Jasmine was quiet when we got back in the car. I could tell she had a million questions, but she kept them to herself.
“Your mom’s sweet,” she said thoughtfully.
“Yeah, she is,” I agreed, backing out of the driveway.
My house wasn’t too far from my mother’s—maybe a twenty-minute drive. I’d moved to the suburbs a few years back for the space and privacy. Jelani’s wild ass still lived in a high-rise downtown, but I preferred the quiet.
The music on the radio filled the car, neither of us speaking as we were lost in our thoughts. Jasmine was probably trying to figure out the game I was running. And I was still working out why I was letting her see this part of my life.
When we turned down my street, it was hard not to smile at the irony of everything. My crib was set behind a row of perfectly manicured hedges and a gated entrance that gave family man vibes more than a nigga who’d been putting foot to ass lately.
“I don’t bring people to my house. Nobody comes here except family and a few close friends,” I said.
Jasmine frowned. “You took me to meet your mother… now we’re at your house. Is this supposed to make up for the way you acted?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. “This isn’t a half-ass apology. I’m just…” I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “I want to show you more of me. That’s all.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this vulnerable with a woman. The words felt raw in my throat.
“I’m not playing games with you, Jas.”
She stared at me, searching my face like she was waiting for the catch. Slowly, she turned back to look at the house again.
“Let’s go inside,” I said, getting out of the car. Jasmine followed, taking in the sprawling white house I called home.
“Your gangsta ass really lives in the suburbs like you got a whole secret family tucked away somewhere,” she teased as we walked up the front steps.
“Don’t get it twisted. I’m a businessman, shorty,” I said, winking as I punched in the code to unlock the door.
She snorted. “Yeah, alright,Mr. Businessman.”
I pushed the door open, stepping inside first. “Welcome to my crib,” I said, holding it open for her.
My place was nothing like my mom’s cozy, lived-in house. I was all about clean lines and open space. The walls were a warm cream color, and I’d had an interior designer hook me up with furniture that had a modern style without feeling cold. It wasn’t your typical bachelor pad, though. There were no oversized leather couches or sports posters. Instead, I’d curated a growing collection of work by Black artists. They were pieces that showed a little bit of who I was beneath the flash.
Jasmine walked in, looking around the foyer and up at the high ceilings. The bright hardwood floors gleamed under the sunlight pouring through the big windows.
“Oh, you got big money,” she said, sounding awestruck.
I chuckled, locking the door behind us. “I do alright.” I tried to sound unfazed, but a small surge of pride swelled in my chest.
She slipped off her sandals and left them by the door, and wandered further inside. She paused at a large abstract painting in the entryway.
“Didn’t take you for an art guy,” she said, glancing back at me.
“This is just for me,” I shrugged, kicking off my sneakers. “I keep this part of my life to myself. Not too many can say they’ve seen this side of me.”
She kept moving, trailing her fingers along the back of the couch, brushing against a glass console table like she was trying to feel the space as much as see it.
Watching her move around stirred something inside me. I wondered what it’d feel like to have her here all the time.
I pushed the thought down and tipped my chin toward the kitchen. “Let me show you around.”
We strolled through the house with Jasmine tossing out little comments here and there. I could tell she was impressed by the details and care I put into everything. When we got to the backyard, I showed her the pool and grill set up on the patio.
“This isn’t what I expected at all,” she said, turning to me.
“What were you expecting?” I asked.
