I stiffen. “Chinaza?—”
She turns fully toward me now, her expression accusatory.
“Is something going on with you two?”
There it is.
I open my mouth to talk then close it. My mind races through a thousand versions of the truth and every single one ends with her hurt. Her eyes flick over my face, waiting.
Hoping.
My heart pounds. I hate lying to her. I hate how easy it would be to tell her everything and let it all fall apart at once.
Yet.
I force myself to breathe.
“No.”
It comes out quiet. Za studies me for a long second.
“Okay,” she says eventually.
She doesn’t sound convinced. But she doesn’t push.
She nods once, then she reaches for her mug and takes a sip. I release a breath I didn’t realise I was holding.
“But,” Za adds after a moment, eyes still on her tea, “if there ever is… you’d tell me, right?”
My chest aches.
“Yeah,” I say. “I would.”
She nods again. “Good.”
She leans her head against my shoulder, like she’s done a thousand times before.
And I sit there letting her, knowing I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross.
twenty-three
game on.
Jabari.
“Don’t move,”Frankie commands.
She stands between my knees,concentration written all over her face but I don’t care cause her tits are in my view. The tiny brush in her hand dips into a pot of white paint, then she lifts my chin with her fingers.
“I’m not movin’,” I lie, because my neck already aches and I absolutely want to move.
She dots my cheekbone. Then my temple. Then my jaw. Cold little taps I’m trying to focus on instead of how close she is, and how her thigh keeps brushing mine every time she leans in.
This is supposed to be work.
This does not feel like work.
“So,” I say, mostly to distract myself, “I been thinkin’.”
