Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Poketa L. Moore

Description

Outspoken and sassy, Ka’Leeta Bryant always wanted the best things in life, by any means necessary. With her young daughter, Nia, in tow she lives a champagne life on a beer budget in sunny, Miami Beach. When she runs across a handsome, millionaire named Jimmy, she thinks that she’s finally met her golden ticket to life. That’s until she discovers Jimmy’s grotesque, secret ways, and abusive temper. After making a deal with the devil, she reluctantly leaves her Florida lifestyle in full survival mode.
Ka’Leeta returns to her hometown in South Carolina, harboring more than a few secrets. Although life took a turn for the better, drama still met with Ka”Leeta . When her past comes back to haunt her, karma goes into full effect with Nia in mind. Ka’Leeta is then forced to go on a mission to save Nia from an underworld of lies and dysfunction.

Sujets

• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 03 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669854128
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Once Bitten, Twice Shy
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Poketa L. Moore
 
Copyright © 2022 by Poketa L. Moore.
 
ISBN:
Softcover
978-1-6698-5413-5

eBook
978-1-6698-5412-8
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 11/03/2022
 
 
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
847919
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
1
Why the hell I always gotta wake up b roke!
That’s the thought that rolled around in my head like a marble as I dragged myself out of my bedroom into my little, dingy kitchenette. I opened the cabinet door next to the refrigerator and snatched a half-empty bag of Quaker grits off the shelf. I sat it down on the stove and opened the refrigerator, exposing nothing but a box of baking soda, a half a gallon of milk and a half a pack of generic brand bologna. I was saving the bologna for my work lunch the following week.
I grabbed a skillet and pot out of the oven and slammed them onto the stove. I felt myself starting to tear up at the lack of food, so I turned on the clock radio that I kept in the windowsill to lift my spirits. Heatwave’s Star of the Story jumped on.
I was broker than a convict fresh out of jail. Even though I got my paycheck the day before I only had was two dollars and twenty-six cents to my name. Hell, it wasn’t my fault that I had a gang of bills coming at me full speed ahead. I had to pay my rent, car payment on my brand-new Chevy Monte Carlo SS and car insurance all at once because I was still playing catch up from buying Nia and I’s spring clothes earlier that month from Nordstroms. I made sure that we always looked sharply dressed. That was a must.
I glanced over at Nia, who’d flopped down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She started playing with her half-bald Malibu Barbie doll, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. I could clearly see the crusted-up sleep in her eyes from where she didn’t wash her face good, so I knew she didn’t brush her teeth either. Regardless, I was glad that she was so oblivious to certain problems in life. She couldn’t tell that I was failing her. I wanted her to stay a child forever. Little dirty ass face and all.
I stared out the window, noticing the strange sixty-five-degree weather, an unseasonably cold, balmy day in May for Miami Beach. Pale, saggy skin, white women was still lurking on the beach in their bikini’s catching what sun that they could. I loved living close to the beach. It was a well-kept area with mainly older white residents who had flocked from the hustle and bustle of the north. But the beach life was a hard on my pockets at times. The rent increases every year didn’t help either.
I’d been living in the Sunny Oaks, an aging, palm tree lined art deco style apartment complex for almost six years. I started out with a one bedroom and moved into a two so that Nia could have her own room. I was approved for Section 8 housing when Nia was two years old, but I turned it down. I didn’t want to raise my daughter in no nasty ghetto. I accepted the food stamps and welfare, which was eventually cut off due to my increase in pay at work.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” Nia whined from the table, breaking up my thoughts. She was hugging her Barbie so tightly to her chest it looked like she was choking it.
“Leave me alone and go watch TV!” I snapped, wiping the tears from my eyes that had escaped and fell on the collar of my pink chenille housecoat. I was mad at the world and took it out on her, which wasn’t fair. She was just hungry, that’s all.
“I’m sorry, baby.” I apologized as I ran over to the table and gave Nia a kiss on the forehead, then a tight hug.
“Mama just a little tired, that all. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, tears forming in her eyes. She slow dragged herself over to the TV and turned it on. The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show was in the opening sequence. She then dropped down on the floor Indian style, chin in palm.
As I wrestled up the limited breakfast, my mind wandered to who I could as for a loan until that following Friday when I got paid. I refused to ask Nia’s father Geno for any money. He was only working part-time as a janitor and living with his mama over in Hialeah. Although he was a borderline deadbeat, he was a good daddy to Nia. That’s why I didn’t slap him on child support. He came to see her at least four of five times a week. He also gave me my quick fuck every now and then. Sex and a relationship were the last thing on my mind. All I cared about was Nia’s well-being. We had the perfect arrangement: No strings atta ched.
The grits started scorching, so I added a little salt, milk, stirred it up and turned the pot on low. A few minutes later, I placed the almost burnt bologna on a plate along with the lumpy grits and slung it on the table. Geno came strutting through the back door a few minutes later, carrying an overstuffed white and yellow Waffle House bag. He looked handsome in his blue tank top, Levi jeans and freshly cut, naturally wavy hair. He sat the bag and his keys on the counter, exhaled and sat down at the table.
“Daddy!” Nia screeched, running towards him like a track star from the living room.
“Hey, my Princess,” he cooed, scooping her up into his muscular arms and planting a kiss on her cheek. He sat her down on his lap, giving her a big, bear hug. I stood there and observed how much they looked alike.
She only had my light brown, hazel, cat eyes. That’s all. Geno was half Puerto-Rican and black. He was as tall as a Georgia pine tree. I always found him to be a beautiful, no-frills man. Nia had his olive complexion, sharp facial features, and wavy hair. Her long thick pigtails came past her shoulders.
“What y’all in here doing?” Geno asked sneering down at the now cold, lumpy grits on the plate. I knew he was about to get real sarcastic. So, I got into defense mode.
“I was cooking breakfast,” I said, flinging my hand on my hip, bugging my eyes out.
“Princess, get up for a minute,” he said told Nia tapping her on her leg gently. She hopped out of his lap playfully and moved to one of the other empty chairs at the table. He pounced over to the cupboards, snatching them open, taking a quick glance. Next, he opened refrigerator and slammed the door, causing the raggedy little thing to shake.
“Leeta, where’s the food! Didn’t you get paid yesterday!” his deep voice rumbled, scaring me a little.
“I’m glad I brung something for y’all to eat! What is that slop that you were gonna feed my daughter!”
He looked down at my slippers and snared his nose up.
“Round here wearing Gucci house shoes and shit and can’t even buy decent food.”
“Man, I had bills!” I yelled in a rage tired of his judging.
“We’ll be alright until next Friday. Don’t come up in here with that bullshit!”
Geno stared at me for a few seconds in disbelief. He then grabbed his worn-out, braided wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open. He snatched out four crumpled up twenty-dollar bills and slapped them down on the kitchen counter.
“Girl, take your stubborn ass to the grocery store and buy some edible food,” he suggested as he bent down and hugged Nia who had begun to cry from all the screaming that we were doing. He wiped her tear-soaked face with his t-shirt and smoothed out the pants part of her pink Oshkosh B’Gosh overalls.
“Pride ain’t gonna fill y’all belly, Leeta,” he reminded, sitting back down at the table hard.
“I said we’ll be alright,” I said, scrunching up my face at the money on the counter.
“Keep your little bit of change. Your mama may need it.” I taunted then smiled wide, trying to piss him off. He hated when I teased him about living with his mama. I could tell that he didn’t like my comments because his nose flared up like a bull. That only happened when he was mad. He started rubbing his chin rapidly.
“If you just let me move in here and help out things would be different,” he said ignoring my childishness.
“Princess can have a two-parent home like me and you did. But you be on that stupid shit. You really need to dig yourself, girl.”
“No, got dammit!” I yelled, now frustrated with the conversation. “We tried those six years back in seventy-seven. You didn’t want my fat ass or my baby, reme mber ?”
“Damn, Leeta, you don’t let shit go. It’s 1983 for God’s sake. I already apologized for that too many times. I was a young jit. I was stupid. I love you and Princess. I just want to be a good father, that’s all.”
“Whatever,” I responded then rolled my eyes at him, bored with the conversation. The room grew real silent. I sat down at the kitchen table and stared down at the dirty, white linoleum floor noticing it needed to be mopped. The radio was playing a Burger King commercial that was describing a juicy