“I got you something last week. When you told me you got the job. It arrived this morning.”
I shifted off his lap and reached for the gift bag tucked into the tote I’d dropped on his bedroom floor. Malakai’s brows furrowed in quiet curiosity as I passed the gift to him. I beckoned him to open it with a gentle jut of my chin. “Spoiler alert. It’s a framed picture of me.”
Malakai grinned as he opened the bag, the smile falling away as soon as he saw what was in it. He lifted the gift from the bag, stared at it, eyes flitting from shock to wonder to gratitude and getting increasingly shinier. My heart grew ten more sizes at his expression.
“Scotch.” His voice was a rough choke.
It was a filmmaking clapperboard. In white marker, I’d written “Untitled” as the name of the production, and “Malakai Korede” beside “director.” The date was his birthday.
I curved my hand around the back of his neck and let my thumb sweep across the sweet valley of his cheekbone. “Here’s the thing, Kai. You don’t need your dad’s cosign to live the life you want to live. You don’t need anyone’s cosign. You do what feels right to you. You’re a filmmaker, okay? And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. It’s not easy to step outside a path laid out for you. It’s pretty brave, actually. You’re figuring out your freedom and it’s inspiring. And one day that’s gonna be a real production clapperboard with your name on it.”
Malakai still hadn’t said anything, his gaze a hypnotic twilight.
“Obviously, if you’d prefer a framed picture of me that could be arrang—”
Malakai shut me up, kissing me with a ferocious sweetness that rendered me hot molasses. The kiss was so excruciatingly, exquisitely soft, so full with delicate but robust feeling, it made me want to cry.
I felt myself recline, the full force of that feeling pushing me back, my arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down so his delectably warm weight pinned me to his bed and I felt his heartbeat sear through his T-shirt. I sucked his bottom lip and that seemed to set something divinely feral loose within him. His tongue licked with passionate and precise persistence in my mouth, like enough wasn’t enough, and I got wetter, got wilder, while the lovely, lovely thick length of his hardness pressed against me. It sent me savage as I wrapped my legs around him and ground my hips.
He tasted so dizzyingly good, so intoxicating, it felt like my consumption should be regulated. Just before the last remnants of our minds were lost, Malakai pulled back slightly to lean his forehead against mine, breath ragged. He pecked my lips sweetly, like he couldn’t help it.
“So you liked it?”
“Scotch, thank you. It’s the second-best gift I’ve ever got.”
“Second? You shitting me? What’s the first?”
Malakai bumped his nose so tenderly with mine that my breath stopped to bow in my throat in reverence.
“You.”
Chapter 24
“I’ve never seen this place so rammed.”
Sweetest Ting was teeming—Meji was so happy to host us he’d turned a blind eye to the liquor being poured into Sprites. Ty, Shanti, and Chi were up by the front, dictating their song suggestions, while Kofi curated a video playlist for the several-inch flat screen on the wall. Malakai was busy talking to some Third-Year film students about Cuts, the direction of his next film, lenses and frames and other things that made his eyes light up even more than their natural brilliance did. I had decided to throw a little campaign social to generate heat before the upcoming election and the event had blown up into a party before my eyes.
Aminah sipped on her Coke. “Omo, you’re popular now. Get with the program. Hot girl on campus. Belle of Blackwell. People want to be wherever you’re at. After I posted the ProntoPic story of us here, my inbox was blowing up. They’re especially interested in you after you put Zack on blast the other day, and yes, while I was skeptical about you making Brown Sugar political, and, yes, we are yet to see how it will affect our audience numbers in the long run, it’s for the greater good. You’re helping them stick it to the Wasteman.
“And it’s bringing people together because look at this place. You ever seen this many different social groups come together and mingle ever? You got a Bible Study Babe flirting with a reformed Roadman doing sports science, and I don’t think she’s trying to convert him.”
“Unless speaking in tongues suddenly means something different.” I hitched a brow as said couple brought their lips together in the crook of the corner-most booth.