The woman beside her—Tasha, I surmise—lifts her drink and smiles like she’s been waiting for this introduction.
“Oh, the infamous Jabari,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you through that very intimidating mask.”
“Yeah, Francine. How could you even tell it’s him through that thing?” The other girl asks and I wonder the same.
“Oh please,” she waves us off. “This man’s been hanging around my flat for the past week. I’d recognize those huge fucking shoulders anywhere.”
I chuckle.
So she’s been watching me.
“Right, right.” Tasha nods. “I guess after someone eats their way through your fridge you’d have their body frame burned into memory.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Frankie’s been talking,” Tasha clarifies.
Evidently.
Frankie laughs it off. “Ignore her, she’s drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Tasha says, setting her glass down. “I’ve had one cocktail and a shot.”
“Exactly.”
Then she pulls me into conversation with Tasha and the other girl, Mantis, who looks like she’s about to start a mosh pit in the lounge.
I’m still confused.
She has such strange friends.And where’s Za?
It’s weird. All of it.
Frankie, especially.
She’s… bubbly. Animated. Laughing at everything like it’s stand-up comedy material. The same woman who was wishing death on my entire lineage twenty-four hours ago is now leaning close to ask if I want a drink.
I’m not used to her like this.
“Where’s Za?” I ask when there’s a lull in the noise.
She blinks, like she didn’t expect the question. “Home. She doesn’t really do the clubbing in the city thing.”
Makes sense.
Za never struck me as the ‘bass shaking your ribcage’ type.
Frankie leans across the table to grab her drink, and my gaze follows, right down to her cleavage.
“Come sit, Jabari,” she says, patting the space beside her. “We won’t bite.”
Tasha snorts. “Can’t promise that.”
Everyone laughs.
Except me.
Because I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.
