Chapter 13
thirteen
this is… interesting.
Jabari.
Who the hell invites someone over and doesn’t answer the door?
I check my watch again. 13:05.
I’ve been knocking for ten minutes, rang the bell and knocked again, just in case the first time didn’t carry. I even stepped back and checked the flat number like an idiot.
I ducked out of practice early for this. For her.
Did I misread it?
Did I imagine the invite? I’m halfway through convincing myself I hallucinated the whole thing when the door finally swings open.
She’s standing there in a loose T-shirt and shorts, hair tied up with her face bare. My mouth moves before my brain can catch up. “Wagwan, Francine.”
Stupid.
She rolls her eyes immediately. “Just come in before someone sees you.”
I step inside, pulling the door shut behind me, and I have to fight the urge to inhale like a cartoon character being floated away.
Christ.
“You’re late,” I say, mostly to hear her voice answer back. “I was knocking for at least three hours.”
She folds her arms, and lifts an eyebrow as if to say ‘okay and?’
“I overslept.”
I stare at her. “Who invites someone over and then oversleeps?”
“Jabari,” she says flatly, already turning away, “suck out mi batty hole, okay? I don’t care ‘bout whatever stupidness you’re on.”
Ouch. Right.
Definitely not a morning person even though it’s well past noon. I scratch the back of my neck, suddenly aware I might actually be intruding.
“Sorry. I still can’t believe you really let me come.”
She pauses, glancing back at me. “You asked to come over.”
“Yeah,” I say, following her toward the living room, “but you hate letting me get my way.”
She scoffs and keeps walking with me following.
The living room is small but warm. Sunlight spills through the window and the place smells like incense and weed. I’m almost triggered.
She drops onto the couch, tucking one leg underneath herself. I sit at the opposite end, leaving space, trying to be respectful but failing, because my body has already keyed itself to hers.
Then she starts rolling up.
“So, fuck me and my reactions to second-hand smoke, yeah?”
“You wanted to see me,” she replies, not even looking up before she brings the joint to her lips and takes a slow drag.
“Well,” she says, exhaling deliberately, eyes finally lifting to meet mine through the haze, “here I am. Here you are. What do you want?”
My throat tightens.
I’d rehearsed this. Sort of.
“I want to talk to you,” I say. “About maybe… continuing what we started.”
She doesn’t blink. “I already told you no.”
“Yet you invited me over,” I counter. “Why?”
She doesn’t answer me right away. Instead smoke curls out of her mouth as I shift on the couch, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is.
“One condition though,” I continue to push my luck. “If it’s me… it’s no one else.”
“Yeah.” Her lips twitch. “I got that vibe very clearly.”
“I’m not playing with you. Me and me only.”
She studies my face, searching for the joke.
“Okay,” she says quietly.
My chest loosens a fraction. Did that actually work?
“You need anything from me?” I press.
She tilts her head, eyes warm now, softer than they’ve been since I got here.
“What do you want from me, Jabari?”
“Huh?”
She stands and takes a step closer. Not close enough to touch but enough that I can smell that cinnamon perfume again and feel dizzy.
“I mean why me?”
“You don’t believe in yourself anymore?”
“Oh, I know why you want to fuck me again. That part is obvious.” Her eyes flick down my body and back up. “But why do you want me to yourself?”
My throat tightens.
“I don’t like the idea of other men touching you.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “Why?”
“Because—” I stop, stand and regroup. “Because I just don’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She steps closer until my back almost brushes the wall.
“I thought you were a footballer. What's the matter? You don’t like competition?” she asks softly.
“I don’t like sharing.”
“Why?”
My jaw tightens but she keeps going. “And why continuously? Aren’t you scared Za’s gonna find out?”
“Za’s a big girl,” I say evenly. “So are you.”
“You tryna be funny?”
“No.” I stand upright in front of her now. Might as well be honest. “I’m just saying. We’re grown. I like fucking you. I wanna keep fucking you.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“I wanna fuck only you,” I add, voice rougher. “It’s that simple.”
Silence. Her throat moves when she swallows.
“Okay,” she says.
That’s what satisfies her?
“So we agree?”
“Not yet.” The corner of her mouth lifts. “I wanna see what I’m agreeing to.”
Huh?
I blink. “What?”
“Show me your dick, Jabari.”
My stomach drops just slightly. “Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
Now it’s my turn to ask. “Why?”
She steps even closer. We’re almost chest to chest now. “Because I need to see if this arrangement benefits me. I wanna see if it makes sense for me to agree to this”
My pride flares instantly. “We already fucked so you’re quite familiar.”
“Yeah but I never actually saw it, did I? ” she challenges coolly. “And since I don’t remember it clearly, I don’t want to commit to something disappointing or underwhelming, get me?”
Disappointing?
Underwhelming?
Almost as disrespectful as forgettable. She has to be rage-baiting me. There is quite literally no other explanation. She wants to see if I’ll flip out on her so that she can justify ending this before it starts because I got too emotional.
I stare at her and she stares right back.
Challenging me.
Fine, then.
I exhale sharply, mutter something about this being ridiculous but I don’t walk away and that’s the problem. I don’t walk away.
I’ll play along.
Slowly, I unbuckle. The sound of the zipper is louder than it should be in the quiet room.
Her eyes drop, not shy at all about evaluating me. I haven’t felt this exposed since the league mandatory physical. Except now I’m offering myself up to be violated willingly.
And that does something dangerous to my ego.
“Hm,” she hums softly. “Not bad.”
“Seriously?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s studying art in a gallery.
“Turn.”
“Francine.”
“I wanna see the length.”
“I’m not a fucking show horse.”
The room goes tight.
Nothing.
She says nothing. She just stares at my dick.
“Did you hear me?”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Did you hear me?”
“You know what?” I pull my jeans back up abruptly. “Forget it. I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What am I trying to do, big man?”
“You’re trying to humiliate me.”
“Oh?” She crosses her arms. “Why would I wanna do that?”
“Teach me humility? Get back at me for childhood trauma? Make me regret even coming over? The options are endless with you, Francine.”
Her expression flickers slightly.
“I’m asking an honest question, Jabari. I really do wanna see it.”
“You think I’m stupid, or something?”
She shrugs. “Or something.”
Alright, enough.
“Right.” I step away. “I’m leaving.”
“Okay.”
No panic in her voice. No grabbing my arm.
“I’m serious, Frankie. I’m done with you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m gone.”
“Bye.”
Seriously? What a waste of my time and my energy and I would’ve stayed at practice if I knew she would act like this.
I should go now and save what’s left of my dignity. But… I just stand there.
The flat is quiet except for the hum of a computer in the other room. There’s a faint glow of LED light spilling down the hallway. I wonder if she’s getting enough sleep. She must be tired and that’s why she’s acting like this. That makes sense.
Why else would someone treat me this way? She cares about me right?
I bet she’s screaming at herself on the inside with regret. Still, neither of us moves.
It’s childish. It’s stubborn. It’s very us coded.
My jaw slackens first. “Why’d you invite me over, Frankie?”
She laughs under her breath like she knew I’d fold and has been waiting for that question all evening.
Yeah.
She knows exactly what she’s doing as she inches closer to me.
Every step she takes feels like she’s testing how long I’ll hold my ground.
By the time she’s in front of me, I can smell her again and lost all resolve. My brain says walk out but my body doesn’t move.
“You wanna play a game with me, Jabari?”
“No,” I lie.
She tilts her head, eyes bright with mischief. “Do you mean yes?”
“I meant no.”
There it is. That challenging smirk.
“Try again,” she says softly. “I’m sure the right answer will come to you.”
“I’m not playing a game with you. I’m being serious.”
“But I’m a gamer, big man. You saying what I do for work ain’t serious?”
It’s bait.
She’s setting traps and I’m stepping toward them willingly.
I sigh, already losing. “What’s the game?”
Her smile deepens, victorious but subtle. She wiggles her finger at me. “Come, come.”
“To where?”
“You’ll see.”
I follow her down the hallway knowing full well this is a mistake.
Her bedroom door is half open revealing the source of the LED glow. I hesitate for half a second at the threshold before entering. I’ve been here before, but it still feels like entering sacred territory.
Her room is pure Frankie. Not at all what I expected. First off, it was covered in posters of Superman layered over older posters she never bothered to take down.
Comic book covers framed like art pieces. A messy but intentional desk stacked with sketchpads, sticky notes, half-open graphic novels. A controller resting on top of her duvet like it’s part of the bedding. Her bedspread is dark blue with tiny yellow stars stitched into it.
There’s a faint scent of paper and perfume and something citrus from the candle burning on her nightstand.
“Wow,” I snort. “Man like Clark Kent.”
“Well yes,” she replies immediately. “He’s the first Jamaican superhero.”
I turn slowly. “I—Superman is not Jamaican, Francine.”
She looks at me dead serious. “Of course he is. Him name Clark.”
See… how can I not like her?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to smile. “Whatever you say, Jelly.”
And I see it happen. Her face shifts and all teasing disappears.