Chapter 2
JASMINE MILLER
I swear I’m blocking this nigga’s number as soon as he leaves tomorrow
Amber: Oh lord, it’s that bad?
He just asked for a strawberry Hennessy? What the fuck is that even?
“So, what are we getting into after this?” Gavin asked, pushing his barely touched plate away. “I’m trying to experience Atlanta nightlife before I leave tomorrow.”
“We aren’t getting into anything,” I said. “I told you I have three back-to-back twelve-hour shifts; I need to rest. Don’t you have frat brothers out here? Call one of them.”
Gavin handed the server his platinum American Express before they could place the check on the table.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I came down here to see you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Boy, bye. You came down here to fuck, and to try convince me that a long-distance relationship could work.”
He cringed. “You have a nasty mouth, you know that?”
“Oh brother,” I scoffed, downing the rest of my drink. “Like you ain’t have your tongue in my ass last night.”
Gavin’s head snapped around, checking if anyone heard, but the restaurant was too loud with everyone wrapped up in their own conversations to notice.
I adjusted my shorts as we stepped out into the humid Atlanta night.
I hadn’t even wanted him to come down this weekend.
I was sure taking this contract in Atlanta would be enough to break things off with him, but I’d barely made it through my probationary period at the hospital before he texted me to say he’d booked a flight.
At least he’d had the sense to get a hotel, but the entire time he’d been here, he kept trying to convince me we could make long-distance work.
This entire date was a flop. He barely touched his food, and when I asked him why, he claimed he didn’t like tacos like that—like I didn’t send him the restaurant’s menu before he came out. The man told me it was cool and he was excited to see me. Niggas.
For someone so smart, Gavin Humphries was a simple-ass man. I loved eating out and trying new foods. He humored me most of the time, but if there wasn’t a steak or burger on the menu, he defaulted to chicken tenders and fries.
We’d met a few years ago at his firm’s holiday party.
I’d been invited by my best friend Amber, who worked as a paralegal.
He was handsome and charming—5’11, chestnut-colored skin, a Cesar that he got trimmed weekly, and the nicest set of lips.
We hit it off immediately. He’d just made partner and was eager to show off the hefty bump in his pay.
What he lacked in culinary sophistication, he made up for with lavish gifts and good dick. He was my best eater, but that’s where it ended. After a year of hooking up, I realized he was just a pretty face and nothing more.
Our server returned, setting our drinks in front of us.
“Can we also get the check when you get a chance?” I asked them.
“Sure, do you want any of this boxed up?” they asked, looking at Gavin. He wasn’t paying attention, sipping his beer and scrolling through his phone.
I sighed, shaking my head.
“How about we just kick it at your place?” he suggested, unlocking the doors to his rental car.
I turned to face him, making sure he saw the seriousness in my eyes.
“Look, Gavin. This weekend was fun, and it was nice seeing a familiar face, but if you’re coming over, understand this changes nothing.
I’m not doing a long-distance relationship with you. We can be friends, but that’s it.”
He nodded. “I feel you, baby.”
“No, but do you really?” I pressed. “Because I’m not tryna have this conversation again.”
Gavin let out a humorless chuckle as he rounded the car to the driver’s side. I exhaled as I slipped into the passenger seat, bracing myself for another round of his whining.
“I just don’t get you,” he said, starting the car. “We’ve been good for a year. It’s not like there’s no chemistry—the sex is fire. And aren’t you coming back home in six months?”
I closed my eyes, holding back the scream threatening to come out. “I don’t know! I’ve never lived outside of New York, and I’m trying to have a fresh start—one that doesn’t include a man.”
His jaw ticked as he gripped the wheel. “It’s like that?”
“Yes, Gavin. It’s like that,” I huffed, slumping back against the seat. “You’re handsome and successful, you’ll forget about me soon enough with some new chick.”
An awkward silence settled between us. I could sense the weight of my words settling with him.
“You really think I’m that shallow?”
I turned to face him, giving him a small smile. “No, I just know how these things go.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but closed it instead.
“Aight, Jas. You got it,” he grumbled, backing out of the parking space.
* * *
“You said all that to him and let him up to your apartment?” Monica asked, arching a brow.
It was a rare, slow day in the ER, a few days after Gavin left. We were catching up on charting between patients.
“Sure did,” I said as I entered my notes into the computer. “I told you—he’s corny, but the man can put it down.”
Monica shook her head, laughing. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m saying though! He had the nerve to side-eye me for being crass at the restaurant, but when we got back to my place?
He was on that freaky shit all night,” I smirked.
“I think he was still trying to change my mind, but it wasn’t happening.
Definitely blocked him as soon as he texted that he made it back to New York. ”
“Cold-blooded.” Monica cackled.
I shrugged. “Protecting my peace.” I wasn’t about to deal with another surprise pop-up in a few months.
“So if he shows up again with another Van Cleef bracelet and dick, you’re gonna turn him away?” she asked, giving me a knowing look.
I hummed, but didn’t answer, and she burst out laughing, shaking her head at me as she tapped away on the computer.
Monica had been the one to show me the ropes when I started at Peachtree Memorial, and we immediately clicked.
She was younger than me, but a seasoned ER nurse with an amazing bedside manner.
With patients, she had the patience of a saint.
With men? She, like me, had zero tolerance for the bullshit.
I needed her friendship—not just because I came here not knowing a soul, but because this hospital wasn’t for the weak. A surge of fentanyl overdoses had been stretching the understaffed ER thin, and in just a month, my nursing skills had been pushed to the limit.
At least working most shifts with Monica kept me sane.
“Speaking of men—” I said, logging out of the computer. “What’s up with fine-ass Dr. Matthews? Don’t think I haven’t peeped how he’s been hovering over you.”
Monica groaned. “Jas, please.”
“What? He’s a doctor, so you know he got money. And he’s not-so-subtly been dropping hints that he’s feeling you.”
She snorted. “He’s not my type. Plus, I told you, the women here are catty as fuck. I don’t need them in my business.”
“Not even a cute lunch date?”
“We need staff ready to receive EMS inbound from a three-car pile-up!” Dr. Crawford, the attending physician on duty, called out before she could answer.
Monica and I exchanged a look.
“So much for a quiet day,” I sighed, heading toward Dr. Crawford.