Page 58 of Crossing Lines

“Sure.” He finally breaks eye contact as the server brings our food. “What about marriage and kids?”

“Jamir doesn’t want kids.”

Kross stalls with his fork, a pinch between his brows. “What doyouwant, Davi?”

“I’m focusing on my career right now.”

“Okay.”

As we continue eating, something pops into my head. “You mentioned Cairo helped you when you were teens, and Mama G raised you. You want the kids at the center to know there’s another way other than the streets. Is that becauseyoudid stuff?”

He wipes his mouth with the napkin and steadies on me. “You want all my deep shit?”

“I’d like to know more beyond surface things.”

“That’s just it, shorty.” He leans back. “It takes a lot of vulnerability for me to share my dark parts with someone. It’ll connect us. You want that?”

“Yes,” leaves me with an unsteady breath.

His brows go up. “Damn. You didn’t hesitate.”

Right. Am I that thirsty for the man’s secrets?

“Um, as I’ve said, I’d like to know you.”

He watches me quietly for a beat, then nods. “Finish eating and take a ride with me.”

TWENTY-ONE

I admire the soft lilac sunset as Kross drives into the harbor parking lot. He kills the engine and shifts to me, his Adam’s apple bobbing at a hard swallow. “My mama’s a crackhead.”

“Oh,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry.”

“She ran from an abusive home at sixteen, fell into the trap of a pimp, became a prostitute, and he got her pregnant.” I remain quiet, allowing him to share his story. “CPS took me from my mama at five years old after a neighbor realized I was alone in the apartment.”

“God…” I reach over to touch his hand.

He catches his breath and continues. “I went into foster care with a woman who collected the state checks and barely cared for the kids. So I turned to the streets at twelve.” He lowers his eyes from me as if embarrassed. “I sold drugs up until fifteen when I met Cairo. He brought me to Mama G and changed my life.”

“You’ve dealt with a lot,” I say. “Made it through. You didn’t allow your pain to hold you back or fall victim to it. You’re thriving. A successful businessman. And you help others.”

My heart relaxes as his lips slowly curl into a tender smile. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

He traces my knuckles with his thumb, inciting warmth in my belly. “So, what’syourdeep shit?”

“My mom had me at fifteen,” I reveal. “To this day, she refuses to tell me who my father is or what happened. It could be a classmate. A dirty old creep in the neighborhood. No one knows the truth except her.”

Sympathy fills his eyes. “Davi…”

“My mom dumped me on my grandparents. She visited once every few months until I turned eighteen. We barely spoke while I was at fashion school.”

“Where was she living?” he asks.

“With friends. My grandpa kicked her out when they learned of the pregnancy. He asked her to move back after his anger cleared, but she didn’t. There’s still tension between them to this day.”

“Man,” he exhales.

“That’s my messy story. Don’t feel ashamed about yours.”

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