Cocky

Chapter 18 Morning After. #2

“I am,” Za says. “It’s a hopeful day.”

I push myself up onto my elbows. “Am I the only one who doesn’t understand what’s happening?”

“Yes,” both of them say at once.

Frankie looks at Za. “I think it’s a great idea. Don’t overthink it.”

Za beams. “Thank you.”

They share a look I’m not invited into.

Za finally glances at me. “You okay?”

I close my eyes again.

“No,” I say. “I need an ice pack. And an apology. In that order.”

“You’re not getting either,” Frankie declares.

Za laughs, then stands.

“Anyway.” Za leans down, kisses the top of Frankie’s head affectionately. “I trust you to feed Jabari before he dies on the carpet. I’ll be back before one.”

She grabs her bag, hums a line from whatever show she’s in a mood about, and disappears out the door and down the hall.

The door clicks shut.

Silence drops into the flat.

I’m still on the floor and Frankie’s still on the bed.

She looks at me. “You alive?”

“I can see colours.”

“Yeah most people can,” She swings her legs off the bed but stays seated on the edge. “Don’t bleed on anything.”

I sit up slowly, facing her fully, almost eye to eye. “You’re meant to be feeding me.”

“Am I?” She folds her arms. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“Za said so,” I point out. “And she outranks you.”

I lean in more, my hands going up her legs. “I could always eat something else.”

Before she can make some sharp remark, I reach down, lift her ankle gently, and press a kiss to the top of her foot.

She freezes. “Is that smart?”

“No,” I murmur against her skin then drag my lips down the side of her pretty feet. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

Her foot twitches like she wants to yank it back but can’t quite make herself.

“I think you have a foot fetish, big man.”

I grab the other ankle and pull her closer before securing him over my shoulders. “Yeah?”

Instead of responding, she leans back in her elbows and watches me. Her eyes goes from my face to between her legs, as if saying “Well it ain’t gonna eat itself.”

“Do I at least get breakfast out of this?”

“This is your breakfast,” her hand reaches out, knots in my hair while pulling me in like she’s tired of waiting and then arches into my face.

I laugh deeply before tasting her.

Fuck this was well worth the wait. My tongue circles her clit and runs through her with a satisfying slurp. Her fingers massage my scalp as I do this, like encouragement.

“Yes, big man…” she purrs. And I grip her tighter. Sucking and spitting til her cum ran down my beard.

Yes… now my headache’s gone. Her pussy cured my hangover and made me drunk in other ways. My eyes fall close automatically, as I savor her. I feel my hips jerk against the bed frame, like a dog in heat. The friction feels so good as I’m doing this.

So good I just—

“Fuck!”

That was my only warning before she painted my face from eyebrow to chin. I have to back up a little.

“I— I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let me get you something.” And she’s up and dashing to the bathroom before I can answer.

This is… a… unique experience.

“Here,” she places something warm and fuzzy on my face. “I wish I had an excuse but this is really something new for me. And you’re the only one it happens with.”

I grin to myself. “Well if I’m so good, I deserve breakfast then.”

Just as she wipes away the remaining release from my eyes I catch her smiling.

“Darling, after that what you just gimme? You can have whatever ya want.”

“Yeah?” I stand now, towering over her. “Well, I want it all. Rice and peas, bully beef, plantain, oxtail, alla dat sumting dere.”

“Um,” she looks mad confused. Yes. The pussy has me speaking patois.

“Anyway, I'm gonna go start—” She looks down and gasps. “Bari!”

“What?”

“H—How did you even manage that?”

I look down at what she’s looking at, only to find the front of my pants soaked in white.

“Christ,” I may have enjoyed that more than I thought I would. “I like you. So what?”

She glances over her shoulder when she hears my footsteps on the kitchen tile.

After a long shower to think about what I’ve done and put myself in time out, I emerge with a towel around my waist.

“Here,” she pauses stirring her pot to reach into the dryer and throw me the clothes she laundered for me. “We will speak no more of this.”

“Agreed.” I dress quickly and hop onto one of the stools by the counter, the wood creaking under my weight. My elbows rest on my knees, hands dangling uselessly between them.

“You not heading out?” she asks. Her shoulders tense like she’s bracing for an answer she won’t like.

“Naaaah.” I shake my head slowly. “Think I’ll stick around.”

Frankie hums once and turns back to the stove.

She moves through the kitchen like she knows exactly where everything is. Pan to counter. Lid to hook. Salt between her fingers without measuring. One hip bumps the drawer shut when it doesn’t close all the way.

I sit there and watch her cook, getting used to this new image of her.

“I could help if you want,” I tease.

“No.”

“Damn! So quick to turn me down? I can cook!”

“Really?”

“Yes really! I learnt in Nigeria.”

“A lie yuh tell!” She faces me now. “I heard you were in Nigeria living it up in the people dem guesthouse. Prolly had them cooking for you too, right?”

I scoff, “I guess that’s what Zaza told you?”

“Is it true?”

I narrow my eyes. “Partly, yeah.”

“And the other part?”

I look down at my hands. “The other part is… I didn’t really have time to do anything but football. I didn’t have hobbies, or friends, just… training.”

“And now? What do you do when you’re not training?”

“I hang out with you. And Za. Sometimes my teammates.”

“And… What do you do for fun?”

“Football’s fun.”

“Something that isn’t football.”

I think about it. “Nothing.”

She sighs, “I see.”

“What?”

She leans over and looks me in the eyes. “You need to get yourself a hobby. One that doesn’t serve any goals or is related to football or your career. Something that makes you turn your mind off for a bit.”

“Oh,” I toss the idea of that round in my head. “Will you help me pick?”

“Nahhh, you gotta figure that out on your own. It should be something you like after all.”

Hmm, I guess that makes sense. But what? Maybe give the manga ting she picked out for me a try?

“Right.”

When she’s finished, she plates the food and slides it across the counter toward me. The plate is warm when I touch it. Rice fluffed properly. Stew thick and dark, clinging to the spoon and a mountain of plantain.

“This doesn’t look like any breakfast I’ve ever seen.”

“Eat,” she says, already reaching for her rolling tray.

I don’t waste time.

First bite in and I stop chewing halfway through just to process it.

“…fuck,” I mutter.

She snorts, tapping weed into the grinder. “Relax.”

I lean back on the stool, exhaling slowly through my nose. “You trying to ruin me? I can’t go back to normal food after this.”

She doesn’t look up, she just smirks.

“You still hum when you like something,” she sighs. “You are such a kid.”

“There you go being creepy again.”

“You hum when you eat pussy too.”

I choke, “I thought we weren’t talking about that.”

And she laughs.

It takes a second to realise something’s off. She’s rolling up but she hasn’t touched a plate.

I frown. “You’re not eating? Don’t tell me you’re poisoning me.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Tuh. Jabari, I’ve had at least two better chances to poison you.”

I freeze mid-bite. “Excuse me?”

“I cooked for Zaza too,” she says flatly. “So relax. You’re safe.”

“That’s… oddly comforting.”

“It should be.”

Still, something’s wrong.

“So,” I say carefully, “why aren’t you eating? And don’t tell me it’s because of what that loser said last night.”

Her hands are still just for a moment. Grinder paused mid-twist.

“You heard?”

“Za mentioned it at some point at another club. He’s lucky I didn’t know then.”

She inhales slowly and controlled.

I press, “Did what he said get to you?”

“Jabari,” she says, not looking at me, “have you ever once heard me say I wanted to change my body?”

“No.”

“Then stop asking me nonsense.”

“That didn’t answer my question, Francine. Why aren’t you eating?”

She sighs. “Because the food has meat in it. And I’m vegan.”

I stare at her. “You’re vegan?”

We’ve been together all this time and I didn’t know that?

She looks up slowly. “…What? Because I’m big I can’t be vegan now?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Look’ere, big man. You came onto me,” she cuts in, voice level but edged. “You knew what I looked like when you asked for this. So this fixation on my weight? It’s strange.”

I set my fork down. “Francine. I was being genuine. I didn’t know you were vegan.”

“Well,” she returns to the blunt, “now you do.”

I watch her for a moment too long then clear my throat. “Is it a personal choice?”

Her fingers pause. “Religion.”

Fuck. That’s right. How could I forget?

My interest in her religion stopped the minute I learned she couldn’t suck my dick.

I really am a prick.

“Rastafarianism?” I ask.

That gets her attention. She looks up properly this time. “Yes.”

“I thought I read that somewhere,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “But you drink, so I figured—”

“You figured wrong,” she says, but there’s no heat in it. “You read about Rastafarianism?”

“…Yeah?”

She studies me like she’s deciding if I’m taking the piss. I see it in the way her shoulders drop a fraction, then her mouth softens.

She seals the blunt and sets it down.

“Did you grow up Rasta?” I push. “Or convert?”

“My dad’s Rastafarian,” she explains. “My mum converted to Christianity. I was raised with both.”

“And now?”

She shrugs. “I take what aligns with me. I respect both. Study both. But I can’t give myself up completely for religion.” She meets my eyes. “Jah and God will have to take me as I am.”

I grin. “They’re lucky.”

She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts again.

“Alright.” She nudges my plate closer with two fingers. “Finish eating and get out before Zaza gets back. I don’t want her thinking I allowed you to overstay your welcome.”

I pick my fork up again, but slower this time. I eat because she told me to, not because I’m hungry.

My nerves are too big to handle.

Fuck it.

I clear my throat. “What you doing tomorrow?”

She doesn’t answer straight away, and just raises a brow.

“I’ve got stuff,” she says carefully. “Why?”

I swallow another bite. “I wanna see you.”

“You just did,” she says. “And you’re currently being kicked out.”

“I’m aware,” I reply. “I’m talking about properly. Not just sex.”

She sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Jabari—”

“I’m not asking for anything mad,” I cut in. “Just time. Lunch. A walk.”

That gets a short laugh out of her. She looks away, then back at me.

“Tomorrow’s busy,” she says. “Awards prep.”

“So the next day,” I offer.

“That’s award day.”

“So. The next day?”

She hesitates. I see it. The pause where she weighs things. Where she decides whether I’m worth the disruption.

“I don’t wanna make promises,” she says finally.

“I’m not asking for one,” I reply. “Just asking if I can see you.”

She exhales through her nose.

“…Text me,” she says. “Tomorrow.”

My chest loosens. Just a little.

“That’s a yes,” I say.

“That’s a maybe,” she corrects. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

I grin anyway and finish the last bite on my plate.

“See you tomorrow!”

Before she can answer, I pull the door shut behind me and nearly walk straight into Za.

She skids to a stop when she sees me.

“Oh—hey!” she says, a little out of breath. “You leaving?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Headed to practice.”

She squints at me. “Only just?”

I let out a short laugh. “Fuck, Francine cooked. You think I’m turning that down?”

Her mouth curves, soft and knowing. “Fairs.”

There’s a beat.

Za rocks on her heels like she’s deciding whether to say something. Then she does.

“Um… can I just say—thanks. For last night.”

I nod. “It’s fine.”

“No, I mean it,” she says, stepping closer, voice dropping. “What you did for Frankie. You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrug, but my chest tightens. “I wasn’t gonna let that slide.”

She studies my face, like she’s checking for something.

Sincerity, maybe.

“It’s just…” She exhales. “For a long time it’s been me and her against the world. And I didn’t realize how heavy that was until someone else stepped in.” Her lips press together. “It’s nice having you around.”

Something nudges at me then.

The urge to tell her.

To just say it plainly.

Me and Frankie are...

But I swallow it.

“Za,” I say instead, steady, “you know I love bein’ around you, yeah? Part of why I came back was for you.”

She smiles and her eyes shine before she pulls me into a quick hug, squeezing tight. “Don’t be late to practice.”

“I’ll try,” I say, already stepping back.

I head down the stairs, push through the front door, and the street noise hits me full-on.

I couldn’t tell her.

Not because I don’t want to or because I’m scared of her reaction.

But because I know Za.

I know how carefully she loves, how deeply she protects the people she lets close. And Frankie sits right at the center of that. Whatever this thing is between me and Francine, it’s still new. Still rough around the edges and I’m still figuring it out myself.

Dragging it into the open too soon would make it heavier than it needs to be, turning it into something it’s not ready to carry.

So I keep it to myself. I head to practice with it tucked in my chest, let it sit there. There’ll be a time to tell her. I’m sure of that.

Just not today.

I have to talk to Frankie first.