“Gimme your phone.”
He hands it over immediately, phone already unlocked, like he trusts me or something.
I climb onto his lap without thinking, and he doesn’t comment on it. Just settles his hands loosely at my waist.
“Alright,” I mutter. “Rule one. You don’t tweet cryptic messages. Rule two. Don’t feed the trolls.”
“What’s a troll?”
I pause.
Close my eyes.
Count to three.
“We’re starting with Instagram.”
I set up the account while explaining everything like handles, bios, fucking emojis, thirst traps. And he listens. Until I take a photo without warning.
He squints. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a profile picture.”
“Oh.”
“You’re not worried about getting your good side?”
He laughs once. “Have you seen me? They’re all good.”
I tilt the phone toward him. “Tell that to the ingrown hair in your beard.”
“What?!”
He’s off me in half a second, sprinting to the bathroom mirror like his life depends on it. I collapse into laughter, nearly dropping his phone.
“Francine!” he shouts from the bathroom. “I swear to God!”
I finish setting everything up while he inspects his reflection.
By the time he comes back, hair damp from splashing water on his face, I’ve followed three clubs, a charity account, and one fashion brand I know he likes.
“That’s it,” I say, handing the phone back. “You’re officially online.”
He scrolls, nodding slowly. A notification pops up almost immediately. Then another. And before you know it, the population rolls in.
“It’s almost as if you’re famous,” I comment.
“Ha ha. So funny. Do you follow your?—”
The front door opens and we both freeze.
“Cici!” Zaza’s voice carries down the hall. “You would not believe the day I had!”
My stomach drops straight through the floor as I glance at the time.
Fuck.
I’d been so wrapped up in Jabari that I completely lost track of it.
