. Her voice echoed throughout the store. “I need a manager at register one for a void. A manager at register one, please, for a void.”
    There was an immediate grumbling from the five or six customers who were standing behind me. Not that I could blame them. The store only had one register open, and now, thanks to me, it was closed.
    “How much is her stuff?” a male voice asked from behind.
    “Six seventy-six,” the girl replied.
    “I got her. Just add this to it.” I turned around and had to check myself because the brother who stepped out of the line was drop-dead gorgeous. I flashed him my patented you-know-you-want-me smile, but he barely looked at me as he handed the cashier a bottle of water, a sandwich, and a twenty-dollar bill. Damn, of all the times to come out the house lookin’ busted. I musta looked like a female version of Flava Flav with that multicolored scarf wrapped around my head and no makeup. Not to mention the fact that my sweat-suit didn’t match and had a big bleach stain on it. But busted or not, I wanted that brother to notice me.
    “Thanks,” I said in my sexiest voice. “I can pay you back. We just have to run by my house. I live right up the block.” If I could get him to the house, then at least I could run upstairs and take off the scarf and put on some makeup before he left.
    “Don’t worry about it, sister. I’m in a little bit of a rush.” He took his change then picked up my bag and handed it to me before heading toward the door.
    “But, but…” I had to catch my breath as I watched him walk away. Not only was he tall and fine, he was bowlegged, too. Mmm, mmm, mmm , I thought, that was so damn fine! I also appreciated the fact that he wasn’t thugged out like the rest of the brothers around my way. He was wearing a New York Jets throwback jersey and a pair of baggy jeans, but he carried himself like a gentleman, not a wannabe killer. Still, it was obvious from his muscular arms and V-shaped chest that he was far from being a punk. Shit, why the fuck didn’t I get dressed before I left the house?
    I glanced at the cashier and she said, “Fuck it. If he don’t want the money, let his ass go.”
    “I don’t care about the money,” I said. “Did you see how fine he was? I want him.”
    “Yeah, he was cute, but he wasn’t all that.”
    “Yes he was,” I stated before heading toward him and the front door. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to say when I caught up to him, but I’m the type of woman who knows what she wants, and I wanted him.
    “Excuse me, excuse me!” I yelled, hoping to catch his attention. I caught up to him right in front of the automatic doors and he looked my way. He just wasn’t looking at me the way I was looking at him.
    “Did I forget something?” he asked.
    I contemplated saying, “Yeah—me,” but instead I said, “Sorta,” as I leaned against the storefront