Page 18 of Crossing Lines

“I like it.”

“I know we’re outside of Baltimore. But it’s a great location and a good size—even slightly more acres than you requested. You’ll be right by the water. We have to move quickly on this one. So what do you say?”

“All in,” I approve. “This is where I’ll build my home. Please ensure that it happens.”

“You got it,” she says confidently, shaking my hand.

Mama G’s teaching about manifesting our dreams trickles in. I visualize the charming, white, modern-contemporary home with dark window trims, a chestnut-stained front door, and a two-car garage. It’s a fenced property with cherry blossom trees, a sizable backyard, an outdoor fire pit, and space for my kids and dogs to play. I also have a clear picture of my wonderful wife; we both support each other while sharing the highs and lows of life.

The problem with my vision is that I’m seeing Davia’s face, which might make karma side-eye me and snatch my dream away.

SEVEN

I’ve spent the past three days battling thoughts of Kross. It’s worse now that it’s Wednesday night, and Trishell wants me to come out.

“Jamir’s tripping,” she argues. “Girl, he doesn’t own you. Where’s his ass now?”

“Still at the office.”

“Seriously?” She sucks her teeth. “Cuz, change into something sexy and come outside. I was looking forward to dancehall night with you.”

I bite on my bottom lip, itching to go. “I don’t know, Trish. I’d hate to make Jamir think I’m disrespecting him. He looked offended when Shanae said I was talking to Kross in the VIP.”

“So trifling! I know she’s our cousin, but I can’t stand her ass.”

“She’s something else,” I scoff.

“Anyhoo. Reeve is almost here. Sure you don’t want to go out, sis?”

“I’m good. Have fun with your boo. Tell Kross you’re my fam, and maybe he’ll let y’all into VIP.”

“Okay,” she mopes, giving up trying to persuade me. “I’ll miss you. Talk tomorrow.”

“Night, girl.” I hang up and drop onto the bed like a potato sack. I’m not sleepy, in the mood to work on designs, or interested in watching TV. Since it’s almost nine, I call Jamir to check if he’s left the office.

“Hey, baby,” he answers sweetly.

“You at home? I want to come over.”

“I’m leaving the office in an hour or so. Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for sex tonight.”

I frown. “That’s not the only reason I’m calling. Anyway, you’re working too much. I’m starting to worry about you.”

“I’m all right. I’m making sure everything’s perfect to impress the client. Once he signs, I can finally relax.”

“Okay,” I moan. “I’ll let you finish. Can you at least make this Friday date night?”

“I won’t cancel again,” he vows.

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you, too. Call you when I reach home.”

As the call ends, an idea pops into my head. Work has him stretched thin. I could surprise him at the office with a stress reliever that’ll blow his mind.

Jumping out of bed, I haul on a dark purple bodycon dress, brush my curls into a puff, apply makeup, slip into heels, and grab my trench coat.

I drive downtown to the business district and pull up at the closed gates of Jamir’s workplace. The parking lot’s empty. Scanning the tall building, I notice all the lights are off.

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