He walks close but not close enough to touch.
It’s deliberate. He’s giving me space while still making sure no one else takes it.
I hate how safe that makes me feel.
“So,” I drag, because silence with him always turns into tension.
He looks at me, eyes scanning my face.
“You okay?” he asks.
I scoff automatically. “No.”
He nods once like he expected that.
“Fairs,” he says, opening his car door for me. “We’re still going out.”
He takesme somewhere I don’t expect.
It’s an arcade bar.
Old consoles. Loud noise. Neon lights. Sticky floors. People cheering at screens. There’s a small air hockey table at the back.
I stop at the entrance and stare.
He watches me like he’s waiting for the insult.
“You bringing me here to tell me we’re acting like children?” I ask.
He shrugs and walks ahead without answering, already moving like he knows where everything is.
I follow him anyway.
He turns back. “We’re playing air hockey.”
“No we’re not.”
“Yeah we are.”
“I don’t wanna play games with you, Jabari.”
He grabs two paddles and tosses one to me. “Stop being scary and come get embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?” I repeat. “You think you’re going to beat me?Thegamer?”
He looks me up and down like he’s assessing my body as a threat. “And I amthestriker. I know I’m going to beat you.”
“I’m going to humble you in public.”
He grins wider. “You can try.”
“I’ve beaten you before, big man. You sure you wanna get reminded of that assing?”
“Come on, Francine. Stop chatting shit and get on with it.”
We start and immediately I remember something important. Jabari is competitive in a way that feels personal.
He doesn’t just want to win. He wants you to feel it.
