Chapter 11 - Jabali #2
“You really missed me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
I could’ve lied. I didn’t.
“Every day,” I said. “I just got good at not saying it out loud.”
Something in her eyes broke then. Her fingers trembled just enough that a little cocoa sloshed over the side of her mug.
“Damn it,” she whispered.
“What?” I asked.
“You can’t… say things like that,” she said. “Not when I’m already trying not to… want…”
She cut herself off, shook her head like she could clear it. I set my mug on the coffee table. She watched me like she wasn’t sure if she should run.
“I’ll stop talking then. We can try something else,” I suggested.
I shifted closer. Slow enough to give her an out, fast enough that she’d have to take it if she wanted it. She didn’t move. Her breath hitched when my thigh brushed hers.
“Kyleigh,” I said, just to see how her name felt in my mouth when I was this close.
She shivered. “This is a bad idea,” she said.
“Probably. You want me to go?”
Her eyes flicked down to my mouth. Back up. “No,” she admitted.
That was all I needed.
I cupped her jaw with one hand, thumb sweeping over that spot under her ear I knew by heart. Her skin was warm, soft. She leaned into it before she could stop herself.
“You sure?” I asked.
“I hate you,” she said.
“Cool. We can work with that,” I murmured.
Then I kissed her. It wasn’t soft.
Ten years of wanting and anger and her crashed together. Her mouth opened under mine like it’d been waiting just as long. She tasted like chocolate and cinnamon and something that was just Kyleigh. She made this little sound in the back of her throat that I felt all the way down my spine.
My other hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer. She didn’t resist. She swung a leg over my lap instead, straddling me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hoodie rode up, her sweater bunched in my fists. All that softness I remembered pressed against my chest.
“Jay,” she breathed against my mouth.
“Yeah?” I dragged kisses along her jaw, down the line of her throat where her pulse beat fast as mine.
“This is… so… stupid,” she said, tilting her head to give me more room anyway.
“I know,” I mumbled. “Feel good, though.”
Her fingers curled against my hair, nails scraping my scalp.
I groaned. My hands slid up her back under her sweater, just enough to feel warm skin, no further.
I wasn’t trying to rush this, just feel her again.
Make sure she was real. Then, she rolled her hips, just a little.
My vision went white around the edges for a second.
“Kyleigh,” I warned.
She smirked at me. “What? You started it.”
“I’ma finish it if you keep doing that, shorty.”
Her eyes darkened. I could see the war in them, common sense versus want. She kissed me again instead of answering. I took that as permission and let my hands roam a little more. Soft curves, familiar lines. She trembled but didn’t pull back.
“You still feel so damn good,” I muttered against her mouth.
“And you still talk too much,” she whispered.
“Shut me up then.”
She did. Time stopped mattering. It could’ve been five minutes or fifty. All I knew was the couch, her warm, soft, weight in my lap, the taste of her, the way her body fit against mine like we hadn’t missed a day.
For a second, I let myself forget the last ten years.
Forget courts and custody and Christmas deals.
It was just us.
Then I heard it—the sound of a car outside. We both froze.
Three seconds later, Max’s head popped up from his dog bed. He barked once, sharp. The driveway sensor chimed low in the hallway.
“Shit,” she breathed.
I listened. Car doors. Serena’s laugh. Mr. Benton’s measured voice. A higher, excited voice I knew would be Aziza’s. Reality slammed back in. Kyleigh scrambled off my lap like I was on fire. Her sweater was twisted, hair wild, lips kiss-swollen. She looked wrecked by me. I loved that shit.
I grabbed a throw pillow and adjusted myself, smiling at her anxious fixing.
“This is not funny,” she hissed, smoothing her hair frantically.
“It’s a little funny,” I said. My voice came out rough.
“If my child walks in here and sees me climbing you like a tree—”
“She gon’ think her mama finally has good taste again,” I said.
She smacked my arm. “Fix your face. You look… happy.”
“I am happy. I just got climbed like a tree.”
“Shut up,” she whispered, but her mouth curved.
We heard them outside the front door. Her eyes flew to mine, wide and vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen since we were kids.
“Jay,” she said, low.
“I got you,” I soothed her.
I stood, grabbed our empty mugs, and took them toward the kitchen like I’d just been a polite guest helping clean up instead of a man trying not to pull her back into my lap.
The front door opened.
“Mama! They had a dinosaur exhibit with lights and—”
Aziza’s voice floated in, bright and full.
I leaned against the counter for half a second, drew in a breath, and let a shift I’d never had to feel happen—the one from wanna be lover to father. I had to get myself together, put my game face on, with my dick still rock hard and my heart still pounding. People weren’t lying.
This parenting shit was hard.