“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Climb on and see.”
The punch to my arm is instantaneous.
“Oi! No fat jokes!” she snaps. “It’s beneath even you.”
“Ow! What the fuck is your problem?”
“What’s yours?”
“Nothing! I—you hit me!”
“You insulted me. Again!”
“I wasn’t being funny or slick,” my arm feels like it’ll fall off. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Well. I couldn’t tell.”
“Trust me.” I rub my arm, glaring at her. “If I wanted to get under your skin, I could.”
And it would be too easy.
“Am I gonna get an apology for this?” I ask.
“I would,” she starts coughing. “But the second hand smoke, it’s getting to me.”
My eye twitch at the mockery but I keep it cool. “Don’t even worry about it,Jelly.”
Her whole body jerks like I shocked her with a taser. “I swear to God?—”
The doorbell cuts through the moment with perfect timing.
Time stops. No one breathes.
Her little pizza fling is at the door.
We lock eyes, an understanding of challenge flashing between us, before we both explode off the couch.
She moves fast, but I move faster.
I get to the entryway first, but she refuses to admit defeat. Frankie drops low, crawling across the floor like somedetermined little gremlin, grabbing at my already bruised arm and yanking with wild desperation.
“Move!” she mutters.
“Not a chance.”
“Someone just get the door!” Za calls out from somewhere in the flat.
I manage to hook an arm around her and pin her to the wall beside the door, one hand coming up instinctively to cover her mouth. Her breath warms my palm, and I can feel her heartbeat.
She glares up at me, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tries to wriggle free.
Not a chance.
With my free hand, I grab the handle and yank the door open.
“Yo!” The delivery guy—tallish, skinny, wearing a branded jacket says, practically vibrating. “I got three pies for—You’re—wait—are you Jabari McKingsley?”
I blink.
