I should’ve listened to that little voice earlier, because it was obvious nothing but drama came with Cash Banks.
“You good?” Monica asked once we were outside, pulling out her phone to order an Uber.
“I just want my bed,” I muttered, rubbing my forearms. I was still trying to figure out how the night spun out of control so fast.
“Me too,” she sighed, glancing back at the club like she was debating running back in.
“You can go back in if you want,” I told her, feeling a twinge of guilt.
“What? No! It’s fine, Jas. Really.” She slipped her phone back in her purse. “But don’t front…you know you had fun.”
I exhaled, shaking my head. “It was aight… ‘til it wasn’t.”
“Girl, bye! You were definitely getting cozy on Money’s lap.”
I was too tired to answer her—my ears were ringing, and I felt a dull headache forming at the base of my skull. All I wanted to do was shower and scrub the memory of Cash off my skin.
His hands.
His voice.
That damn cologne.
My curiosity had been satisfied.
I never needed to see him again.
CHAPTER7
CASH “MONEY” BANKS
“You’ve got a big problem,boss man,” Nairobi said as she skimmed the menu.
We were meeting up in Midtown so she could update me on Kyree. Getting shot had thrown everything off. A situation that should’ve taken a few weeks to wrap up was pushing on almost three months.
Nairobi had agreed to stay on a little longer and started working at Stilettos—the strip club where Kyree spent most of his free time flexing his BC affiliation. He had a weakness for long legs, and Nai played right into it, giving him enough extra attention to hook him. A few private dances quickly escalated into backroom meetings with his makeshift crew, with him parading her around like she was his girl.
“What could be bigger than niggas trying to kill me?” I asked, sipping my water.
My mind drifted back to Jasmine. It’d been a week since the party, and I still couldn’t get her pretty ass out of my head. She was sexy, and that slick mouth made my dick hard. I wanted her real bad.
“Cash!” Nairobi snapped her fingers in front of my face.
I blinked, snapping out of it. “My bad, Nai. Say that again?”
She gave me a sharp look and opened her mouth to speak, but clamped it shut as the waiter approached the table.
“You guys ready to order?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, handing him her menu. “I’ll have the cod and a glass of white sangria.”
“And let me get the ribeye—medium rare—with mashed potatoes and broccoli. Oh, and a lavender lemonade.” I said.
“Lavender lemonade?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“That shit’s good,” I shrugged.
“You’re distracted.”
