Shit got hazy after that. The shots kept coming, and I lost track of how many blunts were in rotation. My head was buzzing, but I felt invincible. Standing on the couch with my Gucci shirt hanging open, I rapped along to Jeezy’sWho Dat. The whole section was lit, feeding off my energy. Even Princess was swaying, drink in hand, like we weren’t just beefing a few hours ago.
I hopped down and headed to the railing—I needed a minute to breathe.
That's when I saw her.
Might’ve been the weed. Could’ve been the liquor. But it was like everything in the club fell away. The music faded, the lights blurred, and all I could see washer, moving through the crowd with her friend in tow.
Shorty was thicker than a bowl of grits—little waist, thick thighs, and an ass that had me ready to risk it all. Her black lace black bodysuit clung to her like second skin. Her smooth, toffee-colored skin seemed to glow under the club lights, and her long, wavy hair fell down her back.
Her glossy lips curved into a smile as she leaned in to whisper in her friend’s ear.
She moved like she knew she was that girl.
She didn’t belong down there with the regulars. She belonged in VIP. Next to me.
Her friend tugged her arm, trying to guide her through the crowd, but she moved at her own pace—unbothered by all the bodies brushing past her.
I leaned over the balcony, tracking her every move. I didn’t just want her name—I needed to know everything about her. Needed to know where she was from and what I needed to do to make her smile like that.
I tore my eyes away from her just long enough to find the stairs and started moving.
I didn’t know who she was yet, but one thing was for sure: I wasn’t leaving this club without talking to my future wife.
CHAPTER6
JASMINE MILLER
I swearI was too old to be at the club, but Monica said she was tired of me being grumpy all the time, and if I wasn’t getting laid, then we needed to go out, shake some ass, and let fine men buy us drinks all night.
That’s exactly how I ended up in a bodysuit with my goodies out, pregaming at her condo like we were in our twenties.
“Exactly, friend!” she said, nodding approvingly at my outfit when I showed up. “You were starting to look like thoughts and prayers. We had to wake up your inner bad bitch.”
I rolled my eyes and threw back another shot of tequila.
It’d been rough in the two months sincethe incident—what I’d been calling that wild-ass night at Peachtree. People said I was being dramatic for taking two weeks off after that mess, but I’m sorry—how was I supposed to work after having a gun pressed to my head? I’d seen a lot of shit in my ten years of nursing, but never that. I didn’t even tell my parents. If my daddy found out, he’d be on the next flight down, dragging me back to Queens like a wayward child.
Monica did actually quit for real this time—kind of. She cut her hours down to per diem and got a sweet gig at Southside General. Meanwhile, I was still stuck at that fuck-ass hospital. I had a few coworkers I was cool with, but it wasn’t the same without my girl on the floor with me regularly. I was keeping my fingers crossed for a travel nurse position to open up, but until then I was stuck.
The only upside in all this was the five-figure deposit that hit my account a few days after everything went down. I had a strong suspicion Jelani was behind it, but I wasn’t trying to do any mental gymnastics to figure out how he got my info. I had no desire to run into him ever again.
Wouldn’t mind seeing Cash, though.
When our Uber dropped us to the club an hour later, I was tipsy and already forgetting about the bullshit from work. The DJ had everybody going up for a Gucci Mane track and the bass thumped so hard that I could feel it in my chest. For the first time in a long time, I felt good.
“Let’s dance!” Monica shouted over the music, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the dance floor.
We pushed through a tangle of sweaty bodies, laughing until we found a spot in the middle. On cue, the DJ switched it up and played the opening of Travis Porter’sBring it Back—the whole club lost it.
“This my shit!” I screamed, throwing my ass back as the beat dropped.
“Whatchu know about this, New York?” Monica teased, as she danced right along with me.
It felt like the whole club was caught up in the same wave. My hair stuck to my forehead from the sweat, but I didn’t care. The liquor had me loose and I leaned into the feeling—remembering when nights like this were a regular thing for me.
I tensed when I felt a warm body press up behind me. Big hands found my hips—not rough, but firm enough to get my attention. He started moving with me, matching my rhythm a little too well. I usually didn’t dance with random dudes in the club, but fuck it.
“Okay, Jas! I see you!” Monica hyped me up, still doing her own thing.
