“What, Cash?” she answered, sounding irritated.
“Damn, Jasmine. I’m bothering you? Hello to you too.”
She sighed, “I’m tired, Money. I just got home and need to shower.”
“What happened to your car?” I asked.
“If you’re asking, then you already know,” she snapped. “Why do you even care? I haven’t heard from you in weeks, and all of a sudden you give a shit?”
“So you not gon’ tell me?”
“I’m not about to do this with you.”
Two beeps, and the call ended.
I stared at the display for a second before redialing. It went straight to voicemail.
Did this woman just block me?
I must’ve broken every traffic law flying to her place. She had me fucked up if she thought she could ice me out.
I was still tight by the time I pulled up to her building. I slowed as I passed her parking spot and saw a new black Mercedes sitting there with temporary plates.
Unless she won the lottery in the last forty-eight hours, that wasn’t her car.
“I’m buggin’,” I muttered. I circled the lot, making sure that was indeed her spot before double-parking in front of the building’s entrance. Her car gets fucked up, and now she got a whole new whip without saying anything? The fuck was she on?
I let myself into her building with the copy of her fob I made, fuming the entire elevator ride up to her floor.
“Jasmine!” I banged hard on her door, my voice echoing down the quiet hallway.
A few seconds passed before I heard the locks unlatch. The door cracked open, and there she was—wrapped in a towel with her shower cap on, still damp and looking like she was two seconds from swinging on me.
“Really, Cash?”
“Really, Jasmine?” I retorted, matching her tone. “You just gon’ hang up and block me?”
She rolled her eyes. “My phone died, and I took a shower.”
I pushed against the door, trying to look past her. “You got a nigga in there or something?”
“Can you stop?” she hissed. “No one’s here.”
“Then let me in.”
She wedged herself in the doorway. “We can talk right here.”
She was acting like I wasn’t welcome in her house, and that only pissed me off more. I stepped closer. “Yo, I’m not in the mood for this,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’ll cut up in this hallway—try me.”
Jasmine glared, but stepped aside to let me in.
“What do you want, Cash?” she asked sharply, slamming the door behind me.
“Where’d you get that car from? What happened to yours?”
“Like I said on the phone—if you’re asking, then you already know. There’s nothing else to tell.” She started to push past me, but I grabbed her wrist and spun her around.
“Where’d the new whip come from?”
