Craving That Hood Love: Nautica & Gutta

By Kiera Neufville

Life wasn't easy for Nautica Butler. She's the product of an absent father and mother. Nautica tries her best to keep afloat and not become a product of her environment. With a praying grandmother who won't let her fail, things are hard for Nautica. At almost 18, her focus should be on graduating and her choice of college. Being an A student thanks to her grandmother might not satisfy her craving. That all comes to a halt when she starts craving that hood love from bad boy Cedric “GUTTA” Grayson. Nautica is young, naive, blinded by love, and most importantly, fragile. Having never been exposed to love, Nautica’s life takes a turn. Could it be for better or worse? Gutta is all about his money and taking care of his family, nothing else. If it isn’t about the money, the conversation is null and void for niggas and bitches alike. People who know him in the streets would describe him as reserved and calculated. He's coming up in the game with his two right hands, Malone and Dolph. They say all the company isn't good company. See what happens when they mix the two. Jealousy strikes between the friends causing wedges to be drawn. Money can turn your friends into villains. Love has never been easy, in fact, most call it a battlefield. A bad boy and good girl are the perfect match when you’re able to put the drama to the side. But when the drama dances in the eyes of the one you love, perfect can start to look tainted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Royalty Publishing House
• Release date: Mar 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781648405976

Book preview

Royalty Publishing House is now accepting manuscripts from aspiring or experienced urban romance authors!

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WHAT MAY PLACE YOU ABOVE THE REST:

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Heroes who are the ultimate book bae: strong-willed, maybe a little rough around the edges but willing to risk it all for the woman he loves.

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Heroines who are the ultimate match: the girl next door type, not perfect - has her faults but is still a decent person. One who is willing to risk it all for the man she loves.

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The rest is up to you! Just be creative, think out of the box, keep it sexy and intriguing!

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If you'd like to join the Royal family, send us the first 15K words (60 pages) of your completed manuscript to [e-mail]

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Synopsis

Life wasn't easy for Nautica Butler. She's the product of an absent father and mother. Nautica tries her best to keep afloat and not become a product of her environment. With a praying grandmother who won't let her fail, things are hard for Nautica.

At almost 18, her focus should be on graduating and her choice of college. Being an A student thanks to her grandmother might not satisfy her craving. That all comes to a halt when she starts craving that hood love from bad boy Cedric GUTTA Grayson. Nautica is young, naive, blinded by love, and most importantly, fragile. Having never been exposed to love, Nautica’s life takes a turn. Could it be for better or worse?

Gutta is all about his money and taking care of his family, nothing else. If it isn’t about the money, the conversation is null and void for niggas and bitches alike. People who know him in the streets would describe him as reserved and calculated. He's coming up in the game with his two right hands, Malone and Dolph. They say all the company isn't good company. See what happens when they mix the two. Jealousy strikes between the friends causing wedges to be drawn. Money can turn your friends into villains.

Love has never been easy, in fact, most call it a battlefield. A bad boy and good girl are the perfect match when you’re able to put the drama to the side. But when the drama dances in the eyes of the one you love, perfect can start to look tainted.

1

Nautica Butler

N autica, you go play my numbers? I’m feeling lucky today. Meme going to win us some money, I heard my grandmother, aka Meme, yell from the front room of our project unit housing located in the heart of Atlanta, Georgia. We lived in Mechanicville, GA in a project community called Fairway Court (Opportunity & Carbo Properties). Everything in our apartment was generic. The slums were what many called them. The floor was that hard-concrete, linoleum floor tiling that was gray. I hated this damn floor; it was always so damn cold. If you dropped anything on this floor, it was breaking.

Climbing off my full-size bed, I grabbed my Puma slides off the floor going to the front room to see what Meme was yapping about this Sunday morning. Of course, every Sunday before and after church she had her gospel music going, and the house smelled of her famous cooking. Meme had whole eggs, sausage patties and crisp bacon that wasn’t too burnt. I loved the way Meme cooked her bacon. She never fried it; Meme always put it in the oven on broil.

Meme, I told you we are not lucky. Will never win the lottery. I falsely killed dreams of her winning off playing the damn lottery. She played faithful and only hit every blue moon. It was always for 2,500 or less. Meme played four digits and three digits only. Amongst those were 0634, that was the last four digits of the house telephone. Meme had that number since way before I was born. If you ever needed someone who lived here or used to live here with Meme, she could put you in that direction; that’s how long she’d been here. Another number she played was my Papa’s number; 116 was his birthday and also mine. The street we lived on was 1247, so she played that as well. If Meme dreamed about a damn number, she was playing it.

No, why you have to bring all that damn negativity in here. She placed her hand on her hip, shaking her head at me. Meme was far from an old lady. She was going on sixty, but she could get down with the best of us. Meme didn’t look a day over forty. She kept her hair in big curls, and every night she placed her pink rollers in her hair. Her hair was a mix of salt and pepper, but more pepper. It fit her smooth, blemish-free face though. The only time Meme had bags under her eyes was when I stressed her out or better yet, my cousins who lived in the next court. You could literally poke your head out our back door and see their back porch.

Meme, ain't nobody being negative. I’m just saying. I rolled my eyes heading to the kitchen behind her. She was writing her numbers down as she went. Meme was the cutest ever. Instead of her running down to the store, she wanted me to do so. She knew every damn body in the projects, so they were always looking out for her.

Here, take these. Hurry up so we can go drop this dinner of at May house, she uttered, passing me the paper with her numbers. Meme dug in her bra pulling out a five-dollar bill.

I’m going to the store but you giving me exact change. Meme, I’m taxing you! I looked at her with my hand opened.

No charge, you need me to play it for you?! She smacked my hand down.

No thank you! I’m sick of that dang song, I snared. I hated Shirly Caesar’s No Charge because Meme played it like it was going out of style. Just like today, any other Sunday she had her church music flowing, but she wouldn’t hesitate to put that damn song on. The song basically goes on about kids not charging their parents because without them they wouldn’t have a life. Yeah, I know, pathetic right?

I thought that’s what you would say. Hurry up now, she rushed me again. This time I took the money and note then walked out the house. The sun hit my forehead burning the shit out of it. It was only damn near noon, but the sun was blazing. I had on some khaki shorts and a tank top, but it wasn’t cutting it. I’d rather be in the house in front a damn fan.

As I took off down the sidewalk of the projects, everyone was out chilling. You had your local block boys chilling trying to sell, while you had your teen mothers and their mothers sitting in lawn chairs talking, drinking and doing hair. You never saw the projects quiet; even when the city was sleeping the projects were damn near booming. When I went to visit my aunt Tori and her white husband Jack who lived in the riches of Buckhead, I could never sleep. I was used to hearing gunshots, sirens, ambulances, fights, and people just outside all hours of the night. Being accustomed to this lifestyle of being a project chick was something that came over the years. My mother left me with Meme when I was three. Every time I asked Meme where she went, she never told me. I wasn’t sure why my mother left me. No one ever spoke of her; even my aunt Rhonda and my aunt Tori didn’t. Maybe that was for the best. I never knew my dad. I did hear a lot that he’s a big-time drug dealer, but that’s just hearsay to me. If he was a prominent drug dealer, then he needed to come help a sistah out. Meme did the best she could do to make sure I got everything my heart desired. It wasn’t her responsibility to raise me after raising her own kids, but I assumed God saw fit for me to be with her. When I was two, my first words were Meme because Meme was always mine. She would still come and get me, and I would spend weekends with her. I couldn’t say grandmother, so Meme did alright for a two-year-old.

Where the hell your ass going with them short ass shorts on? I heard Dalvin, the community dick nigga, say. He was always trying to get at me, but I knew damn well how he was giving it up. You would be surprised that I was seventeen and a virgin. Everyone in the hood thought I was fucking just because my hips had spread like crazy. I had a plump ass and my breasts were the size of melons. They were a good 36 D. Meme had blessed me with a banging ass body. I ate all my cornbread, cabbage, and ham hocks when Meme cooked. Besides her cooking, my mom, aunts and Meme used to have cute ass shapes back in the day.

You going to keep walking and act like you don’t hear daddy? Dalvin grabbed my arm stopping me.

Boy, I don’t have no damn daddy. If I did, he wouldn’t be out here giving up community dick, I snapped at him, yanking my body from him. One thing I hated was to be touched. This nigga thought I was out here like one of these other bitches he fucked within the projects.

Fuck you say bitch! He glared at me, stepping into my personal space. Dalvin was a bitch in my eyes for this. I minded my damn business, and his ass came to me trying to spit some bullshit ass game. Instead of replying, I walked around him.

Dalvin grabbed me by my shirt, and I went to turn around, but I was knocked on my damn feet by someone who was now beating the shit out of Dalvin. Getting scared, jumping up, I left them in the court rushing to go play Meme’s numbers so I could get back home. I didn’t want to see any of the damage they did to Dalvin, even though he deserved the shit. Opening the door to the corner store, the cold air busted me in the face. Sweat was glistening on my forehead, arms, and neck. The cold air in the shop felt good as fuck. It wasn’t called Hotlanta for no reason. This heat was fucking sticky and ugh, the worst.

Next, the Chinese man Chen called out. His ass knew me since I was a little girl running up in here with Meme. Until I got to the age to do all the running for her alone.

Mr. Chen, can I play these for Meme? I asked as the door came open. Looking to the left of me, the gentleman that had stomped out Dalvin came walking through the door with two other guys behind him. One of the dudes that came walking in was a big nigga. He was a little chubby and stocky; he stood about 6’1. He looked like he should be playing football or something. He had a full beard that came down to his chest. I could see his head was bald through his hat. He was on the dark spectrum, chocolate as hell. The other dude that came in behind ole dude was tall, like 6’1