CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
She slid the cobbler into the oven, setting the timer with a small tap before turning to wipe her hands.
Najee leaned against the counter, watching her every move.
He hadn’t meant to stare—but she made it hard not to.
Her skin glowed under the kitchen light, a soft milk-chocolate brown that caught every bit of warmth in the room.
Slim waist, wide hips, thick thighs… that curve of her ass when she bent to adjust the oven rack.
It was all there, and it was doing things to him he had no business letting happen.
Jackie straightened and turned around just in time to catch him. Her lips curved slow.
“You good, Dr. Nigel?” He exhaled through a smirk.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just observing my patient’s multitasking skills.” Jackie reached for her phone on the counter, before scrolling through playlists. “I’m not your patient, nigga,” she said with a grin. “Your patient is upstairs, snoring like a grown ass bear in my bed. You just an ear to me.”
Najee’s mouth curved slow. An ear, huh? The way she said it—teasing, light, but soft at the edges—hit somewhere it shouldn’t’ have.
“Just an ear,” he repeated, voice low enough to make her glance up again.
Their eyes met and held. That quiet pull between them grew heavier, something warm and dangerous threading through the air.
Jackie smirked. “Well, what else you wanna be? A mouth?”
The corner of Najee’s lip twitched, slow and steady. “Depends,” he said, taking a step closer, his tone deep enough to make it sound like a secret. “You offering conversation… or communion?”
Her smile faltered, just slightly. A breath caught somewhere between her ribs. “See?” she said, laughing it off, though her voice had softened. “That right there. That’s why you can’t be trusted.”
Najee’s gaze lingered a second longer than it should’ve.
“Maybe,” he murmured, “or maybe you just don’t like being read so easily.
” She rolled her eyes, turning toward her phone again.
“Boy, please.” But he caught it. That flicker in her grin, the one that said she liked the chase more than she wanted to admit.
The beat of “Beetlejuice” by Mariah the Scientist filled the air: soft, hypnotic and teasing.
Jackie started humming, then sang along, voice light and melodic.
“He got game, sister, and he always wanna play, sister…”
She looked at him when she said it, eyes bright with mischief. “That right?” Najee’s brow lifted. She grinned. “If the shoe fits, Doc.” He tilted his head, stepping closer until he could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume over the butter and bourbon. “You saying I’m a player?”
“I’m not saying anything,” she said playfully, voice lilting with the melody.
“I’m singing.” Then she sang a few more bars. Soft but sure.
Her voice threading through the warm air like silk. “Bittersweet, Beetlejuice Bitter me, how sweet of you to ask if I’d be your muse and go and paint me blue…” Najee didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
The song lingered between them, her voice light but intimate. He watched her mouth form the words—slow, composed, like she didn’t realize what she was doing to him. “You sure that’s just a song?” he asked quietly, tone more velvet than voice. Jackie smiled small, but knowing.
“Why wouldn’t it be, Dr. Nigel?” she asked, feigning innocence. Their eyes lingered. Longer this time. Something electric and magnetic passed between them, neither one brave enough to name it.
Then came the knock. Jackie startled, half-laughing as she brushed past him.
“That must be the food you ordered…”
“Yeah,” Najee said, snapping out of whatever trance she’d pulled him into.
“Saved by the bell.” Najee stepped back, clearing his throat.
“It’s paid for.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she managed, her voice softer now.
He slid past her toward the door, moving with that quiet confidence that made everything he did look intentional.
When he opened it, the delivery driver stood there holding what looked like way too many bags.
“Go get our plates, woman,” Najee joked over his shoulder.
Jackie smirked, shaking her head as she headed to the kitchen.
He tried not to stare—tried being the key word.
But her ass was moving in those leggings.
“Where’d you order from, anyway?” she called, snapping him back to present. “Chan’s,” he replied, taking the bags.
“You know, the Halal Chinese spot.”
“Najee,” she groaned playfully. “They expensive as hell! My cousin Kormia swears by them though. Not me,” she smiled.
“I’m old skool, I like my Chinese food with a little MSG,” she called from the kitchen.
When she came back into the living room and saw the three gigantic bags on the coffee table, her eyes widened.
“Najee, what did you order?” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly realizing how wild it sounded.
“Uh… just about everything.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Why?”
“I ain’t know what you liked,” he admitted. “And I saw all them Chinese menus sittin’ on your lamp table, so I figured you was due for a proper spread.” Jackie just smiled, quiet for a second.
“Thank you, Dr. Nigel.” she said finally, grabbing two throw pillows and dropping them on the floor around the coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind,” she added, glancing up at him.
“Nah,” he said, lowering himself beside her. “This works.”
“Dr. Nigel—”
“Oh, so we back to that?” Najee questioned, voice dipping low. “Back to what?” she teased.
“You calling me Dr. Nigel.” His gaze lingered on her, heat simmering beneath the calm.
“I been Najee all night.” Jackie smiled—slow, deliberate, the corners of her mouth curving like she knew exactly what she was doing. “What if I like sayin’ Nigel, though?” His eyes dropped, to her lips this time. The air between them tightened, that soft tension sparking again.
“Then say my name,” he said quietly, his tone a shade too intimate to be a joke.
“Leave the title off.” He straightened his posture slightly, feigning formality.
“Right now, it’s just you and me—Jackie and Nigel.
” She laughed under her breath, trying to shake the moment.
“You somethin’ else,” she murmured, turning away to grab plates.
But it was too late, he saw the way she was smiling.
Najee grinned, leaning back against the couch, watching her move through her space like she controlled every inch of it.
They settled on the floor, the coffee table between them now covered in takeout containers.
Steam rose from cartons of shrimp fried rice, Lo mein, sesame chicken, lamb gyros, and things Najee didn’t even recognize.
“You really did order half the menu,” she said, laughing as she opened another container.
“Research purposes,” he said, deadpan. “Gotta make sure all bases are covered.” She shot him a look.
“You seem efficient in that way” He smirked. “I might be.”
“Mmhm.” She shook her head, dishing out food onto a plate. “You a trip, Najee.”
“Yeah, but you laughin though’,” he said, leaning back on one elbow.
Jackie rolled her eyes, but he could still see the small smile tugging at her lips.
She handed him a plate, then grabbed another pillow from the couch and slid it behind his back.
“Here,” she said, casual but gentle. “You sit too straight for somebody off the clock.” He chuckled. “That a professional observation?”
“Personal,” she said, then reached across him to lay a folded napkin in his lap.
“Don’t say I never looked out for you.” Najee stilled for a second.
Her arm brushed his chest—soft, intentional, and too close.
She didn’t seem to notice, but he did. Every part of him did.
“Appreciate that,” he said quietly, his voice a little rougher than before.
“Yeah, well,” Jackie said, sitting back and picking up her chopsticks.
“You might as well eat. I don’t need nobody sayin’ I starved the doctor.” He looked around her living room, small but cozy. Candles flickered on the TV stand, soft music still humming low from the kitchen. The whole scene felt… domestic. The kind of calm he didn’t get often.
Najee watched her take a bite, the way she chewed slow, half-smiling to herself, and something in his chest tightened.
This was what peace looked like, he thought.
And she didn’t even know she carried it.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that didn’t need filling.
The only sounds were the rustle of takeout boxes, chopsticks tapping against plates, and Mariah the Scientist humming low from the speaker in the kitchen.
Jackie sat cross-legged across from him, shoulders loose now, laughter lines soft around her mouth.
The lamplight hit her skin like honey, and for a second, Najee forgot about the food.
He’d been in a lot of rooms with a lot of women—conference rooms, classrooms, even therapy offices—but this felt different.
There was nothing performative here. Just warmth. Just quiet. Just her.
Jackie broke the silence first, her tone light, but something about it told him it was leading somewhere deeper.
“I know you probably wonderin’ why we sittin’ on this floor, when there’s a whole table right there.
” Najee followed her gaze to the window, to the small table he’d already noticed when he came in.
The cake. The folded cards. The little altar of love and grief he’d read in silence while she was upstairs.
“I figured you had a reason,” he said quietly.
Jackie gave a faint laugh. “Yeah… I set it up before I left for the event. Thought if I made it look like a celebration, it’d feel like one.
” Her voice dipped low, the words coming out small.
“It’s my oldest birthday. Seventeen tomorrow. ”