“They’re complete divas. Wanted a green room. Hot water and lemon. Massages.”
“I blame Pitch Perfect. By the way, did we really both do public declarations of affection just now?”
“Embarrassing, innit. I can’t believe we’ve become those people.”
Malakai grinned and stepped closer to me, and further into our comfort. “Can we talk about how you buried that prick? You’re incredible. I am so proud of you. You’re kind of my hero, Kiki Banjo.”
I smiled because I couldn’t help it, smiled because I didn’t want to help it even if I could.
“I thought you’d left.”
Malakai shook his head, “Nah. I got a text that Zack had tried to enter the building. I had to go deal with it. Had an AirPod in and was plugged into the live show the whole time, so I heard everything you said.”
I felt my lips part in shock. The boys leaving with Malakai suddenly made sense. I noticed slight creases in Malakai’s otherwise crisp kaftan. “What did you do?”
Malakai shrugged. “Stopped him from getting in, innit. I promised you that I wouldn’t do anything that would get me in trouble with uni, but technically we’re out of the university’s jurisdiction.” His eyes glinted and my knees got weak and I made the executive decision to not ask any more questions because truth be told, I didn’t give a fuck about anything but us right then. Zack could choke.
“Scotch . . . please believe that when I say ‘I got you,’ from now on, I mean it. I’m not gonna slip on that again.” His gaze blazed into me with a ferocity that branded his words as truth in my heart. I trusted him.
I nodded. “I know.” I reached up to trace the intricate embroidery on the lapel of his kaftan, before flattening my hand against his heart. “And I got you.”
Malakai smiled and placed his hand over mine, before picking it up and tenderly tugging me closer toward him. “You know, Meji kicked me out of Sweetest Ting the other night because he said I was bringing down the vibe. He said he likes me better when I’m with you. I said, well shit, I like me better when I’m with you.”
His eyes, as ever black diamonds, coruscated and lit me up from under my skin. His arms slid around my waist, pulled me till my body was flush against his and I melted, butter cupped in a palm, silk between his fingers. I curled my arms around his neck.
“And the other day,” Malakai spoke, blithely, “I burned plantain for the first time in my life.”
I gasped.
Malakai nodded gravely. “I know. It was difficult for me. But do you know why I burned it?”
“Tell me.”
I was thinking of you. I got lost in thinking about you and I forgot that I was frying plantain. That’s when I realized that I must be in love with you. Like . . . insanely in love with you. No one else could distract me from plantain.”
A truth I knew viscerally, but its expression made me feel like I could pluck stars from the sky and wear them on my ears. Like my blood was a liquid giggle. His broad hands wrapped around my waist, heat and pressure agitating the butterflies into chaos. His gaze dropped on to my lips, found something there that made its journey back to my eyes more arduous, lids heavy. In the heat of us, I was sweet and golden and hot and soft like perfectly browned plantain. I was so fully me, so safe in me. I lifted my hand to his face and bumped my lips with his.
“I can’t believe I’m in love with a guy who burns plantain. Worse still, the fact that my boyfriend burned plantain hasn’t made me love him less.”
Malakai’s face was the first stretch of sunlight in spring. His gaze blazed and beamed like something the ancients would build temples for. He curved a hand around the back of my neck in precious possession. “Scotch. Before I lose my mind—”
Malakai’s smile spread across his face and all over me, and when he scooped me so my chest was against his, his arms holding me tight to him, everything fled from existence but us. I might have heard some whoops and hollers, but I wouldn’t have been able to tell for sure. I was elsewhere. I was happy, I was here. His heat melded into my heat and created an alchemy that metamorphosed the butterflies into a bird of paradise, and I was taking flight with it. This kiss, this this, this us, tasted like indulgence and sustenance. Our tongues moved like we were each other’s rice and wine, twirled with the ease of drunken, fed hips. In the kiss, I tasted him and I tasted me and I tasted what we were and what we could be. It tasted like honey and spice, twined.