“It did,” I say. “Until I realised something.”
“What?”
“That I could either fight everyone… or I could put all that energy somewhere useful.”
She leans against the counter now, actually listening. “I’m guessing you mean football.”
“Of course I mean football,” I say. “I stopped arguing and started tackling harder. Stopped running my mouth and started running past defenders. Every time I got angry, I’d stay after training and shoot until my legs shook.”
“And that worked?”
“Yeah,” I say simply. “Turns out, when you stop talking and start scoring, people listen another way.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she steps closer.
So close we’re basically chest to chest. Frankie’s tiny compared to me. When she’s in front of me, she’s right under my chest like eye-level with my shirt buttons, even in her heels.
It makes me feel massive.
It does something to my head that I don’t like examining too closely.
I keep trying to find her angle.
She’s not this ‘welcoming’ to me with Zaza around so I’m still tryna figure out why she’s so open to me right now.
Transparently, it’s kinda hard to do with her looking at me like this with that kryptonite she calls irises.
“Your attitude and manners could use some work still,” she coos suddenly.
My eyes go to her chest. “That so?”
“Yes,” she says, looking around again like she’s assessing the place. “I’m in your flat and you haven’t offered me a drink or anything.”
“How dare I.”
“I want a shot of Wray’s or a glass of water.”
“Water it is.”
She sucks her teeth immediately.
I turn towards the kitchen anyway, grab a glass, run the tap, then hesitate before reaching into the cupboard for a second one.
I pour both her choices as I hear footsteps disappear down the hallway.
“Oi,” I call after her. “Where you going?”
No answer.
I push off the counter just in time to hear my bedroom door open.
“Who doesn’t have manners now, Francine?” I call out. Nothing.
Then suddenly music. Loud and obnoxious and pounding through the walls. I freeze in the kitchen.
Now I hear her laugh and walk down the hall finding her in my room, already sitting on the edge of my bed with phone in hand. She must’ve connected to my speaker.
“Seriously, Francine?” I deadpan. “You tryna get me put out?” ?? She leans back against the headboard, palms sliding over the sheets as her thighs part just enough to make me question my resolve.
