12. Nairobi Crawford
Jasmine
Hey girl! It’s Monica’s birthday and we’re going out tonight. We got a section at Palladium, wanna come?
You sure you should be going out in your…condition?
Jasmine
Girl, I’m pregnant. Not on the sick and shut-in list.
Cash know you going out?
Jasmine
That nigga not my daddy. You tryna come or not?
I sighed and stared at my phone. Clubs weren’t really my scene—they were too crowded, too many unpredictable people.
But I couldn’t stay holed up in the house.
I’d given Jack my answer a few days ago and the decision was still weighing heavily on me.
I hadn’t told Fontaine. He’d be pissed about me making the call without letting him help, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
A night out wasn’t going to fix any of that. But the way Jasmine was talking, Cash had no clue what she was really getting into tonight, and somebody needed to keep eyes on her. Easier to tell myself that than admit I just didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
Yeah, alright. What time y’all heading out?
Three hours later, I was getting out of an Uber, pulling my leather coat tighter against the chill that had settled over Atlanta.
I’d gone with black leather tights, a sheer top, and knee-high boots.
I bypassed the line and gave the bouncer my name, knowing Monica was probably using the same section BC used when they stepped out.
Inside, the music and lights pulsed around me as I pushed through the dance floor to the stairs that led to VIP.
“Aw shit, it’s Ms. Black Mamba in the flesh!” Monica shouted over the music as I stepped into the roped-off area.
Her white bodycon dress clung to her thick curves and she had a freshly installed 28-inch-bust-down flowing down her back. She pulled me into a hug, still bopping to the music.
“Happy birthday,” I said into her ear.
Over her shoulder, Jasmine waved at me from the couch. She had on a maroon sweater dress that hugged her baby bump. Her faux locs were twisted into a bun and her makeup was done to perfection. Pregnancy looked good on her—she was practically glowing.
“Drink. For me,” she said, passing me a flute of champagne as I sat.
“Where’s Jelani?” I asked Monica, glancing around.
She shrugged and tossed back a shot. “Not every outing gotta include that man. I needed a girls’ night. Had to damn near smuggle Jas’ ass out the house.”
I shot Jasmine a look.
“I told him we were going to dinner, which we did… so technically I didn’t lie,” she said with a sheepish grin.
Monica nudged me and gestured to two other women on the other end of the couch. “Oh—Nairobi, let me introduce you real quick. That’s my cousin Rochelle and that’s Drea, Fontaine’s sister. She owns a salon over in Buckhead.”
Drea lifted her glass with a coy smile. “So, you’re the infamous Nairobi, huh?”
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t counted on Monica and Jasmine being friends with Drea, but of course they were.
Two years had passed and everyone’s lives had reshuffled, and now Fontaine’s sister was smiling at me like she’d been waiting on this for a while. I wondered what he’d told her about me.
She was beautiful. She shared her older brother’s light complexion and light eyes, with sandy brown curls framing her face.
“Nice to meet y’all,” I said, raising my glass to them.
“To me, bitches!” Monica yelled as the bottle girls arrived with sparklers and a tray of shots.
Rochelle and Drea cheered, plucking shots from the tray. I threw mine back and quickly chased it with champagne, grimacing at the burn as it went down.
Jasmine laughed and tapped her club soda to my glass.
“You good?” I asked her.
She waved me off. “Girl, yes. I haven’t been out like this in forever. Cash acts like I’ll break if I bend down to tie my shoe.”
“You’re like eight months pregnant.”
“Seven,” she corrected with a finger wag.
“And my girl still fine as hell!” Monica added with a little twerk. “Let her live!”
Jasmine rolled her eyes and adjusted her dress. “One night out before breastfeeding and leaking through my shirt won’t kill me.”
“Y’all are wild,” I said, laughing into my glass. “But thanks for inviting me. I needed to get out the house.”
“I’m shocked you actually came,” Jasmine said. “I know with…whatever work you do, you keep to yourself. But we get it,” she added, motioning between her and Monica. “You’ve been through some shit.”
They didn’t know the half of it. I wasn’t used to sympathy from anyone. I smiled and took another sip of champagne before I could get in my head about it.
Two bottles in, and I was loosening up. Jasmine and I chatted while Monica and Rochelle had a twerk-off to Future’s Freak Hoe. Drea kept throwing me looks every so often like she wanted to say something to me but decided against it.
From my periphery, I saw two men walking up to our section.
They were cute. The taller one was brown-skinned with locs falling over his shoulder, chiseled jaw, and dark brown eyes that were a little red—he’d been smoking.
His friend was caramel-skinned with a curly fade and a dimple I’m sure allowed him to get away with murder.
He was a pretty boy, but all I saw was an evil light-skinned nigga.
“Y’all mind if we join you?” the light-skinned one asked, already reaching for the rope.
These two were trying to give rich nigga and failing.
Their outfits were nice enough, but the watches gave it away.
A Fossil on one, a Seiko on the other. Not cheap, but not the AP or Pateks that Cash’s crew usually wore.
These two were the type of niggas who came to the club hoping their looks and charm would get somebody else’s bottle in their hands.
Monica screwed up her face. “We do, actually.”
“Come on, shorty. Y’all got hella space and we just tryna vibe?—”
“It’s not corny for two grown ass men to be begging women to sit in their section?” Drea said, cutting him off.
“We’re not begging.” His eyes slid to me. “Lemme holla at you. I like your look, shorty. All sexy and mysterious.”
Jasmine snorted beside me.
I stared at him. “You should find something safe to do, love.”
“Or what?” He smiled and leaned over the rope like I was flirting.
I sighed. This was the other thing I forgot about going out—the utter audacity of these niggas. I reached over and grabbed his wrist, bending back at an angle that had him sucking air through his teeth.
“What the—” He grabbed his wrist and stepped back fast.
“She told you to find something safe to do,” Jasmine sang, sipping her club soda.
His friend’s jaw tightened, and I raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to do something stupid on his boy’s behalf.
“Stuck-up, bitches,” he muttered and steered his friend downstairs back to the dance floor.
I shook my head and leaned back against the couch. “This is why Cash wants you to have a security detail,” I said to Jasmine.
“They were harmless,” she said. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Monica has a pistol in her purse.”
“I absolutely do,” Monica said.
I laughed. Cash and Jelani would absolutely flip shit if they knew what just happened.
Jasmine stood and tugged my hand. “Come dance with me before my back starts screaming.”
“Oh, I don’t?—”
“Bitch,” she drawled. “You used to work at Stilettos, don’t act shy like you don’t know how to shake some ass.”
“The strip club?” Drea asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
I bit the inside of my cheek and let Jasmine lead me to the floor. We weaved through the crowd, hand in hand until we found a little clearing. I laughed watching her try to throw it back with that belly in the way.
She grabbed my hands. “C’mon, show me some of them stripper moves,” she yelled over the music.
I was doing a little two-step and keeping an eye on my surroundings, but I finally gave in, rolling my hips and popping my ass.
“Exactly!” Jasmine shouted, hyping me up.
I was actually having fun.
Then the music screeched to a halt.
Gasps and “oh shit” rippled through the crowd as every head turned toward the DJ booth.
The massive LED screen behind him lit up in bold white letters:
JASMINE BANKS, YOUR HUSBAND IS OUTSIDE AND SAID brING YOUR PREGNANT ASS ON.
The entire club lost it. Phones came out as laughter spread through the dance floor.
Jasmine froze. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”
I covered my mouth, barely holding in my laughter. “You know he had Fontaine do it.”
Jasmine’s stunned face popped up on the screen, making people start to point their phones at us.
“Oh my God,” she groaned before answering the phone buzzing in her hand. “Cash, what the fuck?”
I grabbed her hand and started steering us back toward our section. Fontaine was standing at the bottom of the stairs with his arms folded.
“You here to deliver her to Money?” I asked, brushing past him.
He caught my arm. “I’m here for you and my sister.”
Rochelle and Drea were already coming down the stairs. Rochelle was shaking her head laughing, and Drea mushed her brother’s head as she passed.
“Oop!” Jasmine said with a laugh, as she headed back up to grab her things.
Fontaine didn’t even flinch. “Tell Monica, Jelani said wrap this shit up and bring her ass on too.”
Monica was on the phone yelling as I grabbed my coat and clutch. “You couldn’t just come in like a normal person, Lani?”
Outside, Cash was double parked and leaning against his black Range Rover with a deep frown on his face as Jasmine approached.
“My whole government blasted for the whole club to see?” she snapped, shoving him in the chest. “Your ass had my name up there like I was a damn delinquent. The hell is wrong with you, Cash?”
“Wrong with me?” he echoed. “You in the club, pregnant with my child like you don’t have no sense. Please don’t piss me off, Jas. You said y’all were just going to dinner like I ain’t got a tracker on your shit.”
“You’re so fucking dramatic?—”
“And you’re hard-headed.”
Monica stormed past us, straight to Jelani’s car.
“The fuck you got Fontaine to come get me like I’m on probation?” she yelled, banging on the passenger window.