Prologue

Jasmine

 

A year ago…

You know that New York gangsta show?

The one with the college kid selling drugs at parties?

Well, I never locked in on that show. But one night, while flipping channels, I heard that kid say, loud and clear, “Ghosts never die.”

To this day, that phrase is the realest thing I've ever heard. Because he’s right. They don’t die… they come back when you least expect it.

Like when you’re fully healed and happy.

And like now, for instance, when tonight’s supposed to be about bowling! Bonding. Real friendship.

A night for me and my fellow GBC singles to get out, let our hair down, and keep the daily devotionals in the car.

Instead, I might as well be in a graveyard. Because the moment I walk out of the women’s restroom, I run straight into my friend’s back.

“Oh my God,” she mutters, frozen.

Now, I should’ve taken this as a sign. Because Sade Patterson is never shook. She doesn’t have reason to.

She’s gorgeous, independent, down-to-earth, and arguably the best praise team leader we've ever had. Aside from Minister Tina, of course.

So naturally, I wrinkle my nose and get curious. “What’s wrong?”

Then something, something I know can’t be the Holy Spirit, tells me to look ahead, and then… I freeze, too.

Standing in the doorway of Perfect Strikes in a tracksuit and J’s is none other than my pastor, Dominic Patterson. And by the look he’s giving Sade? He’s one of her ghosts, too.

But misery loves company, because right next to him is a man who looks like my own past.

Sade’s brother. Savage.

But to me? He’s Savion. He introduced himself that way, so that’s what I call him.

Savion.

But it doesn’t matter what I call him. My thirsty lil’ hormones don’t care about technicalities. He’s the type of man I like. Tall, dark, street-smart, and just dangerous enough to grab your butt in front of your grandmother.

I’m tryna outgrow that.

And as I ignore my pulse rate increasing, I tell myself, “Absolutely not! Jas, you’re twenty-eight years old. An RN. A grown woman who sings in church, mentors young girls, pays her bills on time, and knows better. You’re past men like Savion. The hood boys. The charming ones. The ones who wear danger like confidence and poor decisions like swagger… You don’t need to be bothered with a man like…”

His full lips curve up at me.

I forget what I’m thinking. I can only remember that my panties are thin.

Before Sade can even thaw out, I spin on my heels and disappear.

When my feet stop moving, I’m in the arcade, sitting in front of an old-school game called Grand Prix.

I come back to myself there and kick myself for running away like some lunatic. Worse, I don’t even play racing games. I prefer dropping out of helicopters and shooting targets on my PS5.

Even still, I grab the wheel and start pressing buttons. I just need to chill here until the coast is clear.

Then I smell it. An addictive arrangement of man, cedar, and weed.

Savion drops beside me without a word or a hello and slides coins into our machines.

I don’t bother turning my head. He doesn’t seem to care. He simply clears his throat, leans back, and adjusts his knees under the steering wheel.

Our knees brush, and a spark from the contact prickles through me as my screen flashes to life.

CHOOSE YOUR CAR.

I blink over at him.

“Savion—”

“Handle that,” he finally says, too busy making his own selection.

My mouth squeezes shut.

Then I think about it. He paid. And it’s just a game. No big deal.

And it’s really not. We could be friends, or whatever.

So with a renewed mind, one that won’t ignore how touchable his waves look, I choose the first car in the lineup.

You’d think he’d be pleased. Instead, Savion shakes his head, snorts at my selection, then picks the track. A track that reflects my love life. A winding desert.

Then the countdown starts, and the excitement I always seem to get around video games sparks to life.

I lick my lips and narrow my eyes, watching my car rev up.

Three.

Two.

One.

I’m gonna kick his—

GO!

He floors it and takes off.

I slam on the gas and hit a wall before making the first turn.

“Noooo!” I groan, shifting gears.

“Focus,” he says, looking ahead.

I ignore him and jerk the wheel. Because what does he think I’m trying to do?

By the time I recover, he’s halfway around the track. Him and the computers.

The man beats me badly.

He beats the damn computers, too. And when it’s all over, his screen celebrates. Mine plays the saddest little violin I’ve ever heard.

And I don’t like that.

“I didn’t say I was playing,” I tell him, folding my arms.

“Stay ready,” he says, with that deep voice of his.

I turn away and face the screen.

There’s a voice telling me that now’s a good time to get up. Go find the group.

But there’s another side, the side that hates losing, that kicks in.

My daddy didn’t raise no punk.

So I listen to the other voice and let the chips fall where they may.

“I’m ready now,” I mutter, gripping the wheel.

He chuckles and reaches into his pocket. “Bet.”

Then another set of quarters drops.

I crack my knuckles.

This time, he picks the car for me because, according to him, he wants to be fair.

Then he chooses another track. One more exciting. One that seems to fit every other part of my life except the romance department. A beach track. I love the beach.

I take it as my sign to lock in.

Then I realize the sign had to be faulty because I lose again. And again. And again. But at least by the fourth time, I manage to cross the finish line right behind Savion. And since I’m an optimist, I do a little shimmy to celebrate.

When the game goes silent, I glance over at him. He rubs his beard and grins at me, incredulous.

I expect him to say something sarcastic. Some jokes about me dancing to defeat.

Instead, his grill flashes before he murmurs, “I like this lil’ blouse you got on.”

Together, we glance down. And wouldn’t you know it? My nipples start to peek through the fabric. Bra and all.

Face hot, I jump up and fold my arms.

“Thanks for the game.”

He rises after me, adjusting his chains.

“Ain't shit... Sister Jas.”

My spine straightens at that.

“I—we should get back.”

Stretching his long arms over his head, he nods. “A’ight.”

I walk away. He follows.

When I walk past a group of men by the bar, they catcall me.

When their eyes lift over my head, they find more interesting things to look at. Then he’s right next to me, bumping my arm with his.

“So what’s the secret?” I ask, glancing up at him.

His eyes cut from the bar to me. “To fuckin’ niggas up?”

I cough out a laugh. “No, silly. The game.”

Then, playfully, I narrow my eyes at him. “I mean, you can’t be that good.”

Savion chuckles.

“Ain’t?”

Before I can answer, he takes one long step in front of me.

I stop short.

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, looking down at me with that little grin on his face.

Run, Jas…

Instead, I look up.

Savion reaches for my chin, catching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“You wanna know my secrets?”

He’s close.

Close enough for me to see every diamond in that ridiculous grill.

Close enough for every good decision I’ve made since moving to Syron to start fading like smoke.

He wets his lips.

“I’ll tell you mine…”

His thumb brushes my chin.

“…if you tell me yours.”

And right then, I realize something.

My problem isn’t that I’m scared of Savion Ferguson.

I’m not scared enough.

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