Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

He yawned and stretched and got out of the bed butt-naked. He went to the window to take a look outside. The morning sunshine percolated through the bedroom window, indicating that it was a beautiful spring day in April.

A deep sigh, a long stretch, and then it was a few calisthenics on the bedroom floor—nearly a hundred push-ups and almost as many sit-ups. Mateo liked to work up a sweat before he got his day started. He was in great shape and in the prime of his life. He was an early riser and didn’t believe in sleeping in and waking up late mornings or early afternoons. He believed that the early bird always gets the worm.

After completing his calisthenics, finally, his sexual plaything from last night decided to wake up. She rose up, propped herself against the headboard, and spotted Mateo naked on the floor after he’d just completed sixty sit-ups.

She smiled and said, “Now that is something nice to wake up to in the morning.”

He stood up, looked at her, and said, “You need to go.”

“Go? Why? It’s still early, baby,” she said.

“Don’t call me that.”

She removed herself from the bed, her voluptuous figure eye-candy from head to toe, and tried to wrap her arms around Mateo to give him a sweet good-morning kiss. But he pushed her away.

“You need to get dressed. I got things to do today.”

“Damn, it’s like that? I fuck you good wit’ this wet pussy and suck your dick and swallow your seeds and you gonna dismiss me like that?”

He stared at her coldly and replied, “Yes.”

“Fuck you then, Mateo. Fo’ real, fuck you!” the girl shouted.

She stormed around his bedroom collecting her clothes from off the floor and sloppily got dressed. Mateo donned his shorts and a shirt. Playtime was over, and she needed to leave. Besides, he started to feel guilty about cheating on Chanel so soon.

As the girl stormed out of his apartment ranting and carrying on, Mateo thought, Good riddance.

He cooked himself some breakfast and then got dressed. Soon after, his cell phone rang. It was Pyro.

“Yo, what’s up?”

“You. Did you kick that bitch out yet?” Pyro asked.

“How you know I had a bitch in here?”

“Because, nigga, old habits die hard. And I know you love Chanel, but, nigga, you got needs too.”

“Nigga, stay out my business,” said Mateo.

“Anyway, Lorraine called and said she gonna need us there at the closing to sign some papers.”

“What time?”

“Around six,” Pyro said.

“A’ight, I’ll be there.”

“And we still got that class tonight,” Pyro reminded him, like he was his personal assistant.

“I didn’t forget. But P, I’ll see you at the barbershop in a few. I got some runs to make,” said Mateo.

“A’ight. One love. I’m out.”

Mateo ended the call. It seemed like his schedule today was on overload. He mixed himself a healthy drink in the kitchen and downed it.

Mateo’s Bronx apartment was a luxury in the borough. For $3,100 a month, he had a 1,400-square-foot apartment with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, along with gorgeous hardwood flooring, granite countertops, and full sized stainless steel appliances. It was the ultimate bachelor’s pad with a 60” flat screen and a high-end stereo system with surround-sound.

Mateo liked nice things, and he and Pyro did their best to stay under the radar. They sold mostly weed and didn’t dabble in cocaine or other hardcore drugs like most dealers. Both men wanted to make enough money to start their own legit businesses, from real estate investments to cryptocurrency. Mateo was a man who did his homework, and it seemed like cryptocurrency was the future. There was no central bank to manipulate the value.