Ty bellowed, “The Blackwell Baddies In-fucking-DEED,” gassing us knowing we didn’t need gassing, gassing us knowing it was surplus because our energy was self-generated. Phones whipped out to film the movie we were all in and Kofi chose a song just for us, the rhythm bowing for us. Then, a hand on my waist. I turned around and Malakai addressed a question to the group while barely looking away from my face.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies.” He smoothly avoided someone kicking him on the makeshift dance floor while gbeseing to Burna Boy. “You think I can have her back now?”
Aminah rolled her eyes. “Temporarily.”
Malakai bowed. “Many thanks.”
Chi smacked my ass and Shanti stuck her tongue out as Malakai took my hand and drew me to the corner of the room, and I floated through, high and happy, panting, feeling pretty.
He ran his eyes across me, his smile faint. “This looks good on you, Scotch.”
I leaned against the wall. “What does?”
“Everything.”
He took a moment.
“I owe you an explanation.”
The tempo had switched through the speakers, and a grown and sexy Afrobeat song flowed through, playful, soulful, sensual, created for slow misbehavior. I wanted this moment to stay still for a while—there was no denying what was between us right here and now and nothing he said would have changed that.
“Yes, you do. Dance with me first.”
Malakai blinked and then smiled something hot and narcotic and sweet. He took my hand and pulled me forward, his hands moving to my waist, as I slowly rotated it. His gaze followed the motion, transfixed, my hips his North Star, and I turned around and pressed my back against his chest. The beat acted like a catalyst to whatever chemical reaction was occurring, had been occurring, would be occurring within us, causing our bodies to answer the questions our mouths were too nervous to ask.
My back arched gently and Malakai’s hands curved across my hips, pushing me slightly closer to him.
“I’m sorry, Scotch.” Malakai’s breath was hypnotically warm against my ear, his grip still tight on me—the song had changed but the tempo remained the same, giving us an excuse to stay like this.
I swallowed. “What for?”
“Making you feel like I don’t want you.” He stopped moving, spinning me around so I was facing him, his hands still resting on my hips.
“Kiki, I want you. Been wanting you. And I wanted you so bad the other night. The reality of you isn’t messy, it’s . . . man, it’s perfect. I’m the mess. That’s why I got freaked out. I mess things up, Scotch. If I fuck this up, I will never forgive myself. This isn’t a casual thing to me. You’re not just a link to me. You’re it to me.”
His sentences were fired in searing, sharp bullets as if he didn’t speak them quickly they would melt in his mouth. Malakai was looking at me, eyes bright and wild yet stricken, apparently waiting for me to weigh up the truth of what he just said or figuring out if it was light enough to haul it back to him without me noticing. Too late. It was out there, too heavy to throw banter over, too impactful for us to revert back to how we were before.
Words were not at my disposal at that moment, and the only thing remotely resembling solid thought in my mind was the internal siren instructing me to kiss him. As I curved my hand around his neck and his face inched closer to mine, a bellow shattered the delicate spell above the room.
“Hear ye, hear ye, the KING has arrived. Yo, Ty, did my invite get lost in the post or something?”
Who else would pronounce their own entrance? Who else would command people to bow in their presence? Who else could make the butterflies in my belly flutter down and curve their wings around each other in protection? And who else would roll through with Simi in front of him, the harbinger of chaos, wearing a glossy, demure smile on her face and a red floor-length body-con with a thigh-high slit?
Zack Kingsford walked into the room, a bottle of C?roc in his hands, smile wide, eyes scanning the party until they found mine. He winked.
Chapter 21
“Never have I ever hooked up with more than one person in this room.” I stiffened and Malakai muttered, “You have to be fucking kidding me.”
The party had migrated to the Baptistes’ Moroccan-style family room and while it was nice being curled up against Malakai at the foot of a sofa, we also had the misfortune of being sat opposite Zack.
Simi was shaking her head at him. “You’re really so fucking crass, Zack.”
“And yet,” I said, angling a sharp look at her, “you brought him here.”