Cocky

Chapter 18 Morning After.

eighteen

morning after.

Jabari.

I’m thirteen again.

I know it immediately because the ceiling is too low and the music is too loud and everything smells like sugar.

Za’s birthday banner is taped crooked across the living room, balloons sagging everywhere ‘cause Dad couldn’t be bothered to hang them properly. Mum’s yelling from the kitchen about not getting juice on the carpet.

I don’t wanna be here.

But my parents make me because Za doesn’t have enough friends. Just her and Francine and losers from their Math and Drama club.

At least Mum let me invite a couple of my mates over so it wouldn’t be too bad. Then they invited their mates. Now we actually have enough people to make the evening interesting.

Spin the bottle is my idea.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the sofa, pretending I don’t care where the bottle lands even though my stomach’s been tight all night.

Frankie’s across from me, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible.

She wants to play Mario Kart instead but we only have one controller and Dad’s hogging the tv.

She’s quieter than usual and has been since we sat down. I wonder if she’s nervous too.

It’s my turn to make the bottle spin now.

It slows.

Clicks.

Then stops right on her.

The room explodes.

“OHHHHH!”

“Closet! Closet!”

“COUNT TO TEN!”

Frankie freezes. Her green eyes flick to Za who’s not amused, then back to me. I try to make it normal.

“It’s calm,” I say, already getting up. “It’s just a kiss.”

She nods, but it’s quick.

We get shoved toward the hall closet. Someone slams the door behind us. It’s dark instantly, cramped and warm with coats brushing my arms. I can hear everyone laughing on the other side, counting way too fast.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods again.

“Frankie,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She looks up at me. Her green eyes are big and nervous. They almost glow in the dark.

“No, I do,” she says. “I just—give me a second.”

I wait.

I really do.

I lean back against the wall, hands up.

I don’t rush her.

I don’t tease her.

I just stand there and let the seconds pass.

Finally, she steps closer.

I tilt my head down.

She tilts hers up.

The kiss is soft. Barely there. Her lips are warm and uncertain. Her scent is doing a weird thing to my gut.

My heart jumps straight into my throat.

I like it.

I like it more than I thought I would.

I lean in more but she pulls back.

When we part, I smile without meaning to. “See? That wasn’t bad.”

She doesn’t smile back. Instead, she glances at the door.

“There’s still time.” I step closer. “One more?”

“Za’s gonna know.”

I frown. “Know what?”

“That we—” She trails off, shaking her head. “We should stop.”

I lean in again, instinctive, trying to catch the moment before it disappears. “Why? It’s fine. No one’s gonna—”

She puts a hand on my chest.

“No.”

Something in me twists.

“You didn’t like it?” I ask, and I hate how defensive it sounds.

“It’s not that,” she says quickly. “I just—I don’t want to upset her.”

“That’s a rubbish excuse,” I say before I think better of it. “She doesn’t care.”

She flinches like I’ve raised my voice, even though I haven’t.

“She does.”

“If you don’t like it, Francine just say it.”

“I did like it,” she says quietly. “I just can’t.”

The counting outside the door gets louder. Someone bangs on it.

“TIME’S UP!”

I feel stupid.

So when the door opens, when the light floods in and everyone leans forward waiting for a reaction, I beat her to it.

I laugh.

“Dead,” I say loudly. “Worst kiss of my life.”

The room erupts again.

Groans.

Teasing.

Someone makes gagging noises. I exaggerate it, waving my hand like I need air, playing it up until everyone’s laughing with me.

“Girl’s got witchcraft!”

It feels safer that way.

But then I look at Frankie.

She’s not laughing.

She’s standing there, arms crossed tight, eyes shining in a way that makes my chest drop.

She doesn’t look angry. Or annoyed.

She just looks hurt.

Our eyes meet for half a second.

Then she looks away.

Retreating into Za’s arms as my sister gives me a disgusted look.

“Hello!” Mum calls from the kitchen and the laughter dies. “What kind of X-rated games are you people playing in my house? Have you all gone mad?”

The dream cracks there.

“Ooo! Mr. Todd! I’m so happy! I could eat you up, I really could!”

I wake up to music and singing. Full-volume theatre music blasting through the flat. I groan and turn my head into the pillow. My brain feels like it’s buffering. For half a second, I think I’m still dreaming, then a high note hits and I’m wide awake.

“What the fuck,” I mumble.

I groan and roll onto my back, trying to place where I am and then it hits me.

I’m not on a hotel bed.

I’m in Frankie’s room. And Frankie is still here.

I freeze.

Frankie.

She’s still asleep.

Curled into my side with one leg hooked loosely over mine, her arm draped across my stomach. Her cheek is pressed into my chest, completely unbothered by whatever musical number Zaza has decided the whole flat needs to hear.

Of course she’s used to this.

I stare down at her, taking her in properly. Her locs are spilling over my arm and pillow. Her face is soft in sleep, none of the sharp scowls she wears when she’s awake. She looks younger like this.

My chest tightens as last night hit me.

The memories come back all at once.

The clubs. The drinks. Frankie’s face after Benny said whatever he said. The heat in my chest when I realised he thought he could talk to her like that.

The bottle in my hand.

The sound it made when it connected.

The shock on Benny’s face.

Ha!

I don’t regret it. Not even a little.

Because I care about her.

That part isn’t up for debate anymore.

The idea settles in me fully now and it’s no pretending it’s just sex or convenience.

I care about her.

I care about how people speak to her, how they look at her, how they talk about her when she’s not around to defend herself.

I need to tell Zaza.

The thought comes quick and stays.

I imagine pulling Za aside and saying it plainly:

Look. Me and Frankie are seeing each other.

Because now I want to be with her properly. Take her out. Show up. Defend her openly. Not just in moments where things get heated or messy. All the time.

Frankie shifts in her sleep, her nose brushing against my skin. She lets out a quiet sound and presses closer without opening her eyes. Her hand tightens slightly in my shirt like she’s making sure I’m still there.

That does something to me.

I slide my arm around her carefully, pulling her in so she’s tucked fully against my side. She sighs, settles, and relaxes completely, her body knows this position already.

The music in the living room swells again but Frankie doesn’t stir.

I shake my head quietly, a small smile tugging at my mouth.

Only her.

Only she can put up with Za to this capacity. Only her could make me feel this way.

Growing up, I never really wanted anything Zaza had. We had such different personalities and interests that the only thing we fought over was the remote.

But now.

She has something I desperately need. Access to the one thing I can’t use charm to get. No matter how much I wanted it.

Still, I’m not someone who backs down from what I want.

I rest my chin lightly on the top of Frankie’s head and close my eyes. My thoughts slow, the tension easing out of my shoulders.

I’ll talk to Za. Soon.

I’ll deal with the fallout, the questions, whatever comes with it.

But not right now, Frankie is warm against me.

“Aww. This is the most I’ve ever seen you two get along.”

My eyes open and the first thing I clock is music still playing. Very unnecessary for this hour of the day.

I must have dozed off again.

Then I realise why Za sounds entertained.

Frankie is still underneath me.

Like fully underneath me.

My arm is wrapped around her waist, locked in. My face is tucked into her neck, nose pressed to skin. One of her legs is hooked between mine.

Frankie shifts.

She blinks at me once.

Twice.

Then she looks at me like I’ve ruined her morning just by being here. I grin. “Morning.”

“Ughhh,” she groans. “Why are you breathing on me?”

And then—

THUD.

Her foot hits my hip and I’m airborne. I slam into the floor hard enough to make the bed bounce.

“FUCK—” I grab my head instantly. “Frankie—my head—what the hell—”

She sits up and looks down at me, unimpressed. Blanket slipping off one shoulder. “Get off my bed, you weirdo.”

“Nice kick,” Za adds from the doorway. “That was impressive.”

I flip her off.

Frankie throws a pillow straight at my face. “Out. Get out of my room.”

“My skull is splitting,” I say, still reeling. “You didn’t have to kick me like that.”

“I absolutely did,” she replies. “You were on me.”

Za hops onto the bed, cross-legged, humming along to the song.

“I must say,” she adds, “this tableau is very touching. Intimate. Almost tender.”

Huh?

“Don’t,” Frankie waves her off.

I squint at them. “What are you two talking about?”

They both ignore me.

Frankie rubs her face. “God. I need tea. Or porridge.”

“Or both,” Za says. “Which is why you should make breakfast.”

Frankie turns slowly. “Say again?”

“A full Jamaican breakfast,” Za says brightly. “Prepared by you.”

“I’m not cooking.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you love me.”

Frankie sighs. “I hate that argument.”

“It’s undefeated.”

Frankie crawls back in bed, pulling the covers over her in a show of defiance. “Why are you even awake?”

Za sits up straighter, suddenly proud as she gets closer. “Because I have plans.”

Frankie perks up. “Plans?”

“Yes,” Za says. “I’m meeting up with my fellow thespians. Talking about upcoming productions. Seeing what’s about.”

Frankie smiles immediately. “That’s actually really good, Zee.”

Za nods, pleased. “I took your advice. But I’m starting small. Keeping momentum.”

She sings another line, spins once on the bed, and grins.

“You’re in a good mood.”