Chapter 12 #3
“That’s a long list,” she says.
“Start somewhere.”
“First of all— Zaza. She would actually strangle me. Not metaphorically. ”
“That’s not a good enough reason,” I say.
“It is,” she corrects. “I like living.”
I shake my head. “Get to your second point.”
She narrows her eyes, annoyed I was telling her what to do.
“I don’t exactly enjoy the crowd that follows you.”
“And you think I do?” I scoff. “And what happened to ‘I’m good at sneaking around’? Come on, Francine . You can do better than that.”
“Fine,” she continues, lifting a finger, “You say things like ‘life sentence’ and ‘mine’. Proper intense.”
I snort. “You loved it last night.”
She shoots me a look. “Don’t.”
“Soz.”
She presses on. “Look… I know myself. I can’t do clingy, lover, messy bollocks. I don’t like to be anyone’s anything. Hate the idea of it. I’ll break out in hives. I already am actually. Look!”
She waves her arm in my face and I flick it away.
“So basically,” I clear my throat. “All I heard is…bullshit, bullshit…blah blah blah, I have attachment issues. More bullshit. That right?”
“I’m serious! Hives, Jabari!”
“Right.” I swallow. “So the solution is… pretend nothing happened?”
“It’s the cleanest option.”
“It’s bullshit,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t deny it. She just meets my eyes at last and there’s tired there. Real tired.
“Jabari… it’s not simple,” she says. “I’m barely holding my own life together. I don’t have the bandwidth to survive you as well.”
“So what?” I ask. “We just go back to mugging each other off like always?”
“It’s what we’re good at.”
Silence again as she gets up to join Zaza. But I stand too.
“Fuck that.” I pull her close. “Unfortunately for you Francine. I don’t plan on letting you go that easily. Like I said you should’ve been careful with who you gave it up to.”
She stiffens for half a breath.
Then her body gives her away.
I pull her a little closer. Our hips brush. She pretends it doesn’t set her alight.
“You know,” I murmur, leaning in, “being like this is what got us into this mess in the first place.”
Her lips curl. “Wrong. What got us into this is self-indulgence.”
I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my mouth. “And lust.”
She snorts. “Lack of self-control.”
“Maybe loneliness,” I say.
That makes her look up. “Are you lonely, Jabari?”
The question cracks right through my chest. I swallow, “…Yeah.”
She studies me. “Why is that?”
I exhale, forehead dipping to her shoulder, the familiar scent of her pulling me under with flash backs of the night before.
“I self-isolate a lot,” I admit, the words quiet against her skin. “I like being alone. Or at least I thought I did.”
Her hand hesitates… then lifts, resting lightly on my arm.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
She hums, a soft, thoughtful sound that vibrates against my cheek.
“Mm.”
I lift my head, our faces close enough that I feel her breath against my mouth.
“You lonely, Francine?” I ask.
Her eyes flick away, then back. Vulnerability flashes across her features.
“…Maybe.”
I reach for her hand. She lets me take it.
“Then…involve me.”
Her chest rises in a slow inhale. “Involve you… how?”
I slide my thumb over her knuckles, drawing absently over her skin as purple lights wash across her cheekbones.
“In your life,” I say. “In your world.”
She lets out a soft laugh.
“I can see that slap did nothing to deter you.”
I lean in, close enough that her lips part just slightly as I push my growing hard on into her back.
“Does it feel like it?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth. Reflex. Want.
She drags them back up, steadying herself.
“Be careful what you’re asking me for, big man.”
I tighten my grip around her hand, tug her the last inch closer.
“I meant what I said, Frankie.”
She freezes.
Lips parting the slightest bit.
Eyes flicking up to mine like she’s trying to decide whether to take me seriously or pretend she didn’t hear it.
The music is loud, bass rolling under our feet, lights strobing across her face, but somehow everything slows down around us. Like her silence is its own gravity.
“Let me see you tomorrow.” I lean in, voice low and careful. “I swear—”
But she doesn’t let me finish.
Frankie flattens a hand against my chest and pushes. It’s enough to pull her back from whatever edge she was drifting toward.
Because Za is weaving her way through the crowd, headed straight for us.
Frankie steps back quickly, smoothing her expression.
“CICI!” Za throws her arms around her. “They have ‘No one mourns the wicked!’ Should I sing?”
Frankie laughs into her shoulder, but her eyes dart to me.
And then she mouths it:
Tomorrow. 1 o’clock
My chest goes stupidly warm.
Her. This woman. Always acting like she doesn’t care but she does.
She wants more.
She wants enough to risk saying it in front of Za.
I try to hide the smile stretching across my face.
Failing miserably.
Frankie pulls Za toward the exit, chattering about Za having too much to drink, and then she lets herself be dragged, only turning back once.
To see if I’m following. And I am in every way she could imagine.