“I’m not.”
“I see.”
She squinted at him. “Why you say that like it’s a personality flaw?”
Zaire shrugged, smirking again. “Just…tryin’ to learn you.”
Her stomach flipped.
She hated that it flipped.
“Well,” she muttered, clearing her throat, “maybe don’t learn me with a weapon in your hand next time.”
He nodded slowly. “Aight, cuh...fair enough.”
They stood there in the stillness, the sky starting to lighten just a little. Zaire picked up another ball and set it down. “You wanna watch?”
Meadow twisted her lips. “Watch what?”
He lifted his driver. “Me tryna get my head right.”
Her throat tightened for reasons she didn’t want to investigate. She moved closer without thinking. “Yeah. I’ll watch.”
Zaire pulled his earbuds out completely this time. He turned his body, lined up and swung.
He glanced back at her, his breath coming out in a cloud, that guarded softness slipping in. “Ain’t gotta be scared of me, you know.”
Meadow didn’t say anything. She just watched him set down the next ball.
But something between them shifted.
Zaire lined up another swing like their argument earlier never happened. Meadow watched the club cut through the air, smooth as warm butter, the ball whistling off into the distance like it knew it was supposed to perform for him.
He didn’t look at her right away.
He just reset.
Meadow swallowed.
He really was fine.
Annoying, but fine.
“Alright,” she said, stepping closer with her arms crossed. “You swing pretty good for somebody who can’t sleep.”
He smirked but didn’t turn around. “You watch everything I do?”
“You literally asked me to watch you and I’m right here.”
“I heard you,” he teased.
“Shut up.”
He laughed under his breath. A low, quiet sound that made something warm move around in her chest. He finally looked over his shoulder and nodded toward the clubs. “You wanna try?”
Meadow lifted her chin. “What makes you think I don’t know how to play already?”
Zaire blinked, just studying her. “You know how to swing a club?”
