My chest tightens. Annoyingly.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing trust,” I say.
“And you’ve got a funny way of pushing people out,” he shoots back. “Just like you’re doing to Za.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Of course she talked to him about what was going on with us. He is her only other friend.Shit. He may be my only other friend too now that I think about it.
Finally, I sigh. “I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“And I still don’t like how today went.”
“Fairs.”
“And I’m not promising anything.”
He nods. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“… and I said five minutes,” I remind him.
He checks an imaginary watch. “I’ve used about two.”
I shake my head, but a small smile sneaks out anyway. Then, I let the silence stretch a second too long, just to see if he’ll fill it. He does—by stepping closer.
Close enough that I can feel the heat off him, smell that clean soap-and-something-else that shouldn’t work for me but does. His hand comes to my waist like it’s muscle memory.
“Frankie,” he says quietly.
“Don’t,” I warn, but my voice lacks conviction.
He dips his head anyway, mouth brushing my jaw, then my neck. Slow and unrushed, like he’s got all the time in the world and he knows it.
I inhale sharply. “You’re fishing for disappointment, buddy. I’m on my period.”
He hums against my skin. “Hmm. Period, huh?”
Before I can react, his hands slide under my thighs and he lifts me clean off the floor.
“Jabari—”
“I didn’t know you still get those,” he says, dead serious.
“Don’t get cheeky.”
He grins and carries me down the hall like I don’t weigh a thing and we didn’t just spend the entire day at each other’s throats. The bedroom’s spacious, minimal, clearly unfinished. No art on the walls yet. Mattress low to the ground. A few boxes stacked neatly in the corner.
He sets me down gently, like he’s placing something breakable.
“I’m not trying to sleep with you, Francine,” he says, stepping back. “We gotta shower after taking that disgusting train. I can never forgive you for that, by the way.”
“No one made you get on the tube, big man.” I straighten my top.
“Yes, you did,” he shoots back. “Thinking you can end things with me and I don’t get a say?”
“Again,” I say, holding his gaze, “nobody told you to follow me.”
He scoffs, shakes his head like he wants to argue—but I beat him to it.
