He poured out our drinks from a black bottle with fancy gold trim. Whatever this was, it wasn’t cheap. He brought the glasses over and handed me one as he sat.
I tossed mine back and instantly regretted it. That shit felt like swallowing fire and sent me into a coughing fit.
“I told you,” Marcus said smugly, sipping his like it was juice.
“Whatever,” I croaked, motioning for more. He laughed and refilled my glass before pulling out a wooden box from the coffee table.
He sparked a pre-rolled blunt, took a long drag, then passed it to me.
I took a small pull as if I could somehow test its strength.
“Don’t act scared now,” Marcus teased. “You was just talking mad shit a minute ago.”
I shot him a look, holding the smoke in for a second, then exhaled slowly. “I got this.”
“Nah,” he shook his head, grinning. “You gotta take a real pull, mama. That shit gas.”
Rolling my eyes, I hit it harder. The smoke clawed at my lungs, burning and making my eyes water, but I swallowed the cough. I wasn’t about to have him clowning me.
“Here,” I said, passing the blunt back. “Happy now?”
He took it, holding it between his lips while he pulled out his phone.Love Callsby Kem filled the suite.
My hand flew to my mouth in an effort to hold back the giggle that bubbled up.
“Why you gigglin’?” he asked, taking another hit before stubbing it out.
“You,” I snorted, already high. “Kem? Really? You tryna set the mood and shit.”
“Man, whatever,” he said, pulling me closer by the thigh.
The giggles turned into hiccups, which made me laugh even harder. Tears streamed down my face as I bent over, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m so–hic—sorry,” I wheezed.
Marcus chuckled, reaching up to undo the bun his locs had been in all night. They spilled past his shoulders, somehow making his sharp features stand out more. I looked at him closely, trying to see if the boy I used to know was still in there somewhere.
“You silly as shit,” he said, brushing the tears off my cheeks with his thumb.
I leaned into his hand without thinking. That one little touch sent heat curling up my spine—way more than it should’ve. My laughter faded as I licked my lips, our eyes locking.
“You ever think about us?” he asked, voice distant.
I shrugged, my eyes drifting to the tattoos on his arms. Both were filled with intricately done portraits and bible passages, but what caught my attention were the flowers between them all.
“What kind of flower is this?” I asked, lightly running my fingers over one on his wrist.
He looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “Jasmine.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and dropped my hand into my lap like I’d touched something too hot.
“I thought about you a lot while I was locked up.”
“Mhm. I’m sure you did,” I murmured, ignoring the alarm bells ringing in the back of my head again. I wasn’t here to reminisce, and I most definitely wasn’t about to try and unpack why this nigga had jasmine flowers tattooed all over himself.
I climbed onto his lap and kissed him hard before he could say something corny and blow my high. The kiss was messy and hungry, fueled by the weed and the two shots coursing through my system. His hands slid up under my cardigan as I reached back to unhook my bra.
“Goddamn, Jas,” he breathed, eyes glued to my chest like he couldn’t believe I was real.
