Chapter 7 Hold That #2
A red dragon tattoo starts at her big toe and curls around her ankle, disappearing beneath the cuff of the moomoo. And her ankles—damn. Covered in chunky bracelets and beads that click softly every time she shifts.
It’s ridiculous how much detail I’m taking in. My brain’s betraying me, trying to memorize her all over again.
“Frankie,” I breathe out. I feel so…different. My head must be spinning from her scent and her nearness. “I’m so sorry I did that to you.”
Her hands still.
I’m caught off guard myself.
For a second, neither of us moves. I look up and find her gaze already on me.
Except she wasn’t looking at me with eyes at all. It’s a meadow. A big open field with nowhere to hide. And I could see the fog slowly rolling in.
“Drop it,” she says quietly.
“I can’t.” My voice comes out rough. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I don’t want you to pretend you don’t know me.”
Her brows lift just a little. “What difference does it make?”
“A big difference.”
“Jabari. I’d rather just let it go and move on.”
I hold her eyes. There’s no deflecting from this. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Forgive me.”
The silence stretches between us. Her eyes move over me slowly, tracing my face like she’s looking for something she lost a long time ago. Then she tilts her head, that familiar smirk ghosting across her lips.
“You know,” she murmurs, “from this angle, it looks like you’re on your knees begging.”
I huff a quiet laugh, leaning on my palms, the floor pressing into my knees. “Is that what it’ll take for you to forgive me?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” she says, the smirk turning real now. “But I know you. And Jabari McKingsley doesn’t beg anyone.”
I meet her stare head-on.
“You’re right,” I say softly. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”
She blinks, the smirk faltering, and I can tell she’s caught off guard even if she hides it well.
“What are you doing?”
“Begging.” My voice is quiet. “For you to forgive me.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. So I continue, “You said I treated you like a prick, and you’re right. I did.”
Her eyes flick away, quick. “Jabari—”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” I say, cutting her off. “Just… stop hating me for it.”
I can hear her breathing. I can hear my heartbeat.
Then she laughs, disbelieving. “You’re actually serious.”
“Swear down,” I insist. “If getting on my knees is what it takes, fine.”
So I do it properly. Both knees on the ground.
Her jaw drops then. “Big man—”
“Forgive me, Francine.”
She covers her mouth like she’s trying not to laugh, or maybe not to let something else out. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”
“Oh, definitely,” I agree. “But I meant what I said.”
That earns me an eye roll, but she doesn’t move.
And when she finally does speak again, it’s quieter. “Get up, Jabari.”
I stay there another moment, just to see her reaction. The look she gives me almost makes me stay down longer. But I push up slowly, brushing my knees off.
“So that’s a yes?”
She smiles, shaking her head. “Ask again when you’re in your right mind.”
Hm.
“Right,” I say, picking up the screwdriver again, “Maybe the smoke in here got to me.”
She doesn’t correct me.
She just exhales and says, “You want a drink?”
It catches me off guard. “What kind?”
“The wet kind, genius.” She pushes away from me, muttering under her breath as she crosses to the kitchen. I follow her because something in me can’t sit still when she’s moving.
She fills two glasses and slides one my way. When our fingers brush, it’s nothing more than a second, but it feels hot.
I examine the cup before raising it to my lips.
“Relax. It’s just water.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
She shrugs. “Don’t say I never did anything nice.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She leans against the counter, one hip cocked, bare foot tapping against the tile. Her scarf’s slipping down, untamed baby hairs sneaking out around her face. Her looking like this somehow makes this worse for me. It makes it too easy to imagine her this way all the time.
My chest tightens. Why does this feel like déjà vu? Like I used to look at her the same way once, not that I’d ever admit it back then.
I clear my throat. “So why do you work so late, anyway?”
She quirks a brow. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
“Curious by nature,” I say. “Or bored.”
Frankie rolls her eyes but humors me. “I stream at night. Mostly gaming content.”
That makes me look up. “You take this gaming thing pretty seriously, huh?”
She mean mugs the fuck out of me. “I mean, it’s my job, so of course I do.”
“Don’t get so defensive,” I shoot back. “I just didn’t have you pegged for that, that’s all.”
She slams down her cup. “That’s ‘cause you don’t know me, Jabari.”
The silence after stretches. I can hear her breathing, and smell that cinnamon-nutmeg scent again. She’s so pretty when she’s ticked off. Her eyebrows pinch together, her teeth kinda shows through her grimace. She looks so delicate, even with that neck tat.
Heavenly.
The complete opposite of that look in her eyes.
“I know. But if there’s a chance—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “There is no chances between you and I.”
We hold each other’s eyes forever, until the door creaks open.
“Frankie?” Zaza’s voice cuts through the tension.
Frankie straightens instantly, wiping off her earlier annoyance and replacing it with a smile. “Kitchen!”
Zaza pokes her head in, smiling widely when she sees us. “Oh, you’re here! I thought I heard voices.”
“Hey,” I greet.
“Hey yourself,” Zaza says then pauses, eyes narrowing as she looks between me and Frankie. “Jabari… are you high?”
Huh?
“Pardon?”
“Your eyes are really red.”
“What?!” My whole chest tightens.
Is that why I was acting weird earlier? Am I—? No. No way.
Frankie groans, waving me off. “He’s just got a bit of second-hand smoke going on. He’ll be fine.”
I’ve never smoked before. I can’t. League rules. My whole career would implode.
“Cici,” Za drags out, pointing at me. “You can’t hotbox him. He gets drug tested.”
I’m gonna lose my life.
“He’s fine,” Frankie insists. “Both of you relax.”
I am not fine.
“Jabari. Calm. Down.”
I realize I’m hyperventilating then.
Frankie steps in front of me. “Look—just wash your face with cold water.”
I nod, stumbling toward the kitchen sink splashing water on my face until half my shirt is wet. Frankie hands me a towel like she knew I’d make a mess.
“You hungry, big man?” she asks.
I pause.
I am.
I’m starving actually. Is this what being high feels like? Forgetting basic needs? Being unaware of your actions? Maybe I’m just weak because Frankie, the actual smoker, is perfectly normal.
This second hand smoke must really be getting to me ‘cause what do I mean I’m ‘weak’?
“Starving,” I admit.
“Ouuu, let’s get a pizza!” Zaza chimes.
“Get three,” I demand.
They both stare at me.
“I said I’m starving.”
“Frankie, you order,” Zaza says, ignoring my request. “I want Mike’s.”
“No,” Frankie snaps.
“Still?”
“Yes.”
“I could order,” Za offers.
“Our address,” Frankie reminds her.
“Fuck, you’re right.”
More secret language and shady glances being passed back and forth and I’m sick of it.
“Somebody order something!” I bark.
They both turn. “Alright!”
Za holds up a hand. “Just give us a minute. We’re tryna figure something out.”
“What?”
Silence. More exchanging of looks before Frankie sighs.
“Okay, so…” Za starts. “The delivery driver and Frankie have history.”
Huh?
She continues, “Usually she orders ’cause we get it for free. But he’s upset with her at the moment.”
I blink. “What’d you do?”
Frankie’s eyes cut to me. “None of your business.”
“Why are you fucking a delivery man anyway?”
“Oh my God. Nobody said we fucked.”
I scoff. “But you did fuck.”
“And if I did?”
“Then you’re desperate.”
“Desperate?!” She gets in my face. Well, she gets in my chest and looks up at my face. “You don’t know me from a can of paint or a bucket of wata. How the fuck yuh get aff callin’ me desperate?”
“I don’t need to know you to know you don’t need to be messing ‘round with delivery boys. Are you alright?”
“Jabari,” Zaza pipes up. “It’s not your place.”
“In a bit, Za.” Frankie holds a finger up to her while looking at me. “Alright then. Go on. You tell me what I need.”
Gladly.
“For starters,” I bend a bit so I’m actually in her face. “You need someone in your pay grade or higher, so you don’t keep them around to feed your superiority complex.”
“Oh! I’m the one with the superiority complex?”
“I’m. Still. Talking. Francine.”
My words bite. Deep enough that she presses her lips together, holding back the smart remark behind her teeth.
I can feel it trying to escape.
“And secondly,” I continue with a smirk that I know looks rude, “you need someone who can handle that attitude you’ve developed. It’s becoming really disgusting.”
The green in her eyes? Gone. Meadows scorched. What’s left is straight rage—pure, pretty fucking rage.
“May I speak now?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“You may,” I allow.
She steps into my space.
Closer.
Closer still.
Until our noses brush. She has to get on her tiptoes, which should be cute but somehow just makes her terrifying because she wants to ensure I hear her next words.
“Fuck. You.” She spits.
My smile stretches from ear to ear. Knew she’d say that. That fucking attitude needs work.
But don’t worry, Jelly.
I’m already plotting on you.
“Alright, alright,” Zaza slides in with a hand on each of our chests. “Get out of each other’s faces.”
She tries to push us apart. Bless her. We’re both heavier than her and twice as stubborn, refusing to be the first to budge.
But ultimately, Frankie is the one to buckle.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Za announces, going full mum-mode. “I’m gonna shower this sweat off me. Jabari is gonna finish our table. And Frankie is gonna order the pizza.”