Thirty-Two
After Homicide left, Jasmine wanted to stay up, but her head was killing her, and her stomach was also bothering her. She still had the lingering effects from her hangover and was feeling stressed out. She wanted to reply to BJ’s text message, and at the same time she also wanted to call Homicide, but she decided against both, and instead she got back in the bed and went to sleep for a few hours. Close to four in the morning, and within a few minutes of lying down, Jasmine was in a deep sleep.
At eight o’clock that morning, Jasmine’s ringing doorbell and the knocking at her door woke her up. She hadn’t told anyone about her SoHo apartment, so she thought it could only be Homicide. She got up as quickly as she could, feeling extremely tired, and walked to her apartment door and looked through the peephole.
“Jasmine, it’s me.”
Instantly her blood pressure shot through the roof when she realized it was Agent Gosling. Jasmine was still unfamiliar with the locks on her door, but she did her best and ripped open the door as fast as she could.
“Okay, no disrespect, but what the fuck are you doing here?”
Agent Gosling stared at Jasmine and didn’t say anything to her. He invited himself in and began looking around.
Jasmine closed the door behind him. “Seriously, what are you doing here? You tryin’ to get me killed or what?”
Agent Gosling didn’t let Jasmine know that two other FBI agents had followed her after she’d left Madison Square Garden. They had staked out her apartment building, so they knew exactly what time Homicide and Jasmine arrived at the apartment, and they also knew when Homicide left. They had reported everything back to Agent Gosling, and he made it his business to stop at Jasmine’s apartment before going into the office that morning.
“So how’d things go with Homicide? Were you able to make any contact with him?”
Jasmine sucked her teeth.
“Is that a yes or no?” Gosling asked very sternly.
“Yes, I made contact with him.”
Jasmine felt really nauseous at that moment, so she rushed off to her kitchen and drank some water to try and settle her stomach. Gosling followed right behind her.
“I had too much to drink last night. I feel sick right now. I was trying to sleep it off, and I was going to call you when I woke up.”
Gosling, convinced that he smelled sex in the air, nodded but kept his mouth shut.
“Listen, can we please just get on the same page? I mean, not for nothing, but Homicide was at this apartment and left not too long ago. I don’t know how I would have explained your black ass popping up at my door.”
“Homicide was here?” Gosling asked, trying to sound like he was learning about that for the first time.
“Yes.”
“Jasmine, you apparently had too much to drink, and you know what we discussed, and now you’re—”
Jasmine cut him off. “No, I didn’t fuck him. I know what you told me, and I’m not trying to jeopardize shit.”
“Are you sure you didn’t fuck him, Jasmine?” Gosling asked, sounding more like a jealous boyfriend than a concerned FBI case agent.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “So I’m a slut now?”
“No, no, that’s not what I was implying.”
Jasmine heard her phone vibrating in the other room, so she walked out of the room to retrieve it. When she got to it, she saw that it was a text from Simone, who had sent her a picture of a dick.
Jasmine shook her head and replied to the text with one word. Nice
Simone immediately replied back: It’s Ish’s dick. He damn near fucked me into a gotdamn COMA! LOL.
Jasmine replied right back. Kind of busy right now. I’ll hit you back in an hour or so.
Gosling had made his way into Jasmine’s bedroom. He couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to bend Jasmine over her bed and fuck the shit out of her right there on the spot.
Gosling, a recovering alcoholic, had been sober for a little over nine years. But something that night before had caused him to slip up and he’d found himself in a Manhattan bar downing way too many shots of Jack Daniel’s.