“Say what’s on your mind, shawty.”
“I know what you do,” I said.
He cocked his head. “You know, or you heard?”
“What’s the difference?”
He grinned. “Depends who you heard it from. If it wasn’t from me, it’s probably bullshit.”
“You want me to speak or nah?” I narrowed my eyes.
“My bad. Go ‘head.” He motioned for me to continue.
“The first time I met you, you were bleeding out and on death’s door. So I know you’re into some questionable shit,” I said, watching his face. He stayed neutral, so I kept going. “Obviously, there’s something between us—annoying as that is—but you come with a lot, Cash. And I’m not sure I’m willing to gamble my peace or my nursing license for it.”
I exhaled, brushing my fingers through my ponytail.
“My ex lived this kind of life, and he’s doing twenty years off a RICO. I stopped dealing with niggas like that in my twenties.”
I left out the part about how Marcus hounded me for years after he got locked up. I had to intercept the mail, not wanting my parents to ask why I was getting letters from a federal prison. Or how he’d have people call me on three-way just to talk, even when I’d told him to stop.
“I’m not them, Jasmine,” Cash said, shaking his head. Carlton showed up with our drinks and took our dinner orders. Once he left, Cash pulled me closer, his voice dropping low.
“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I’m a saint—we both know I’m not. But don’t lump me in with those other niggas. I worked my ass off for everything I have. I’m not some low-level hustler asking to stash shit in your apartment.”
I traced a finger down the stem of my wine glass and let his words sink in.
“So that’s it? I’m just supposed to accept that you’re a big-time dealer and move like life is normal?”
Cash cupped my chin, his thumb brushed my jaw as his deep brown eyes bore into mine.
“You don’t have to accept anything but me. But don’t assume you know what I do. If you want to know, ask me. I’ll tell you. What I won’t do is drag you into anything. If we ever get to that point, it’ll be on your terms. Until then, let’s just enjoy the night.”
Something in his tone shifted the energy between us, and conversation flowed easier than expected. We talked about what brought me to Atlanta, his childhood, his scholarship to Duke, and even a little bit about his father’s death. He didn’t go into too much detail about his work, but it was clear he’d been in some shit. And there was no regret in his voice, just an acceptance that everything he’d done was all part of the game.
By the time our entrees arrived, I was floating off my third glass of rosé. The restaurant definitely lived up to the hype.
“So…” Cash said, cutting into his porterhouse. “You still hate me?”
I paused, my fork hovering over my plate. I thought back to how he’d gotten me so worked up last week.
I cleared my throat. “I hate you less.”
“Here you go,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“You’re a bit of a menace.”
“You fuck with it, though. Don’t lie.”
I set my fork down. “I’m stuffed. This was so good.”
“You want them to wrap this up for you?”
I nodded, and he signaled for Carlton.
“I’m tryna slide past my people’s spot real quick,” Cash said, as our plates were cleared.
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to see me in this dress?”
