I blinked several times, while trying to draw half thoughts into cohesion to help me form a response. It wasn’t that the idea was bad—in fact it was great, in theory—but I was just trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Malakai trusted me enough to be involved in his film. And that it would demand me actually talking to people in real life. Also, while Malakai had an undercurrent of confidence permeating everything he did, something soft flickered across his face when he spoke about his work—and unfortunately, I found it cute.
“You can say no if you want to, obviously,” he continued, “but you would be fully credited as a consulting producer, creative consultant—whatever. And I’d help you with what you need for your project for the NYU program—congrats by the way, Dr. Miller told me about it, said something about us being able to help each other out and. . . . You know what? Now that I am saying this out loud I’m realizing how nuts this is so I’m just going to quit while I’m ahea—”
“Okay.”
Malakai stopped walking. “What?”
I shrugged. “The concept sounds interesting. Not your Anthropological Player ‘understanding women’ ting, because, I mean, ew. But the exploration of campus relationships, it’s really cool. I just have two stipulations. The first, if we win the competition—”
“Unlikely.”
“—if we win, I want forty percent of the prize money. It’s your idea but it’s using my art and my really sexy voice—”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Deal.” I smiled.
Malakai shook his head. “You just played me.”
“I would have taken twenty. . . . The second condition is what I need from you for my NYU project.”
“Name it.”
Fragments of my plan began to finalize in my mind, clicking into place and turning my mental cogs. I walked ahead, then spun around to face him, beaming. “You have to date me.”
Malakai started laughing—until he noticed the look on my face. He stopped walking, blinking at me, his smile evaporating. The notion of us being romantically involved clearly distressed him. Perfect.
“I’m sorry, what?”
I moved closer to him, getting increasingly giddy now that the idea was solidifying in my mind. “Well, it will be a pretend relationship. Which in hindsight I should have led with, but hey, it didn’t have the same bite. Stay with me,” I said as he continued to look at me as if I had spontaneously sprouted horns.
“I was playing with this idea all afternoon and it just clicked when you were talking about your film. I was thinking about everyone’s reactions to that kiss on Friday. Yeah, people acted like they were shocked, but really, they were kind of turned on. Fascinated by the theater of it. As proven by the comments on social media today.” I slid my phone out of my back pocket and took him through the same social media route Aminah had taken me on just hours earlier. Malakai stepped to me, peering down at my phone, eyes furrowed in concentration. Man, he smelled really good. I had to force myself to focus.
“See? After the initial shock, people were into it. It was entertainment for them. The display of romance was enough for them to buy into it. The drama of it. For my NYU application I need to grow my platform, build it into something bigger than it already is.”
Malakai nodded, still confused but apparently, weirdly, still with me. He looked up from my phone. Rubbed his chin. “What are you thinking, exactly?”
I tried to subdue my excitement but I felt it bubbling up out of me, as I slid my phone back into my pocket. “Okay, so I don’t date, and you . . . well, you do. A lot. But not with the view of an actual long-term relationship, am I right?”
Malakai levelled an even gaze at me. “Is this a trick question so you can look at me with those judgy eyes you have going on?”
“I do not have . . .” I threw up a hand. “Judgment suspended.”
Malakai nodded cautiously. “Fine. You’re right. I enjoy the company of women but on the mutually agreed understanding that it isn’t going to be a thing—”
I kept my tone purposefully gentle. “Huh. And how do you know for sure that it’s mutually agreed upon? Like, do you sign a contract?”
Malakai chuckled. “See, that! That right there? Judgment.”
“What! I—it was just a question!”
“You’re judging. I can see it on your face.”
“What’s my face doing?”