Page 7 of Crossing Lines

“Since I was a kid. Aside from being allergic to dairy, I’d fallen ill time and again after eating all types of meat, so mygrandma made me go plant-based.” She snorts. “She got sick of my ass.”

I chuckle. “That’s why I included vegan options. It’s still a short menu, though. I’ll extend it over time.”

“Great,” she cheers and finishes her martini.

“Would you like another?” I offer. “Anything you want. It’s on me.”

The way she shifts on the seat lets me know she’s about to protest. “I can buy my own drinks.”

“Nah, baby girl, it’s on me. What would you like?”

Her body relaxes again. “Okay. Another apple martini, please.”

“Sure thing.” I head to the VIP bar and observe Davia as the bartender makes the drinks, damn near rushing him until he finishes, and I return to her.

“Thank you,” she says. With a graceful tilt, she downs a little and sets the glass on the table. “You own any other business?”

“A car wash and two rental properties,” I reveal.

Her head goes up and down slowly. “Good for you.”

“I’m trying to elevate and build generational wealth. I have so much I want to accomplish.”

“That is the dream. At least you’re not in the streets doing stuff.”

“Stuff?” I repeat, squinting at her.

“You know what I mean,” she says, drinking.

I wonder how she’d react to hearing about my past. Would she judge me? It shouldn’t matter since she’s with someone. Yet, oddly, I’d hate to turn her off.

“Y’all looking cozy,” Iree remarks as she walks up. “Don’t get D in trouble with her man, Kross.”

“It’s cool,” Davia insists. “We’re only chilling.”

“Yeah, I’m being respectful.” She’s like an annoying sister. I want to keep talking to Davia alone and dwell in her warm energy.

“My friends arrived, so I’m going to dance and have a good time. Coming, D?”

“Um—”

“We’re still talking,” I state before Davia responds, making both look at me. “I’m curious about your industry.”

“Since when?” Iree quips in a sarcastic tone.

I click my tongue. “Since tonight.”

Davia cuts back to her and says, “It’s okay. Next time.”

“Oh, okay.” After another glance between us, Iree shimmies off down the stairs.

“Didyou want to dance?” I check when Davia refocuses on me.

She angles her head. “Honestly, I’m enjoying our conversation.”

I smile at that. “Me too. So, tell me more about your career.”

Her face brightens with every detail she shares, from awarded design projects in school to the first time her looks made it to a store and the runway.

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