Page 97 of Crossing Lines

“Mmhm.” He strokes my cheek tenderly before coming in for a passionate kiss that I don’t want to end.

We jolt apart as my apartment door opens suddenly. A gasp escapes me when I see Jamir.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Kross grunts.

Jamir charges at him and lands a blow. Kross weaves the next and throws a right hook.

“Stop it!” I try to end the fight before a neighbor calls the cops or they fall down the stairs and break their necks. “Stop!”

They brush me off and continue scrapping. Kross lands another punch, bloodying Jamir’s mouth. A hit to the stomach sends him staggering to the ground. Kross is on him, raining punches while Jamir tries to block them.

“Oh my god!” I yank at his arm. “That’s enough!”

He shrugs me off, making me fall backward. “Ah!”

My yelp reaches him, and he stalls and looks at me, remorse clearing the fury. “Davi, I didn’t…” I move when he tries to pick me up. He scowls at my reaction. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Just go, please,” I cry, afraid of what I saw.

Wiping his mouth, Kross huffs and walks past a heaving Jamir, jogging down the stairs to his car. He slams the door and peels off.

Guilt crashes over me when I look at Jamir. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, huh? Fucking him or the fact that he kicked my ass like a thug?”

“He isn’t some thug. You attacked first.”

“Right. Make excuses for him.” He grunts while trying to stand.

“Let me help.” I lead him into my apartment, close the door, and drop the bag with my clothes from last night on the sofa. The disheveled blanket confirms he waited all night for me. My phone’s off, so I probably missed his calls. With a hard swallow, I grab a bag of frozen strawberries from the freezer to ice his bruising jaw. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Save your pity.” Jamir snatches the bag and swats my hand away, glaring at Kross’s clothes on me. “This whole time, you’ve been fucking him!”

I shake my head as the tears fall. “Tuesday was the first time.”

He sputters a sarcastic laugh and wipes the blood from his lip. “You’ve been seeing him since your first night at his club.”

I sniffle and look into his eyes, admitting, “I developed feelings for Kross in Paris. I called him every night.”

Eyes wilting with hurt, he slowly moves the bag of strawberries from his face. “Five fucking years. How could you do that to me?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. Kross makes me feel…” I wobble my head. “He makes mefeel.”

“And I don’t?” he grits, touching his chest. “You sought out another man because I fucking work hard?”

“No, that’s not...” I wipe my wet cheeks with my palms. “I haven’t felt right with you for some time. I’m not in love with you anymore.”

A stifling air of silence immerses the apartment. I should have admitted the truth sooner but dreaded breaking his heart. My actions only prolonged it.

“Fuck it!” he grunts. “Go be that hoodlum’s whore!”

“Jamir—ahh!” I scream as the frozen bag of strawberries flies past my head, knocking shit over on my shelf. He grabs my arms. I look at him in horror. “Get the fuck off me!”

Seeing my alarm, he backs up and storms out of my apartment, slamming the door.

I sink to the floor, shaking and sobbing. Both men depicted foreign behavior. But only one made me worry for my safety: the man I thought I’d known for five years.

THIRTY-EIGHT

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