Chapter 13 #2
“Okay! Come to my place tonight. We can make margaritas and get some carryout.”
“Bet!” I grinned, just as my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Big Daddy Cash: Ready for lunch?
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. I’d completely forgotten he was picking me up.
“What?” Monica asked.
“I forgot Cash was taking me out for lunch,” I said, staring at my phone.
Rain check? I look like crap, and I’m swamped.
Big Daddy Cash: Nobody worried about what you look like. Bring your pretty ass on. I’m outside.
Monica smirked. “He’s outside, ain’t he?”
I huffed out a breath and dragged my hand over my face. “Yep. Why is he like this?”
She shrugged. “Jelani’s the same way. Go. I’ll cover for you if you don’t come back.”
“Why wouldn’t I come back?”
“Maybe he’s gonna drop off some midday dick,” she teased, snatching the files from me. “Bye! Text me when you want to come over.”
I gave her a quick hug, grabbed my stuff from my locker, and headed downstairs.
Cash was leaning against his truck when I came flying through the doors like a bat outta hell.
“Hey,” I greeted, slightly out of breath.
He laughed, looking me up and down. “Damn, you alright?”
I flipped him off as he opened the passenger door. “Where we going?”
“One of my favorite spots,” he said, pulling off.
I hummed in response and looked out the window. I must’ve dozed off, because next thing I knew, he was gently shaking me awake.
“Wake up, Jas,” he said, stifling a laugh. “You, uh… got a little drool on your chin.”
I wiped my mouth, giving him the evil eye. “This is your fault. I wouldn’t be tired if you hadn’t stopped by so late.”
The sun was out, but for once it wasn’t humid—a rare blessing.
We walked half a block until we reached Marlene’s, a mom-and-pop soul food spot with a green and white checkered awning over the door.
A hand-painted sign in the window gave it that cozy, Southern charm.
The second Cash opened the door, the smell of fried chicken and yams hit me.
“Grab us a table—I’ma holla at Ms. Marlene real quick,” Cash said, tapping my ass lightly before swaggering past the line. This man really knew every-damn-body.
The lunch crowd had the place packed, but I spotted an empty table near the middle and sat, watching Cash work his charm. He hugged an older Black woman—clearly Ms. Marlene—and her face lit up as soon as she saw him. The staff knew him, too, dapping him up like he was a long-lost cousin.
He pointed at me from across the room. I gave a little wave, trying not to look awkward. A few minutes later, he came over with two tall cups of sweet tea.
“Ms. Marlene gon’ hook us up,” he said, sliding me a cup.
“You really do know everybody.”
“Her husband, Rodney, used to run with my pops. She used to babysit Jelani and me when we still lived ‘round the way.”
“That’s sweet. Her husband still around?” I asked, tasting my drink. Sweet tea wasn’t my go to, but this one was really good.
“Yeah. He found God after pops got killed. Put his money into this place, became a preacher, and started a megachurch.”
I caught the bitter edge in his voice. “You don’t approve?”
He took a sip of his sweet tea. “I mean… I’m in no place to judge. But a megachurch is just a different kind of hustle to me. He’s just legally hustling for God—selling hope instead of bricks.”
Ms. Marlene appeared at our table with two plates that looked like they belonged in a food magazine—fried chicken, mac and cheese, greens, and thick slices of cornbread fresh from the oven.
“Here y’all go,” she said, eyes twinkling. Ms. Marlene was gorgeous, full-figured, with smooth toffee colored skin that glowed, and her gray hair was pin-curled under a net. I knew Rodney didn’t play about her.
“Thank you. This looks too good,” I said, smiling.
“Appreciate you, Ms. Marlene,” Cash added, slipping her a folded stack of money.
She swatted at his hand. “Boy, you know better—this on the house. Don’t even start with that.”
“Put it toward the next folks in line,” he said, tucking the money into her apron pocket before she could argue.
I watched him, amused. “You’re… interesting.”
Cash raised an eyebrow as he unrolled his silverware. “That supposed to mean something?”
“I’m saying,” I replied, unwrapping my own. “I’ve seen you pistol-whip a grown man, but Ms. Marlene out here treating you like her favorite nephew.”
“Didn’t I tell you I contain multitudes, shorty?” he winked, biting into his chicken.
I grabbed a wing, and my eyes nearly rolled back. It was juicy and perfectly seasoned. We ate in silence, which was how you know the food was good.
“Jasmine?”
I froze, chicken halfway to my mouth. My eyes swept the crowded restaurant and landed on a tall brown-skinned man weaving through the tables toward us. He was brolic, like he spent every waking moment in the gym, and his long locs were pulled up into a neat bun.
Cash tensed across from me, setting his fork down. “You know him?” he asked under his breath, eyes narrowing.
“I—uh…” I squinted at the man and pursed my lips. “I don’t think so.”
The man grinned as he approached and let out a low chuckle. “My bad, ma. It’s been a minute.” His voice had that unmistakable Queens accent. “Marcus.”
Oh shit.
Marcus freaking Stokes. He was supposed to be doing twenty years upstate on a RICO. We broke up a few months before he got locked up, and I hadn’t heard from him since I told him to stop hounding me from prison.
I stood slowly. “Marcus,” I breathed, forcing a smile as he pulled me into a hug, lifting me off the floor like I weighed nothing.
I laughed, startled. “Damn—okay!”
“It’s really good to see you, Juicy,” he murmured in my ear. I shifted uncomfortably, moving his hand off me as it crept dangerously close to my ass.
Marcus was no longer the scrawny boy from Jamaica, Queens, who used to drive me around in his beat-up Civic.
The man in front of me had definitely leveled up.
He’d never been a flashy guy, but here he was iced out—a thick Cuban link around his neck and a big-faced Rolex on his wrist. It didn’t match the man I remembered.
And it wasn’t just the clothes—his whole vibe felt…
off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but his energy felt darker. Shit was weird.
He never used to leave New York unless it was to visit family in Trinidad. The nigga didn’t even fuck with soul food because he didn’t grow up eating it. So what the hell was he doing in a soul food spot in Georgia of all places, grinning like he came in here all the time?
“I didn’t know you were out,” I said, stepping back. My mind was racing. I needed to hit up Amber. Did she know?
“Charges got tossed a few months ago on a technicality,” he said with a dimpled grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m down here making some moves. Handling a little business—you know how it go.
” My skin crawled as his gaze dragged down my body, like he was undressing me. “Still fine as hell, I see.”
Cash cleared his throat loudly behind me.
I turned, suddenly remembering that I wasn’t alone. “Shit! Sorry. Marcus, this is my friend, Cash. Cash, Marcus. We used to—”
“Yeah,” Marcus cut in, eyes locked on Cash. “Me and Juicy used to be real close. Shorty was my lil’ nah mean.”
Cash’s jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists under the table. I sent up a silent prayer that he’d left his gun in the truck.
“Like a million years ago,” I added quickly with a weak laugh. “Anyway, good seeing you, Marcus.”
“Likewise, beautiful. Yo, your number still the same?”
I hesitated. Lying wouldn’t help—Marcus was like Cash, he’d find out anyway.
“Yeah…”
“Bet.” He nodded and licked his lips.
He turned to Cash. “You from out here?”
Cash gave a tight nod. “Westside.”
“True.” Marcus’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “Heard there's a lot of motion out here.”
Cash scoffed and glared at him.
Marcus let out a short, dry laugh and turned back to me. “Juicy, I’ma hit you up before I head back to the city. We definitely gotta catch up.”
“Sure,” I said, sliding back into my seat, wishing I could disappear.
Marcus looked between us, smirking like he knew he stirred up some shit.
I turned to Cash. His whole energy had shifted.
“That’s the nigga you said got locked up on a RICO?” he asked icily.
“Yep.” I stabbed at my mac and cheese. My appetite seemed to have packed up and left with Marcus.
“Hm.” He stood and walked off, returning with two to-go containers. He set one in front of me and started packing up his food.
“You’re done eating?” I asked, confused.
“You gotta get back to work, right?” he said without looking up.
“Monica’s covering for me, so I’m good to chill,” I said lightly, hoping this wouldn’t turn into a thing.
“Nah, I got some shit to handle.”
“Okay…” I muttered, packing up my food.
The silence followed us all the way back to the car.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked once we were back on the road.
“You good, Jasmine,” he said, eyes fixed ahead, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
“Look, I know that whole thing with Marcus was weird, but I haven’t seen him in ten years. It’s not that serious.”
Cash slammed on the brakes. My body jerked against the seatbelt as cars honked and swerved around us.
His face was hard when he turned to me. “You was giggling and blushing in that nigga’s face—and then called me your friend?”
“First of all, I was caught off guard! Two, are we not friends?” I snapped back, heat creeping up my neck.
He looked at me like I was speaking another language.
“Oh! I get it now,” I said, letting out a bitter laugh. “You think because you spent a little bread on me and ate my pussy that makes you my man?”
We glared at each other until Cash finally let out a hollow laugh. “You right, Jas. My bad.” He shifted the car back into drive. “Where am I taking you? Back to work or home?”
I sighed, throwing myself back against the seat. “Just take me home.”
I watched the city blur past my window, arms folded tight over my chest. My throat was tight, like the words I wanted to say were stuck there. This was ridiculous, especially after last night. We were really arguing over somebody who held zero weight in my life.
Why was it always something with him?
“This the shit I be talking about,” I muttered under my breath. “This is why I don’t deal with street dudes. I’m too old for this.”
“Nah, you dealin’ with me, Jasmine. Don’t lump me in with that nigga.” He slammed a hand against the steering wheel. “I had to sit there and watch a dude you used to fuck whisper in your ear and try grab your ass in front of me. You think I ain’t see that shit?”
I flinched.
“Exactly.” He shook his head. “Play dumb if you want to.”
My phone chimed in my purse.
(646) 555-3492: What’s good, Juicy? It’s Marcus. Save this number.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Cash glance down at the screen.
I should’ve deleted that shit right then. Marcus was a walking red flag and everything in me was screaming don’t do it. But Cash had me fucked up trying to puff out his chest like he ran shit.
Me: Done and done