“Motherfucker,” he hisses as he clutches his middle whilst lying on the concrete. A few seconds of silence follow, and then, he starts laughing out loud. “Fuck, man,” he says, then laughs again. “You really got me.”
I laugh along with him, then lie down next to him. “You okay?” I ask.
“I think I broke a rib or two.”
“Too bad. I was aiming for all of ‘em.”
He chuckles. “And you?”
“Probably sprained my shoulder.”
“Good.”
I laugh again and turn my head in order to look at him. He does the same.
“You excited for your date tonight?” he questions with a gleam in his eyes.
A grin creeps its way up to my lips. “Yeah.” My voice sounds a little foreign to me, given how there’s a jovial tone to it. But I embrace it, because it feels good to be enthusiastic about something like this.
I’ve planned a date for Cignette and I tonight, and I’ve decided to cook something for us instead of ordering in or going to a restaurant. Mad, isn’t it?
Alex is the cook of our family, and as someone who’s been living off of his beautifully put-together meals for over three years now, I can safely say that me making something edible might quickly turn into a delicious hazard for Cigs and I. But I’m going to try, because:
A) Alex will be there to make sure I don’t end up burning the house down.
B) How hard can working in the kitchen actually be, right? I’m already an expert at slicing meat, so this should be a piece of cake.
Or not.
I honestly don’t know.
I shift and get to my feet, cursing at the sharp pain in my shoulder.
“Where’re you going?” Jayce asks from the floor.
I rotate my right arm to release some pressure, then look down at him. “The grocery store.”
He visibly chokes on his words. “Wh-what?”
“I’m going to the grocery store, you asshole.”
He clutches his stomach and starts cackling –reallycackling. “Dude…”
I roll my eyes and walk away from him – towards the gym’s locker room. “I hope the ceiling falls on you and ends up breaking all your damn ribs to dust,” I mutter.
“I heard you!” he hollers, making me chuckle and shake my head.
39.
My mauve skater dress is doing absolutelynothingto aid me against the brisk wind, but the view around me is worth enduring tonight’s weather. It’s almost 9p.m., and the hustle in this part of Riverside is finally slowing down. Less honking, less chatter. More peace.
The moon is a lovely crescent, with stars scattered around it like pins on an endless map that is the sky.
I turn and look at the pale fairy lights strung above me, looped through the four poles surrounding the small rooftop. They’re twined among each other into intricate and unique patterns, and brighten the space with a soft yet clear ambience.
I shift my attention from my surroundings to Dorran, who’s sitting opposite me. He looksbeautiful– yes, beautiful – in a lavender dress shirt and black pants. And, as dramatic as it may sound, I quite literally lose my ability to breathe every time his curls blow over his forehead against the force of the wind, and his eyes shine against the nightlight.
“This is amazing,” I say to him, then nod at the table between us. “And so is this.”
