Cocky

Chapter 17 Dinner @ Benny’s. #4

“You’re acting like mi owe you something,” I say. “I don’t. I never promised you exclusivity. You knew what time it was when it came to us and guess what? Time up! I’m trying to respect you as a man but don’t disrespect me either. It done.”

His mouth twists.

“So that’s it? You’re just… done?”

“Yes.”

I feel his energy shift.

“You know what your problem is?” he says, stepping closer, lowering his voice like he’s trying to sound wise instead of bitter. “You think you’re too good for people. Always acting like you’re some kind of celebrity.”

Za sits forward. “Okay, you can leave now.”

“No.” He lifts a hand. “I’m not done.”

He turns back to me and I honestly feel scared, even with Za next to me. “You walk around like you’re this big prize.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you act like it!” He snaps. “And you’re picky for no reason. Frankie… a girl your size would be lucky to have a man like me.”

For a moment, I don’t feel anything until something cold slides down my spine. Za is up before I can process it.

“You bald-headed prick!” she snaps, stepping right into Benny’s space. “How dare you speak to her like that?”

My head swirls as I try to find words to defend myself as Za hurls Shakespearean insults at Benny. All while he stares at me with eyes so full of hate I wonder if he even cared about me at all.

“Frankie!” Za pushes. “Tell this pompous oaf what you think of him.”

What I think of him?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

I’m… hurt?

Why am I hurt? Why do my eyes sting so much right now?

Why does my throat feel dry?

Why is there this chill down my spine and a pit in my stomach?

I don’t give a fuck what Benny thinks. He’s fucking bald. His opinions on what I look like are null and void.

Still. I just pin my mouth shut.

Benny just scoffs and pushes past us. “Fucking pathetic little bitches.”

“Get a toupee you bald cunt,” Za says after him. “Frankie was doing community service!”

She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the booth.

“We’re leaving now!” I can feel Jabari’s gaze burning into me as Za pulls me toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here, Jabari has to be around here—”

“Woah, woah, woah, where you lot going?” he calls from behind like he could hear us discussing him.

Za doesn’t even look at him.

“We’re leaving,” she snaps.

“Huh? I just bought this bottle,” he protests, waving it like a peace offering or some kind of trophy. “I thought we were celebrating.”

Za whirls on him, eyes flashing. “Forget the fucking bottle, Bari! Benny just disrespected Frankie.”

I stop in my tracks. My chest tightens. I don’t want to relive the whole awful interaction, but hearing Za say my name like that makes me feel like I’m in a spotlight.

“…what?” Jabari questions. “What did he say to you?”

Fuck. I’m so embarrassed.

I don’t want him to know what was said to me because it’s pathetic. And he’ll probably look down at me. I put too much effort into distancing myself from that insecure little girl he left behind to ever show a moment of weakness around him.

I look down, my fingers clutching Za’s hand a little too tightly.

“Let’s just go. I wanna go,” I mutter, hoping he’ll drop it, hope faded fast because I know him.

He doesn’t. He keeps staring, like he’s trying to will me to answer him.

“Which one is he?” He scans the room.

“It’s not—”

“That one right there, big brother!” Za points towards the bar. “Bald cocksucker in the quarter zip.”

I grit my teeth and pull Za along. “Stop! We could just go!”

“In a bit,” Jabari says, voice softer this time, a little coaxing as he holds up the bottle. “Let me return this.”

Then he disappears without another word. Vanished into the crush of bodies and strobe lights.

Zaza keeps glancing toward where he slipped through, arms folded so tight across her chest her nails are digging into her sleeves. I can’t tell if she’s worried or bracing for the fallout she thinks is coming.

Ten minutes drag by.

Maybe more.

My stomach is a tight, sour knot the entire time.

I keep replaying Benny’s voice in my head, that smug tilt of his chin, the way he looked me up and down like I was something he could mark down on clearance.

It’s stupid that it’s still bothering me. It’s even stupider that the thing echoing loudest isn’t what he said—it’s the way it made me wonder.

If a man like Benny thinks a girl my size should be grateful… what does Jabari think?

He comes back before I can deep it.

Jabari strides toward us with his shirt slightly rumpled, and his breathing uneven, but he looks… satisfied.

In a way that scares me.

“Let’s go,” he says, voice low.

Zaza doesn’t question him.

She just grabs her jacket. I do the same, even though confusion claws at the back of my throat.

We push out into the cool night air. The city hums around us, neon and noise and weekend chaos, but inside the car it’s dead silent.

I stare out the window, my reflection flickering over passing headlights. My chest feels tight in a way I don’t want to name.

After an eternity of silence, Zaza’s phone lights up.

She glances at it, then her eyebrows shoot up. “Woooow. Ain’t no way.”

Jabari finally turns, eyes flicking to her. “What?”

Zaza’s mouth drops into a shocked grin.

“Yo… Benny just got attacked with a bottle in the club.”

My head lifts fast. “Wait—what?”

She scrolls, reading faster. “Says the guy’s nose is broke. Security had to drag him out the back. People saying the bottle came out of nowhere.” She squints, then bursts out laughing. “Someone brained him clean across his bald arse dome.”

My blood runs cold.

I turn to Jabari slowly and he’s staring straight ahead at the road, looking entirely too calm.

“Jabari…”

He doesn’t look at me, just adjusts his seatbelt.

“Crazy world, innit.”

It’s painfully obvious Jabari is drunk.

Not tipsy. Not buzzed. Drunk drunk.

We end up club-hopping for another hour, mostly because Zaza flat-out refuses to let the night end on Benny’s nonsense, and partly because Jabari keeps swearing he’s “good” while actively failing to walk in a straight line.

Every time I ask if he wants water, he laughs like I’ve told a joke.

By the time we get home, the situation is bad. I’ve got one arm looped around his waist, Zaza’s got the other side, and we’re both silently wondering how someone this athletic can be this useless when intoxicated.

“Bruv,” Zaza grunts as we reach the last step, “lift your foot.”

“It is lifted,” Jabari mumbles, face buried in the collar of his jacket. The same jacket he’s somehow wearing crooked, one shoulder half out, zipper fighting for its life.

“It really isn’t,” I say, already tired.

We shuffle him forward inch by inch. He keeps apologising to the floor. At one point he stops moving entirely.

“Why’ve we paused?” he asks.

“Because you stopped walking,” I reply.

“Oh,” he says thoughtfully. “Carry on.”

We finally get the door open and manoeuvre him inside, steering him toward the sofa with very little grace and a lot of muttering.

Zaza looks at me, breathing hard. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

We coordinate poorly, count silently, and drop him onto the couch.

He lands heavy, bounces once, then immediately goes limp.

Mouth open.

One leg hanging off the cushion.

One arm sliding down until his fingers brush the carpet.

Out cold.

Zaza straightens and claps her hands. “Perfect. Let him sleep there. He’s lucky I don’t throw water on him.”

I snort then toed the rubbish bin close in case he wants to throw up. “He wouldn’t wake up.”

Za nods seriously. “True. Let’s just let him rest. Or, whatever this is he’s doing.”

We tiptoe out of the living room, laughing quietly. Once we’re in my room, I kick my shoes off in no particular direction, and flop onto the bed.

Zaza drops beside me, still fully dressed.

For a second, we just lie there, staring up at the ceiling, catching our breath.

“Your taste in men is questionable,” she says eventually. I think of the shit show both of my previous hook ups put me through tonight and sigh.

“Fairs.”

Zaza rolls onto her side to face me.

“You good?” she asks.

I hesitate. That alone answers the question.

She sighs and props herself up on her elbow. “Okay. Try again. What’s going on in that big head of yours?”

I stare at the ceiling. “Nothing.”

“Frankie...”

I exhale. “Benny was just being a dick.”

Her jaw tightens instantly. “I know.”

“He didn’t have to do all that,” I continue. “The comments. The way he spoke to me like I was stupid.”

She sits up fully now. “Ugh! I wanted to pour my drink on him.”

“I could tell,” I mumble.

“I should’ve,” she says.

“You didn’t have to,” I say quietly.

“Yes, I did,” she replies without missing a beat. “You’re my person.”

Wow.

I turn onto my side to face her.

“I don’t care who you date,” she continues, softer now. “I don’t care who you sleep with. I don’t care if they’re boring or loud or rich or broke or bald or wear ugly shoes.”

That earns a weak laugh out of me.

“I care about one thing,” she says. “Do they respect you? And do they make you happy?”

I blink hard.

“Because if they don’t,” she adds, “then they don’t get access to you anymore. Full stop. You deserve someone who chooses you properly. Not halfway. Not when it’s convenient. Not when they’re bored or lonely or think you can’t do better.”

I nod, staring at the duvet between us. My fingers twist into the fabric. My heart starts racing, and suddenly I’m very aware of the fact that Jabari is asleep on our couch.

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Open it again.

Za notices. “What?”

“Nevermind.”

“What were you about to say?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She studies me for a long moment.

“Okay,” she says finally. “But if there is something… you know you can tell me, right?”

“I know.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, harder than necessary.

For a second, I almost say it. Almost tell her everything. The sneaking around. The late nights. The way we’ve been hiding the truth from her for almost a month now.

And the truth was I’m not sure I could stop.

I don’t want to stop.

But the words get stuck. So instead, I say, “Thank you. For having my back.”

She smiles, leans in, and presses her forehead to mine. “Always, Cici.”

We stay like that for a bit, whispering the stupidest things. Then we took turns showering, and she borrows one of my pajama sets that drown her, before climbing back into my bed.

Eventually, her breathing slows.

Her grip loosens.

She falls asleep still facing me.

I lie awake, staring into the dark, feeling the guilt of everything hitting hard.

“You two just left me out there by myself?”

Me and Zaza both jump when Jabari fills the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, eyes heavy, movements slow.

He’s clearly still drunk.

Before either of us can answer, he lumbers over and drops himself onto the bed, landing right beside me.

Zaza groans and throws an arm over her face.

“Woah—Jabari. This bed is a double. You’re way too big to fit in it.”

He waves her off without even looking at her. “Don’t worry. Frankie’ll make space.”

Then he turns his head toward me, eyes dropping. “She always makes sure I fit.”

My eyes fly open. “Suck ya—”

Too late. He’s already stretched out, head sinking into my pillow like he’s used to this, gaze fixed on me in that way that makes my chest tighten.

“See,” he murmurs, breath warm against my cheek, “perfect fit. Like last time.”

Zaza’s head snaps up. “Huh?”

I kick him under the covers, hard. “Ignore him. He’s drunk. Just chatting rubbish. He’s gonna sleep it off.”

Jabari hums, amused. “Am I now?”

“Yes,” I say sharply, shooting him a look. “Now go the fuck to sleep. Both of you.”

Za takes my invitation almost instantaneously, rolling on her side away from us.

Jabari folds his arms behind his head, a smug little smile tugging at his mouth. “How can I sleep if you don’t tell me a bedtime story?”

I glare.

He grins back, completely unbothered.

I lean in enough so only he can hear me, so close our lips brush as I speak. “I was actually going to thank you for tonight. But I’m reconsidering. Bright.”

He scoffs quietly then pecks my nose with a little kiss. “I don’t need thanking.”

I blink.

The teasing slips from his voice and is replaced by something steadier. “You’re worth defending.”

My stomach plummets and I stare at his beautiful, amused, drunken smirk.

“You really think that?” I whisper.

“Of course.” No pause. No hesitation. “You’re mine. Anyone disrespecting you is disrespecting me.”

I roll my eyes, but slower this time. “Oh, so now you’re taking ownership of me?”

“It’s not that,” he says softly. “It’s me letting the world know you’ve got someone who doesn’t play about you.”

That lands. I feel it sit in my chest, heavier than I expect.

Come on, Frankie! Joke and play it off!

I stretch out beside him, facing the ceiling. “You sound like my personal security.”

He gets close to me again, face almost buried in my neck. His eyes close, eye lashes brushing against my skin as his breathing evens out. “So be it.”

I look down, watching him. The lines in his face soften. His guard drops completely. Something pulls at me. I shouldn’t tug on it but I do.

“If that’s the case,” I whisper, half-joking still, “then you belong to me.”

His brow twitches. “Hm...”

“So say it,” I press quietly.

His voice comes out low, slurred, unfiltered.

“I’m yours, Francine.”

I freeze.

WOW.

He actually said it. It shouldn’t mean anything.

Just drunk words after all.

Something he won’t even remember in the morning.

But God… it made me feel good.