Jasmine
That nigga not my daddy. You tryna come or not?
I sighedand stared at my phone. Clubs weren’t really my scene—they were too crowded, too many unpredictable people. But I couldn’t stay holed up in the house. I’d given Jack my answer a few days ago and the decision was still weighing heavily on me. I hadn’t told Fontaine. He’d be pissed about me making the call without letting him help, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
A night out wasn’t going to fix any of that. But the way Jasmine was talking, Cash had no clue what she was really getting into tonight, and somebody needed to keep eyes on her. Easier to tell myself that than admit I just didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
Yeah, alright. What time y’all heading out?
Three hours later, I was getting out of an Uber, pulling my leather coat tighter against the chill that had settled over Atlanta. I’d gone with black leather tights, a sheer top, and knee-high boots. I bypassed the line and gave the bouncer my name, knowing Monica was probably using the same section BC used when they stepped out.
Inside, the music and lights pulsed around me as I pushed through the dance floor to the stairs that led to VIP.
“Aw shit, it’s Ms. Black Mamba in the flesh!” Monica shouted over the music as I stepped into the roped-off area.
Her white bodycon dress clung to her thick curves and she had a freshly installed 28-inch-bust-down flowing down her back. She pulled me into a hug, still bopping to the music.
“Happy birthday,” I said into her ear.
Over her shoulder, Jasmine waved at me from the couch. She had on a maroon sweater dress that hugged her baby bump. Her faux locs were twisted into a bun and her makeup was done to perfection. Pregnancy looked good on her—she was practically glowing.
“Drink. For me,” she said, passing me a flute of champagne as I sat.
“Where’s Jelani?” I asked Monica, glancing around.
She shrugged and tossed back a shot. “Not every outing gotta include that man. I needed a girls’ night. Had to damn near smuggle Jas’ ass out the house.”
I shot Jasmine a look.
“I told him we were going to dinner, which we did… so technically I didn’t lie,” she said with a sheepish grin.
Monica nudged me and gestured to two other women on the other end of the couch. “Oh—Nairobi, let me introduce you real quick. That’s my cousin Rochelle and that’s Drea, Fontaine’s sister. She owns a salon over in Buckhead.”
Drea lifted her glass with a coy smile. “So, you’re the infamous Nairobi, huh?”
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t counted on Monica and Jasmine being friends with Drea, but of course they were. Two years had passed and everyone’s lives had reshuffled, and now Fontaine’s sister was smiling at me like she’d been waiting on this for a while. I wondered what he’d told her about me.
She was beautiful. She shared her older brother’s light complexion and light eyes, with sandy brown curls framing her face.
“Nice to meet y’all,” I said, raising my glass to them.
“To me, bitches!” Monica yelled as the bottle girls arrived with sparklers and a tray of shots.
Rochelle and Drea cheered, plucking shots from the tray. I threw mine back and quickly chased it with champagne, grimacing at the burn as it went down.
Jasmine laughed and tapped her club soda to my glass.
“You good?” I asked her.
She waved me off. “Girl, yes. I haven’t been out like this in forever. Cash acts like I’ll break if I bend down to tie my shoe.”
“You’re like eight months pregnant.”
“Seven,” she corrected with a finger wag.
“And my girl still fine as hell!” Monica added with a little twerk. “Let her live!”
Jasmine rolled her eyes and adjusted her dress. “One nightout before breastfeeding and leaking through my shirt won’t kill me.”
