Page 17 of Session 33
“This is nice,” he said casually, like we hadn’t just been toe-to-toe at the door a second ago.
He could turn his feelings off faster and better than me, I guess. I closed the door behind him, my heart racing, and leaned against it for a moment, watching him as he explored my space—touching things, smelling candles, flipping through a few books on the shelf.
I didn’t know what I wanted from this man. But I knew he was too much for me, too fine, too good at getting under my skin. And the way he’d looked at me had me wanting to risk everything, just for some stolen moments with him.
Shaking it off, I headed for the kitchen. I needed a minute. Or five. I grabbed a bottle of Hennessy Paradis from the fridge.
When I came back, he was sitting on my couch, his long legs stretched out. His shoulders were relaxed, his head tilted back slightly, and his eyes half-lidded. Relaxing in my space like he owned it—not just the couch, but everything around it.
I swallowed hard.
He eyed me as I set a glass and the bottle on the coffee table and sat down across from him. I hoped the distance between us would keep me steady, but the way he looked up at me, one corner of his mouth lifting into a lazy grin, told me he knew exactly what kind of effect he had.
He pulled a bag from his pocket and set it on the coffee table next to the liquor.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I don’t even know if I want to share with you anymore,” he teased. “You so mean to me all the time, Sweetness.”
I rolled my eyes. “So I’m mean and sweet at the same time?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re a fucking Sour Patch Kid. But I like that shit.”
I shook my head, trying to fight the smile tugging at my lips. “What’s in the bag, Cassius?” I pressed, nodding toward it.
He chuckled. “These?” He pointed. “These are edibles. You ever tried one?”
I shook my head. “No. I smoked weed once, but nothing happened.”
He locked eyes with me, his voice dropping just enough to make the air shift. “Do you trust me?”
I hesitated. My stomach flipped. “Yeah, I do.”
I shouldn’t have.
About thirty minutes later, I felt like my mind had left the building, and my body was running on pure chaos. The whole room felt alive, like it had been plugged into some electric current, and I couldn’t stop moving. We danced around the living room, rapping along to Lil Wayne at the top of our lungs.
“A millionaire, I’m a Young Money millionaire,” I belted, spinning in circles.
“Tougher than Nigerian hair,” Cassius shouted, his energy barely keeping up with mine.
I was a hurricane—laughing, running, twirling, unstoppable. Cassius watched, shaking his head, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. Then, a sharp knock at the door made me come to a screeching halt. My heart dropped into my stomach. The cops. It had to be the cops.
Cassius, unbothered and high as a kite, strolled over to answer the door. I stumbled after him, trying to pull it together. He opened the door, and there stood Mrs. Thompson, my old, nosy, disapproving neighbor, her face pinched tight with judgment.
“You’re being too loud,” she snapped, her glare landing on Cassius like a laser.
Cassius smirked, leaning against the doorframe like he couldn’t be bothered. “Relax, old lady. And why the fuck you knocking like the police?”
I gasped. “Cassius!” I stepped in front of him, all apologies. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thompson. Just… wait right here.” I bolted to the kitchen, nearly tripping over myself, and grabbed the lasagna I’d made earlier. “Here,” I said, thrusting the warm pan at her when I returned to the door. “I know it’s your favorite. Take the whole thing.”
The smell of cheese and herbs softened her expression. She gave Cassius one last glare before nodding at me. “Thank you, dear. Just keep it down.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, we both burst into laughter. Cassius turned down the volume, letting Ari Lennox’s voice pour into the room like honey.
“Touch me, take me, kiss me
Love me, impress me…”