“This shit is addicting,” he says without looking up.
“Do this at your own flat,” I hiss. “You gotta go.”
“In a bit.”
“No nigga, now!” I command with frustration so visible.
He finally looks at me. “Why are you so mad? I’m the one who should be upset. ”
“Because,” I snap quietly, “We messed up! We shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be doing this. My friend needs me and I’m in here with you!”
“Why?”
“Why am I doing this? I wish I knew the answer.”
“No, Jelly. Why are you in here?”
“Well, Za’s asleep—”he sucks his teeth“—but that’s not the point! I’m going to hell, my best friend’s gonna hate me, and while we’re at it—” I get closer and jab a finger into his chest “—your stupid body wash is throwing off my pH.”
He ignores my gripes. “Why can’t we just tell Za?”
I freeze. “Jabari, I’m not in the mood for this. Just grab your shit so that you can go.”
He sighs, sits up, swings his legs off the bed. No fight this time.
“Can I have your Instagram at least?”
“What?”
“I followed everyone, but I can’t find yours.”
I stare at him. “No!”
We’re halfwayto the door when a sleepy voice drifts from the couch.
“Bari?”
I freeze.
He doesn’t.
“Why are you here?” Za mumbles, eyes barely open.
“I’m not,” he says smoothly. “You’re dreaming.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, already sinking back into sleep. I stare at him, horrified. And he just gives me a thumbs up, which I answer with a thumbs down.
“Boooo.”
We make it to the door when he turns back to me with that infuriating half-smile. “I had fun, Frankie.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
I tilt my head. “Bari…”
“Jelly…” his voice drops and he hooks a finger through my waistband, pulling me closer. “Wehad fun. Right?”
