Cocky

Chapter 5

five

likkle misfortune.

Frankie.

I may have made the biggest mistake of my fucking life and how I managed such a fuck-up is beyond me.

The moment I plant my arse on the bus, sweaty from running to catch it, I text Za about my misfortune. My thumbs barely finish before my screen lights up with her name.

I slump against the cracked window, forehead pressed to the cool glass as I answer.

“You’re fucked,” she says flatly.

“As shit.” I groan loud enough for the old lady across from me to cut her eyes at me. I flip her off and return to my freak out. “I’m finished.”

“How’d you even manage that?”

The back of my hand rubs sweat off my forehead, taking some of the makeup with it.

“I don’t know!” I say with annoyance. “I remember texting everyone for a rain check before we crashed last night. Then when I woke up this morning my phone was dead but we were so late for church, I only managed to charge it a little before we left. I only turned it back on after church.”

“Fuck,” Za drags. “Maybe you pressed create group instead of send separately.”

I moan as I hold my head up with one hand, trying my best not to throw up. That one stupid mistake caused me five of my best flings.

I blame Wray and alla him bloodclaat Nephew.

“I’m gonna kill myself,” I deadpan. “Seriously, it’s all over for me. Thank you for being my friend for as long as you did.”

“Stop it,” Za groans. “Any of them reply?”

I finally sat up. “Well. Jordan blocked me on everything, the bastard. Troy is in my messages cussing me to rassclaat. And the rest just exited the chat without a word.”

“Fucking hell,” Za mutters, shaking her head. “Jordan would’ve fixed our coffee table.”

“Don’t remind me.”

The phone rings against my ear and I check the caller ID.

Benny.

I press decline and bury my face in my hands. “I can’t believe I fucked up this badly.”

Za sighs, softer now. “It’s alright, love. They’ll get over it. People blow up, they vent, and then they forget. You’re fine. Just… maybe text every one individually next time.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, sure. Genius idea.”

My phone buzzes again. I lift it and see Benny calling. Again.

“Oi, I gotta take this. It’s Benny,” I mutter, holding the phone to my ear.

“You should ask him to fix our table.”

My God.

“Oh, enough about the bloody table!”

“Alright! Alright!” she yells back before sighing. “You coming round Mum’s for dinner?”

I pause, remembering Jabari’s face lighting up when I said I might stop by.

“Not sure,” I say slowly. “Depends on how my Mum’s feeling, I guess. I’ll chat to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Za says. “And bring more sorrel!”

I hang up and finally answer Benny, already bracing myself.

“Yes, Benjamin.”

“You know what I liked about you, Francine?”

His tone is smooth, but not in the good way—smooth like the top of a shovel right before it cracks you in the face or a stone before it smacks you upside the head.

“My stunning looks? My good body? The fact that I make you a toasty before I leave your place at seven a.m.?”

“Close.” He chuckles, but it’s tight. “I was thinking about your honesty.”

…Oh.

That wipes the smile clean off my face. I cover quickly. “Oh?”

“And when I find out you’re not being honest with me,” he says, low and steady, “frankly, it upsets me.”

Here we go. Play dumb, Frankie. Dumb always buys time.

I flick at my nail polish, keeping my voice light. “What haven’t I been honest about?”

“Seriously?” Benny exhales like he’s been through years of my bullshit (fair enough). “That’s the way you wanna play it?”

“What are you talking about?”

He sighs so dramatically, I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You remember James, right? Tall bloke from Birmingham? We play golf on Tuesdays?”

I snort. “Nah. Can’t say I do.”

“Oh, really?” His voice sharpens. “Well, he remembers you. That ‘good body’ of yours leaves quite the impression.”

I smirk to myself. Yeah, I’ve heard that before. More than once.

“Such a lasting impression,” Benny continues, “that he recognized the name when his roommate Jordan was crashing out about a Francine Campbell creating a group chat with all her lovers.”

…

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Benny echoes, slow, like he’s savoring it. “Fuck.”

I rub my temple. “I really don’t know what to say.”

“An apology would be nice.”

“Apology?” My face screws up instantly. “For what?”

“For not telling me you are seeing other men when I specifically asked not even twenty-four hours ago.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” I clarify, holding the railing as the bus takes a sharp turn towards my stop.

“You think you’re gonna get out of this on a technicality?”

That makes me straighten. “I don’t need to get out of a damn thing, Ben. We aren’t together.”

I hear the frustration in his groan, and I wonder if this grown man is going to have a temper tantrum.

“Don’t act like I never tried to go there with you, Francine. You say no every time. Now I know why—you had other men.”

Oh my God. Is this… jealousy? At his big age?

“That’s unfair,” I snap. “You knew from the start I wasn’t looking for commitment. I thought we were on the same page.”

“Same page would be you telling me about the other guys at least,” he says, annoyed. “Come on.”

The bus squeals to a stop. My grip tightens on the rail and I pull myself up, walking towards the bus exit. “Look. I get you’re upset. I fucked up a bit, not gonna lie. And I’m sorry you found out this way. But I’m not gonna apologize for doing it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

I step off the bus into the street noise, Za’s gonna kill me if I get us banned from another spot, but whatever.

“Benny, I like you,” I cut in, weaving through the crowd. “But you know where I stand on relationships. Commitment? Not my ministry. I hope we can still be friends ’cause I like your club, but if you’re not down, I get it.”

“You’re not listening, Frankie—”

I speed up my pace, not listening. “Yes yes, you too. I gotta go. Talk later, yeah? Text me. Bye.”

And I hang up before he can start again.

Once I get to my Mum’s ends, I light a spliff even though I promised her I’d quit.

In my defense, it was for religious purposes.

The first drag nearly burns my lungs out, but at least it gives me something else to focus on besides the fact that I might’ve just ruined my entire social calendar in one stupid, drunken mistake.

The roster. Gone. Just like that.

I blow smoke out the corner of my mouth and laugh bitterly. Am I sad about it? Yeah, sure. I liked the attention. I liked having options, the sweet texts at midnight, the little ego boosts that came when I needed them.

But was I apologetic? Not a chance. I never promised anybody forever. I barely promised them tomorrow.

Besides.

Me and commitment can’t agree none at all.

It’s not something I have ever experienced in a positive light.

My parents?

Married twenty-five years and still can’t stand each other.

Half the couples I know?

Miserable, pretending they’re in love when really they’re just afraid of being alone.

But me?

I like my freedom. I like knowing I can cut whenever the mood shifts. No ties, or begging, and no one expecting me to come home at night besides Za.

Another drag, and I flick ash into the gutter. The only thing I actually regret is how clumsy it was—a sloppy, rookie mistake. A rookie mistake like that can cause damage to my name, and my name means everything to me as I’m still trying to navigate the world of the indie gaming industry.

It’s hard enough being taken seriously as an immigrant Black woman. The minute those incels get word that one of the only women they’ve ever met in real life is a “sex maniac” with a group chat of “lovers,” every business transaction will come with a price I’m not ready to pay.

I should be thinking about damage control, but my mind drifts. I drag again before shaking it off and crush the spliff under my boot.

By the time I reach Mum’s door, I’ve sprayed half a can of body mist on myself to kill the smell. Pointless because she’ll know anyway.

She always knows.

I knock once, then push the door open because she’s never locked it in her life.

“Mummy?” I call, slipping out my boots by the door.

“In here,” her voice drifts from the kitchen and I follow it.

I find her at the counter, hair tied up in a scarf, still in her scrubs. The night shift etched into her eyes, but she’s moving around like it’s nothing—scrubbing a pot, muttering to herself as always.

“Eh-eh,” she turns when she hears me, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me yuh was out there smoking again, Francine.”

See what I mean?

I sigh. “One smoke, Mummy. One.”

“Just like ya fadda,” She shakes her head, lips pressed thin. “One still one too much, yuh hear? How much time mi haffi tell yuh smoke a go kill ya lungs?”

I drop onto a stool at the counter, resting my chin in my hand. “Enough that I can recite it in my sleep. Come on, Mummy, don’t start with the sermon.”

She clicks her tongue, but the edge softens quickly. That’s the thing about my mum, she isn’t like a typical Jamaican mother. She had me young so we were more like best friends, though she may have been my sister in another lifetime.

We fight like sisters, joke like sisters, but she’ll still drag me by my ear if I step too far out of line so I try to watch it.

“You look tired,” I say, watching her pour the dirty wash out of the pot. “You even sleep yet?”

She waves me off. “Small nap. I’ll get rest later. Yuh eat?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. Dinner with the McKingsleys is tonight, remember?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What Taniza cook?”

“Probably the same thing she always cooks,” I say, smirking.

“Stew,” we say in unison.

Her laugh fills the kitchen. “I love the gyal, but she nah change it up at all. We eat stew the last six damn dinners, my God.”

“Swear,” I sigh. “I ain’t jealous of y’all eating that, none at all. I’ll stick to my veggie chunks.”

Mummy scoffs. “Hm, maybe I should try eat ital today.”