A Southern Street King Earned Her Love

By Porscha Sterling

Some stories have villains.

Some stories have heroes. 

But in this love story—the one I lived—Gucci is both. 

Expensive car. 

Designer shoes. 

Neck decorated with heavy gold chains. 

And rocking Gucci from head-to-toe. 

He came into my life like the storm I'd never expected, forcing his way into my life with all the cocky arrogance that a man who built his way up from the bottom could possibly have. Like a god in human form, he seduced me with ease, and though I tried to play hard to get, he knew from the beginning that he would be getting me. 

There are a million and one reasons why I shouldn't love him. A million and one reasons why I shouldn't want him. And tons more for why I should've ran in the other direction the moment I saw him walking my way. Gucci is intoxicatingly toxic; a devil in designer shoes. He's the last man on Earth that I should ever want. 

But I want him anyway.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Porscha Sterling, LLC
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637182055

Porscha Sterling

PORSCHA STERLING is an influencer, publisher, and national bestselling author who is widely considered the exemplar of self-publishing success in the digital age. Winner of the SHEEN Magazine Literary Excellence Award, she’s best known for her book series Bad Boys Do It Better.   Sterling holds an MBA, which helped her in the development of her publishing company, Royalty Publishing House, a stronghold in the African-American literary community, publishing many top-selling novels in the urban, contemporary romance, interracial romance, and women’s fiction genres. Sterling has also partnered with fellow best-selling author and publisher, Leo Sullivan, on the launch of a mobile app, known as the LiT Reading App, which connects readers with exclusive material from independent authors. To find out more information about Porscha Sterling, visit all of the social media outlets at @Porscha_Sterling and her website, PorschaSterling.com.

Book preview

A Southern Street King Earned Her LoveTitle Page

Contents

Acknowledgments

Synopsis

A Southern Street King Earned Her Heart Playlist

1. Life is Gucci

2. Feelin’ Bleu

3. Bleu Skies

4. Bootleg Prada

5. Sexy & Sassy

6. Logical Cyn

7. Tiffany Bleu

8. Must Be Love

9. Saved By a Saint

10. Everything’s Gucci

11. Un-Even Stephen

12. Swirling Bleu Lights

13. Black & Bleu

14. Bad Ju-Ju

15. Guilty Gucci

16. True Bleu

17. The Greatest Cyn

18. Pushing P

19. Gucci Gang

20. Life’s Bleu

21. Keeping’ It Gucci

22. He’s No Saint

23. No Love

24. Perfect Prada

25. Loneliness is a Cyn

26. Che & Tae

27. Feelin’ Gucci

To Be Continued…

Note From Porscha Sterling

About the Author

Read More on the LiT Reading App!

To the extent that the images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

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This PORSCHA STERLING, INC. book is being published by

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Royalty Publishing House, LLC.

P.O. Box 924043

Norcross, GA 30010

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Copyright © 2021 by Porscha Sterling

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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Cover Designer: Marion Designs

Acknowledgments

Special thank you to everyone who believes in me and supports me. I appreciate you all. You’re truly the wind beneath my wings.

Signature

Synopsis

Some stories have villains.

Some stories have heroes. 

But in this love story—the one I lived—Gucci is both. 

---

Expensive car. 

Designer shoes. 

Neck decorated with heavy gold chains. 

And rocking Gucci from head-to-toe. 

He came into my life like the storm I'd never expected, forcing his way into my life with all the cocky arrogance that a man who built his way up from the bottom could possibly have. Like a god in human form, he seduced me with ease, and though I tried to play hard to get, he knew from the beginning that he would be getting me. 

There are a million and one reasons why I shouldn't love him. A million and one reason why shouldn't want him. And tons more for why I should've ran in the other direction the instance I saw him walking my way. Gucci is intoxicatingly toxic; a devil in designer shoes. He's the last man on Earth that I should ever want. 

But I want him anyways. 

Download & listen to the playlist as you read.

Listen now on Spotify or Apple Music!

Playlist

And once upon a time, a street king fell for a regular girl with regular problems who hadn’t yet realized that she was a queen...

Chapter 1

Life is Gucci

BLEU

He was sitting on the trunk of an old-school Cadillac when I saw him for the first time. The only thing old about the car was the year because everything else about it was brand spanking new.

I knew cars like the back of my hand—a gift that I had picked up from my father. As a workaholic mechanic who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, the only moments I could even remember spending with him was when he was working. And as daddy’s little girl from the moment I was born, I treasured those times when I would slide up under a car next to him and listen as he explained all the work needed to fix it. In the beginning, I only pretended to be interested, asking questions, and pointing to objects just to get his attention. But eventually, things changed and my interest in cars became sincere.

I was his little assistant in those days, the only person gifted enough to help him when he was at the shop or fixing cars in our driveway. After I spent an entire summer helping him, he decided to give me a gift: we would work together to build the car of my dreams and, once I was old enough, it would become my first car.

He left the choice to me as to which car we’d build, and I picked an old-school Cadillac. Every weekend he would take me to the junkyard to search for parts. It was my job to come up with how it would look once we were done, and I took that responsibility to heart. I tried to learn as much as I could about how a car worked, what made it go, what each sound that it made meant. It didn’t take me long to become an expert thanks to my obsession. My daddy always admired my dedication and drive; he said that I was better than any mechanic he’d ever known. He bragged about how much money he saved, not needing to hire anyone because he said that I was all he needed. In his words, Wasn’t a motherfucka in the world who knew more about cars than his baby girl.

But no matter how much I learned, how much money I helped him save and how proud he was of me for being the mini version of him, none of that was enough to make him stay.

The summer of my thirteenth birthday, was the last time I saw him before he disappeared. Left without explanation, without a trace, as if he’d simply evaporated out of thin air. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t alive. He was just a distant memory of moments that I couldn’t force my mind to erase. It took a long time to get over that kind of heartbreak—the kind that comes from being abandoned by one of the two people in the world God required to always be there for you. But eventually, with determination and focus, I was able to pack away all the the love I had left for him and tuck it deep down in some forgotten space in my heart. It was the same place where I packed away my love for cars.

But the sight of this one stopped me in my tracks.

I had barely made it out the door of the daycare center where I worked when I saw it, and sucked in a breath, feeling overwhelmed by what was the most beautiful sight. The car, the same exact year, make and model of the one that I’d picked out with my father, was right in front of my eyes. And it looked every bit of what I imagined it would be once our work had been done.

Placing my hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun, it took several seconds before I was able to tear my attention away from what once was my dream car and settle on the large figure sitting on top of the trunk.

Well, daaaaamn.

If the car was a beautiful sight, I couldn’t even begin to think up words good enough to describe him. Sitting with sun to his back, illuminating him in a halo of light as if he were an angel, he stared at me with smoldering eyes, obviously checking me out and I was shamelessly doing the same. He was covered from head-to-toe in Gucci; headband around his head, Gucci t-shirt, jeans with a Gucci bandana peeking out the pocket and the hem tucked into long Gucci socks. And on his feet? Of course... Gucci shoes. He was a walking billboard for the company which was an instant turn off. Materialism at its finest. His over-the-top style was like a bullhorn announcement of his need for attention. I knew from experience that guys like that were bad news. They placed just as much value on women they dealt with as they did their clothes and shoes. There was only one way to describe men like him: Toxic.

No more toxic men.

No more toxic men.

I closed my eyes and mentally repeated the vow I’d made to myself many, many times before.

No. More. Toxic. Men.

I’d had a run-in with more than a few already and the drama I’d dealt with—was still dealing with—was enough to last me a lifetime. So even though Mr. Sexy with the Gucci shoes was staring at me under the sexiest hooded eyes while licking his lips like he wanted to peel my clothes off and ravish my body right in eyeshot of passing traffic, I had a vow to uphold and a promise to keep.

With that reminder, I grabbed onto the strap of my purse tugging it higher on my shoulder, and ducked my head to avoid looking up, not wanting to meet his eyes.

And every day for a week and a half straight, that method worked just fine for me.

I would leave work, every day at the exact same time, and he would be right there, sitting on the trunk of his car, either bobbing his head to music or doing something on his phone. And every day, I would keep my head low and walk down the road, right pass him to the bus stop where I would wait for my bus to arrive and drive me home.

And every day, I would escape the moment our fates would collide.

Every day… until this day.

Yo, how long we gon’ keep meetin’ up like this?

I heard the voice but kept walking, knowing damn well he couldn’t be talking to me.

Shorty, I know you heard me. You gon’ say somethin’ or keep ignorin’ me like you been doing for the last week?

Huh?

I stopped walking, knowing for certain that he was talking to me at this point.

Shit... I muttered under my breath. This wasn’t the same as ignoring his staring. He was addressing me directly and I couldn’t avoid it.

Taking my time, I pulled my attention up from my worn Saucony tennis shoes and locked my eyes on his shoes instead. They were Gucci, of course, but this time dark blue to match his dark blue shirt and matching bandana. How annoyingly cute.

I’m not ignoring you, I replied, still not meeting his eyes. "I don’t know you."

He chuckled a little as if something I’d said struck him as funny. I felt my cheeks flame.

Aye, you gon’ look me in the eyes when you’re speakin’ to me? he asked. I could almost hear the smile in his voice. Ain’t nobody ever told you that it’s rude to not look at someone while you’re speakin’ to them?

Sucked my teeth, I lifted my eyes just enough to roll them. Ain’t nobody ever told you not to speak to people who look like they wanna be left alone?

That statement said, I rolled my neck to focus in front of me and started back walking.

No more toxic men.

No more toxic men.

No. More. Toxic. Men.

You can ignore me today, I heard him say from behind me. But you won’t ignore me tomorrow. I promise you that.

Humph! I snorted, rolling my eyes once again.

He had some nerve, but I wasn’t surprised. His type couldn’t help but be cocky as hell. His type was used to women throwing themselves at their feet. His type was used to getting what they wanted. But he could want all he wanted; I really didn’t care. Because one thing I didn’t like was his type. His type could never get someone like me.

Ms. Bleu, can you tell me who my daddy is? Every time I ask my mama, she says he’s a rolling stone. But that can’t be true ‘cause... I’m a human.

I almost snorted out a laugh but caught myself just in time. Unable to hide my smile, I bent down low so that I was seeing eye-to-eye with Trinity, one of my favorite students. She was a four-year-old beauty who reminded me a lot of me. Not for her stunning, devoutly ethnic looks, but because despite all the dysfunction I knew she was dealing with at home, she was able to still maintain such an upbeat spirit.

Yes, you are a human, I said giving her a gentle smile. "And so is your daddy. I don’t know who he is, because only your mama can tell you that, but I can say that he made one incredibly beautiful, smart and talented daughter."

Satisfied with that, Trinity grinned from ear-to-ear before walking away to rejoin the other students. With a sigh, I stood and then checked my watch. Just like that, the smile on my face disappeared. Unlike the rest of the world, I cherished my time at work. It was the highlight of my day. Being a preschool teacher at a daycare on the southside of Atlanta didn’t make a lot of money and many people told me that it was a waste of my Journalism degree, but the best moments of my current life were spent at work. At the end of my shift each day, once I walked out the doors, it was like stepping out of heaven and heading straight into hell.

Pulling up a small toddler chair, I sat at the mini table with a few of my students and grabbed a pencil and pad, deciding to draw along with them. Any activity was preferred if it could keep my mind off my personal life.

Whatcha drawing?

I jolted to attention at the sound of the voice behind me, recognizing it instantly as Cyndria, my coworker and friend. Lifting the paper in my hand, I looked at it sideways before she took a seat next to me.

I think I’m making a butterfly.

A butterfly? she repeated before squinting at the sheet of paper. She looked confused and I couldn’t blame her. My ‘butterfly’ looked more like an old cow. To be honest, unless I was drawing a car, I really couldn’t draw for shit.

Thank God you got your writing to fall back on because if you had to draw for a living, you’d be screwed.

I rolled my eyes before holding my middle finger up. Thanks, Cyn.

Oooh, Ms. Bleuuu, Travis, my most troublesome student, said. Now you gotta go to time out like you made me do.

Travis, Ms. Bleu is a grown ass woman—

Cyn! I slapped her hard on the leg to stop her from talking.

Turning back to Travis, whose eyes were as big and white as a flying saucer, I started to explain. Travis, I’m a grown up. There are a lot of things I can do that you can’t do.

Uh huh, he replied, looking at me sideways. He didn’t seem convinced. But at least he kept quiet and went back to his coloring.

Anyways, Cyndria said, continuing our conversation. I came in here to ask a favor.

I rolled my eyes. I already know. That’s the only time you come to visit me— I glanced back at my watch. —Ten minutes before closing time.

Whatever, whatever, Cyndria replied, although we both knew I was right. Anyways, I was just wondering if you could close tonight, and I close for you tomorrow. I already cleaned up my room and the one next to me. So, all you’ll have to do is the nursery, which that ain’t a big deal, and the Toddler 2 room.

What are you trying to do? I asked, leaning my head to the side to squint at her.

"Not what, girl. Who, she clarified with a smile. I’ve got a date!"

I frowned. Cyndria’s taste in men was terrible. Actually, beyond terrible. It was worse than mine and that was saying a lot considering what I was currently dealing with.

"You’ve got a date? With who?"

Oooohh, Ms. Cyn’s got a boyfriend!

Shooting my eyes across the table, I glared at Travis to hush before turning back to Cyndria and motioning with my hand for her to keep quiet.

Smiling hard, Cyndria pointed her eyes out the window behind us.

He’s out there? I asked, jutting my thumb in the direction of the window facing the parking lot.

Nodding, Cyndria’s smile widened. Go look.

Sighing, I stood up to walk to the window, rolling my eyes, before peering out into the lot. But I didn’t see anyone. Not a single car was outside other than Cyndria’s Mercedes parked right up front in parking spot reserved for the owner of the center. Since her mother owned the place, she took it upon herself to always park there, even though only a few of the other teachers even had cars so the lot was always pretty empty.

I don’t see anyone out he—

Before I could complete my sentence, an old-school Cadillac pulled into the lot across from ours, parking in front of the ballet center next door. Less than a few seconds after the engine cut off, the driver’s door opened and out popped the man I’d been avoiding for the last ten days.

You see him? He should be out there. He always pulls up around this time like clockwork. Cyndria nearly squealed as she joined me at the window. He’s sexy as hell and today is the day I make him mine.

Pulling my eyes from the window, I looked over at her as she oozed red lip-gloss all over her pouty lips before popping them loudly together.

"He asked you on a date? I frowned, crinkling up my nose before I continued. And you accepted?"

Cyndria shook her head. No, not yet. But he will today, she added with a wink. Thanks for closing for me so I can leave early enough to work my magic!

My stomach did somersaults inside as I watched her exit the room, leaving me with the two kids that were left. Travis and Trinity were brother and sister, always the last to leave because their mother was always late. I never understood why because she lived off government assistance, didn’t have a job or anything at all to do during the day. There was absolutely no reason why she should be late as hell picking up her kids every day.

Turning back to the window, I couldn’t resist taking one last look before closing the blinds. Cyndria had just stepped outside and was slowly making her way to her target, walking slowly and seductively with an extra twist in her hips. I watched as it appeared she called out to him, or at least I assumed she did, from the way that he lifted his head and glanced her way, with wide, expectant eyes. Closing the blinds, I let out a long breath and turned around, forcing my back to them as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

He would definitely take Cyndria up on her offer. Whatever the offer was. They all did. Women who looked like her always got the man. Cyndria was drop-dead gorgeous and got whatever she wanted. You know those girls who are beautiful but like to act like it’s such a chore to maintain? The ones who complained about how hard it was to blow-dry their curly, long hair for thirty minutes each morning so that it would be silky and straight? Or fussed about how long they had to sit at the nail shop for their perfectly manicured nails and expertly polished toes? That was Cyndria. While I spent my mornings caking loads of black gel on my edges to keep them tamed and applying shea butter to ward off crusty heels, Cyndria spent a grip on her beauty treatments even though she didn’t even need it.

In all the time I’d known her, she never made good choices when it came to men, but none she’d set her sights on ever turned her down. Her looks were what the world called exotic; a cross between her mother’s Ethiopian lineage and her father’s Virgin Island roots, she was a blend of Rihanna and Halle Berry. The world’s definition of ‘an acceptably beautiful’ black woman.

And me? I was the girl whose own mother used to tell me was ‘beautiful in my own way’. I wasn’t ugly; in fact, when I looked in the mirror, I knew I was gorgeous. However, I also knew how the rest of the world saw me and I learned that, when it came to dark-skinned women, most people viewed our beauty as a curse instead of a blessing.

As if God wasted some of His magic when he dipped a hand in the ‘beautiful jar’ and decided to give a dark-skinned woman some of it.

Chile... I just couldn’t with the audacity of some people.

I heard the buzzer alarm sound off at the front door of the center, indicating that someone had opened the door. I already knew it was Teresa, the twins’ mother.

About damn time, I whispered, looking at my watch.

In the time I was waiting for Teresa to finally drag her ass into the building, I’d cleaned the entire building, taking the kids with me from room-to-room. She wasn’t just late this time; she was late as hell.

"Girl, that traffic out there is a mess!" she said as she walked into the classroom.

I twisted my lips up, not even bothering to comment on her foolishness. I didn’t know why she always felt the need to give me a reason for her lateness because we both knew it was a lie. Traffic or not, her ass was going to be late picking up her kids and that’s just how it was.

Mommy! Trinity yelled as she ran to her, hugging her arms tightly around her legs. As if annoyed, Teresa curled her upper lip in disgust and plucked little Trinity’s arms from around her legs, flinging her backwards. My chest burned when I saw the hurt expression on Trinity’s face. No matter how she was treated, she was always excited to see Teresa each day. Travis, on the other hand, stayed back, still coloring as if he hadn’t even realized she was in the building.

Travis, I said, whispering out to him. Your mommy’s here.

I don’t wanna go, he muttered so low that I could barely make out his words.

I gave him an apologetic look. Shit, I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to go home with his mama either.

Boy, get yo’ ass up so we can go! Teresa snapped before I could get a chance to respond. Ain’t nobody got time to be waitin’ on you. I got shit to do!

My body stiffened but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t a parent, only a paid employee and if I didn’t stay in my place, Teresa would be cussing my ass out next.

Reluctantly, Travis got up, slamming his crayon on the table before standing up and stomping over to her with his bottom lip poked out.

Boy, if you don’t bring yo’ motherfuckin’ ass—

Reaching out, Teresa snatched his arm, pulling him the rest of the way to her before charging out of the door with both kids crying and screaming. Trinity yelling out in empathy for her brother while he yelped in pain. I felt frustrated knowing there was nothing I could do. Teresa wasn’t abusive; she never hurt her