Chapter 9 Fancy Meeting You Here #3
I shift my hand down her body.
“And most of all, deep down, you’re just as conceited as me.”
Her grin widens, dangerous.
“Not that deep down.” She shrugs. “I’m just more charming in my approach.”
I’m about to say something really stupid—like ‘come home with me’ stupid—when the crowd suddenly lurches hard to the left.
Someone slams into Frankie’s shoulder.
I grab her arm instinctively, fingers locking around her wrist to steady her.
“What the—?”
Another shove hits, rougher this time.
And just like that, I’m pissed.
At first, it’s just noise, but then something sharp cuts through it.
Glass shatters.
A bottle, maybe.
The music cuts a second too late, leaving nothing but chaos behind it.
Security tries to force their way through the crowd, but it’s already gone bad. People shove forward, tables scrape and topple, drinks spill. Someone swings at someone else. A scream slices through the air.
It’s a mess.
I don’t think, I just react.
I wrap an arm around Frankie’s waist and pull her tight against me, angling my body so I take the worst of it.
“Stay close.”
She doesn’t argue. She grabs the front of my shirt with both hands and sticks to me as I start pushing through the crowd, shoulder first, arm locked around her middle.
She’s small like two toddlers stacked in a trench coat and I’m not about to lose her in this.
So I scoop her up with one arm and sling her over my shoulder.
Easier that way.
“I know you’re fucking lying,” she yells, slapping my back. “Put me down!”
“Soon, Jelly,” I shout back over the noise. “Let me get you somewhere safe, or Za will actually kill me.”
She smacks my shoulder again. “Quit calling me Jelly!”
We push through the back entrance—thank God it’s open—and spill out into the alley behind the club.
Cool air slaps us both.
The bass is muffled now, the door rattling behind us as security tries to contain whatever’s happening inside. I put her down.
Frankie bends over, hands on her knees, breathing hard.
“Well. That escalated quickly.”
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, locs slipping from behind her ear.
“Yeah. Just… got flashbacks of carnival 2018. Thought I was gonna get trampled.”
She straightens, brushing her hair back, adjusting her shirt.
Her cheeks are flushed.
“We should probably go,” I say, eyes flicking back toward the club entrance where the shouting is escalating instead of dying down. Bad sign. “Before everyone else floods out and turns this alley into a stampede.”
She nods, still breathing a little hard. “My ride’s still inside.”
“I told you,” I remind her, “I’ll get you home.”
She folds her arms, rubbing at her shoulders like she’s just now realizing how exposed she feels out here. My jacket’s already off before I think about it. I drape it over her, tugging it closed.
She freezes. Then relaxes.
Doesn’t say thank you, but she doesn’t hand it back either. She studies my face a second longer than is reasonable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder as someone slams into the door from the inside. The metal rattles. “We need to move.”
“Bossy,” she says.
But she lets me take her wrist anyway, lets me steer her farther down the alley, away from the noise and the lights and whatever nonsense is still unfolding.
Her hand is cold in mine.
That bothers me.
It shouldn’t, but it does.
I’ve got to get her out of here.
“Wait,” she says, pulling gently. “That’s Tasha and Mantis. Let me tell her I got out safely.”
“Francine, you’re freezing out here.”
“I’ll be quick.”
I exhale through my nose. “Fine.”
While she heads back toward the pavement, I jog down the block, spot my car, and pull it closer to the alley entrance.
I’ve already turned the heat to the highest.
By the time I step out again, the three of them are standing close, laughing with heads tilted together and low voices.
Same shit she does with Za. Those inside jokes.
“What are you giggling about?” I ask, stopping a few feet away.
Frankie groans. “Tasha’s just being stupid.”
“Tell me,” I say.
“No.”
I shift my attention to Tasha, but she’s as stone-faced as Frankie.
“She thinks you want to fuck Frankie,” Mantis blurts.
Fuckin’ hell.
“Mantis!” Frankie looks mortified.
Fuck, maybe I do too.
I just look at Frankie.
I don’t need to say anything.
My eyes do it for me.
“I knew it!” Tasha exclaims.
Frankie freezes. “Huh? I— we— you—” She stops, exhales, regroups, and pinches the bridge of her nose, then straightens. “We can’t. I mean. Za’s home.”
“That’s your concern?”I laugh, surprised by how easy it comes. “Alright. Fine, then. I got a spot today. Now what?”
She squints. “You got a spot? Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“So you couldn’t have done that before?”
I shrug. “Man gets tired of his mum barking and getting fucked off about ice-cream.”
She swats my chest, not hard, just enough to make a point.
I open the passenger door for her. She hesitates like she wants to protest, but then waves her friends good night and slips inside without a word.
Good.
Because I’m not in the mood to pretend I don’t want her anymore.
I, too, waved her friends off before jogging around to the driver’s side and sliding in before pulling my balaclava off and tossing it in the backseat. As I pull out, Sol catches sight of us and jogs over, knocking once on my window.
“Oi! You leaving already?”
“Yeah.”
“So soon? We were about to hit another spot.”
“Nah,” I say, glancing down at the passenger seat where Frankie’s already typing furiously on her phone. “Got business to handle.”
Sol follows my line of sight and lets out a low whistle. “Fuck.”
“Exactly, my friend. Exactly,” I say, smiling. “See you later. Thanks for the invite. I owe you.”
I pull off before he can add anything else.
We stop beneath a flickering streetlight, the city suddenly quiet after the chaos we just left behind, but sirens still wail somewhere in the distance.
Frankie’s still texting, thumbs moving fast, face lit by her screen.
“Telling your roster group chat goodnight?” I ask a bit cheekily.
She lifts her middle finger without even looking up. “Fuck you and fuck off. I’m turning off my location.”
“From Za?”
That makes her pause.
She exhales slowly, then finally looks up at me. “What are we doing, Jabari?”
“We’re gonna go fuck, I thought that was obvious.” I shrug.
She rolls her eyes. “Is that smart, though?”
“If we play our cards right. yeah.”
She sighs and sinks into the seat. “I have a losing hand.”
“You sure about that?” I ask. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since I got back, and this is the closest I’ve got without you cussing me out. I’m still not entirely convinced this isn’t just because I got you out of there tonight.”
“Fairs,” she says. “I’m not a massive fan of getting trampled. Or stabbed. Or concussed.”
I nod, then soften a little. “Seriously though. Why did you come?”
She looks past me, eyes unfocused for a second. “I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this need for self-destruction. It’s like I know the things I do will turn out badly, but I feel the need to do them anyway.”
“You think this will turn out bad?” I ask.
She lets out a small, humourless laugh. “How could it not?”
I glance out toward the road, watching a car pass, headlights cutting through the dark.
“Why do you want me all of a sudden, Jabari?” she asks out of the blue.
“It’s not all of a sudden, Francine. I wanted you for a long time.”
“I’m not talking about since you’ve been back.”
“I know.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again, like she’s not sure what to do with that.
“Though I was probably high out of my mind then,” I add, “I did mean my apology for how I treated you when we were kids.”
She sighs, irritation flickering across her face, but it’s not aimed at me. It’s inward.
“I hate that my body remembers shit I don’t want it to.”
Something in my chest tightens. I know exactly what she means.
“I’ll give it something new to remember,” I try to lighten the mood. “I promise.”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrays her. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet,” I say, leaning closer so she doesn’t have to raise her voice, “you’re still here with me. I didn’t even have to beg this time.”
She points a finger at me. “Don’t get cocky.”