Page 52 of Crossing Lines

“The sounds you made,” he whispers, causing heat to bite my skin. “They’re ingrained in my head forever.”

“Uhh…” I nearly drop the carton of almond milk.

Kross grips it, and our eyes lock. Smiling, he sets the milk in the cart. “Almost caused another spill.”

His comment makes me gasp. “Look, what happened on the phone was—”

“Paris,” he interjects with a sly grin and licks his lips. “Let’s see what happens in Baltimore. In person.”

“Nothing will happen.”

He narrows his gaze. “Whatever you say, Davi.”

Blinking away, I catch my breath and finish shopping. We load my groceries onto the conveyor belt. I’m about to retrieve my card when Kross pays for me. “It’s over a hundred. You don’t—”

“You’ll never use your money with me,” he says, tone and expression adamant.

“Ooh,” the cashier gushes. “Okay, sis.” Great. She thinks he’s my man. If I come here with Jamir, she’ll call me a ho. She hands me the receipt while bobbing approvingly. “Have a great evening.”

“We will,” Kross replies smoothly. “You too.”

Sighing, I follow him as he pushes the cart aside and picks up the two bags to carry to his car.

“I’ll pay you back,” I say after buckling up.

“Davi, don’t worry about it.” He starts the engine. “Now let me try that oat chocolate bar you took out.”

A smile curls my lips as I open the pack and break off a piece of the chocolate, handing it to him.

“Mmm. It’s pretty good.” He drives off from the store and heads for my apartment.

Realizing something, I say, “You call me Davi when no one we know is around.”

“Cause it’s just for us.”

He reaches my apartment as I’m about to address the statement, and my stomach tightens when I see Jamir leaning against his Range Rover. He’s early.

Noticing me in Kross’s SUV, he quickly straightens with his face screwed up.

“Shit.” He’s about to flip. Why didn’t he wait inside?

“That him?” Kross confirms in a flat tone.

“Yes.” I swallow hard and exit the SUV, grabbing the two paper bags with my groceries.

Jamir shifts in the spot while watching Kross take my suitcase from the back. He looks ready to fight.

“Who the hell is this?” he demands, pointing at him.

“This is Kross. He picked up Iree at the airport and offered me a ride since you were late.”

“The club owner?” he realizes.

“Sup, man?” Kross greets him coolly as if he wasn’t flirting with me minutes ago or made me come on the phone last night.

Furious, Jamir snatches my suitcase and grips my arm, almost making me drop the grocery bags.

“Ease up, bruh,” Kross warns, his jaw tightening. “You all right, Davia?”

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