I extended an arm and spread a hand out in agreement. “Right? Right? And who has the time? I’m just trying to get my degree. Learn how to master eyeshadow. And sure, I can carve out a Wasteman’s heart with my eyes, but it’s not all I am. Besides, I hardly ever do it because the cleanup is too stressful. I hate blood.”
Malakai’s smile broke through, lighting up his face. I was used to my jagged edges scraping up against people, but Malakai seemed to click into mine, slot right into rhythm.
His eyes glittered. “Mad. That’s what I mean. That right there.”
“What?”
“That.” He gestured to my face, my form, the air around me in awed bafflement. “That’s what I mean by you being an assassin. Have you seen your fucking smile? You can make a man do anything with that shit. You’re a straight-up villain.”
Malakai’s eyes sharpened, their brightness now concentrated, as they grazed my face. It instantly sparked something in me, like there was a friction point between us and we hadn’t known it existed until we had got close enough to collide. I was light-headed despite the fact that all I’d had was half a glass of watery Jack Daniel’s and Coke and . . . was I having fun? With a boy? With Malakai Korede?
I was undercover in the open. I was investigating the truth of the Fuckboi, but all of a sudden I realized the risk I’d taken, that I’d underestimated my defenses. My heart was pounding a hole in my emotional fences. If that wasn’t enough to break them down, then the heat from Malakai’s eyes would have been enough to erode them. We inched closer to each other at the same time, pulled by the same energy that crackled between us during our first kiss—an hour ago? Half an hour? Five minutes? I didn’t know: alcohol had slowed time or maybe this potent thing between us had.
He was looking at me with an intensity so heavy it dropped to the base of me and disturbed the peace. I felt myself responding in kind. Just as Malakai drew nearer, I caught the shape of my best friend in the corner of my eye. She stormed into the area, stepping over the clusters of couples cozied up on sofas before striding over to us.
“Hi, yes, hello, I’m Aminah, the best friend.” She flicked an appraising, amused look across Malakai as we jumped apart and I cleared my throat.
Malakai nodded and held out a hand. “Hi, I’m—”
Aminah looked at his hand then back up at him and laughed. “I know who you are.” She looked at me with a small grin. “Cute. Shaking hands. Polite. Not Wasteman behavior at all.”
Malakai turned to me, raising his eyebrows, as if Aminah had proved his point. I rolled my eyes and looked up at my best friend pointedly. “Aminah. What’s up?”
“Ah, yes.” She settled between us on the sofa, scooting her butt on the seat and forcing Malakai and I apart. “Sorry about this. But you guys sitting so close to each other is part of the reason I’m here—”
I frowned. “Minah, what are you talking about?”
“I’m getting to it! Calm down! Can I have a sip of that please?” She grabbed my glass from my limp hand, taking a large swig before handing it back to me. “Thank you. So as your best friend, I’m loving . . . this.” She gestured between Malakai and me. “It’s great. Get it, girl. And that kiss? Superb. Almost had me climbing up on Kofi—”
Malakai laughed. “I’m sure he’d be gassed about that.”
Both my and Aminah’s necks tilted at the exact same degree. Aminah rose a brow. “Excuse me? You’re cute but not cute enough to avoid getting smacked.”
Malakai raised a hand, eyes wide. “Yo, sorry, no disrespect. It’s just that Kofi’s my boy. Grew up together. I wasn’t being sarcastic.”
“Oh.” Aminah visibly relaxed, then smiled as she realized that this revelation meant that Kofi had spoken to Malakai about her. “Cool. . . . Anyway, I am not just here in a best friend capacity, I’ve got my producer/manager hat on.” She turned to me, her eyes as serious as tipsy double-strip-lashed eyes could look. “And as your manager, I am seriously worried. I have heard things at this party. And the Brown Sugar account has lost fifty followers since that kiss. The Blackwellian queens aren’t happy.”
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean? Why?”
Aminah inhaled deeply, pulled out her phone from her bra, and slid a thumb across it a few times till a ProntoPic account for The TeaHouse flashed on her screen. Simi. My breath tightened.
Malakai and I both peered at the screen, and sure enough there was a grainy, dark picture of my arms around his neck, his hands at my waist. You couldn’t see our faces, but the inspired caption, “Seems like Brown Sugar is into Dark Chocolate,” made my involvement pretty clear. Underneath the picture were dozens of comments—snake emojis apparently meant to denote the fact that I was a sly bitch.