“We are going to go eat,” she says, voice firm. “And both of you are going to behave. Do you understand?”
I swallow.
“Yeah.”
Frankie nods once.
Did last night actually happen?
I keep replaying pieces of it.
The way she breathed against my neck, the way she whispered my name, the way she pulled me closer like she wanted all of me.
Whoever that was, is not who’s sitting across from me, pretending she’s fascinated by theSpoonsmenu. She sits there now all stiff and proper, legs crossed, sunglasses on even though we’re under shade.
Her knee bumps mine under the table and she jerks it away instantly.
I’ve had enough of her games.
Zaza flips her menu shut. “Okay! I know what I want.”
She is trying like hell to get us to get along.
“Same,” Frankie mutters. She hasn’t even read it. I can tell. Her eyes aren’t tracking lines; she’s just staring through the page.
I no longer give a fuck anyway. As far as I’m concerned, Francine Campbell does not exist to me.
Last night didn’t happen.
And she’s still the annoying little shit I left behind.
“So, Jabari,” Zaza says gently. “Everything okay?”
I shrug.
“Right… how’s football?”
Another shrug.
Zaza sighs. “What are you getting then?”
“Me eat at a Wetherspoons? Get real.”
Frankie doesn’t even look up. “Let him be, Za. He’s in one of his moods.”
I stare at her.
“You put your hands on me.”
She snaps her head up. “You disrespected me.”
“How?”
Her jaw tightens.
Yeah.
I bet sharing our argument with Za is out of the question.
