I spotted this dude from across the room. He was hot to death. Dark-skinned with curly black hair that peeked out from under his Lakers hat that matched perfectly with his yellow and purple Lakers jacket with Kobe Bryant’s number on it. He had on some hot jewelry too. Tina and I went to clubs so much that we knew just about everybody that came through. But this was the first time I had seen this dude. I was on him. He got up from a table that was crowded with a bunch of other flashy guys and walked over to the other bar in the club.

“Tina, I’m about to go holla at Number Eight.”

“I was on ’im too, girl,” Tina responded, smiling.

I walked around the dance floor to the other side of the club. Number Eight was ordering a drink. There were so many chicks trying to get his attention it was funny. But obviously they were new to it. Guys like him usually didn’t crack on girls no matter how cute or slutty they were. You had to swallow your pride and holla at him.

“It’s on me,” I said as the bartender waited for the dude to pay her for the bottle of Moët.

“Nah, shorty, it’s cool,” the dude said, smiling and peeling a hundred-dollar bill from a knot of money. He was surprised at my gesture, but I could tell he liked it a lot.

I let him pay for it, which was my plan from gate, but now the air was open for conversation. “That’s one of my favorite teams,” I said, referring to his jacket.

“Oh, yeah? Mine too,” he replied.

“What’s your name?” I quizzed as I held my empty cup out for him to pour me some Moët.

He smiled and said, “O.”

At that point I didn’t know which turned me on more, the wad of money he pulled from his pocket earlier or the way he licked his lips before he would flash that sexy-ass smile of his.