Malakai: Oh, you one of them boujie girls. I’ll try and sort something out. No promises.
I smiled. Aminah stared at me. I rubbed my grin away and widened my eyes. “What?”
Aminah shook her head with a smirk and shrugged. “Nothing.” My phone buzzed again.
Malakai: I’ll be over in 30 to pick you up.
My blood spiked. I dropped my phone on my bed like it was on fire. My palms were prickling with something hot and liquid.
“Pick you up? Shiiit dass hot,” Aminah whisper-hissed into my shoulder.
I was going to argue but I couldn’t lie, the message was charged with a confidence that sent a sharp thrill up my spine. Among other places. I ignored the spark and rolled my eyes at my best friend.
“Why are you acting like this is a real date? It’s basically a field trip with a research partner who gets on my nerves.”
Aminah looked at me like she was worried I was losing my capacities. “You didn’t even respect Zack enough for him to get on your nerves.”
“Aminah, just because Malakai gets under my skin doesn’t mean—”
“—that you want him on your skin?”
“That wasn’t what I was about to say.”
Aminah frowned. “Weird. I feel like you were.”
A reluctant grin spread on my face. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”
“I take that into consideration, and I henceforth reject it. So, given that you’re currently in a ratty old bootleg T-shirt from Drake’s 2016 tour and joggers with a toothpaste stain, what are you going wear for your date? We have twenty-five minutes till show time. Eight, if we take away makeup.”
Chapter 11
He was wearing gray sweatpants. Gray sweatpants, a gray hoodie, a white tee, and that gold chain. He was leaning against a blue three-door Toyota in the student car park, looking at his phone, the yellow streetlamps making him look like an angel decked in Nike as I approached him. I wanted to turn back immediately. My knees felt like they had been hit from behind by something blunt. I had not prepared for this. I’d washed and moisturized my face, applied barely there makeup—a slick of lip gloss and some mascara, and Aminah had dabbed on my cheekbones a sample of something that promised a dewy Hollywood glow. My braids were pulled into a high bun to accentuate it and I’d slipped on my standard ten-centimeter gold hoops. I looked cute, but I was not primed to attack. Not like him. Aminah had wanted me to wear a black, deep-cut bralette with a leather jacket along with my ripped, high-waisted mom jeans. I had refused—I wasn’t about to be the love interest in a nineties R&B video. A nonsensical super-cropped baby pink sweater that hovered just below my bra and showed my belly piercing had been the compromise. Now, I kind of wished I had worn the bralette. Not because I wanted to seduce him, but because he had clearly come to a sword fight with a gun. Two guns—the hoodie hugged his arms. They certainly had girth. And curves and dips to rival my own. They might have even looked better in my jeans.
I cleared my throat as I got closer to the car. Malakai lifted his head at the sound, almost looking startled to see me, his eyes skipping across my form not quite quickly as he straightened and slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Hi.”
I nodded. “Hey.” Immediately balking at how soft and shy I sounded, I kept my face still, slathered sarcasm into my voice to weigh it down, before continuing. “Sorry if I’m underdressed. Prom dress was at the cleaners.”
The smile glinted in Malakai’s eyes, and I felt the potential awkwardness subside as we slipped back into what I now realized was our rhythm.
“Don’t worry about it.” Malakai’s gaze grazed my body again, the friction enough to make heat run from the base of my stomach to my cheeks. “You’re good. Left your corsage at home, anyway.”
I regretted wearing something that showed off my middle. What if the butterflies flew too close to the edge of my stomach, so he could see the imprints of their wings pressed up against my skin?
Malakai smiled widely and pushed himself off the car door to open it for me. He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “After you, princess.” The south London gait and swagger wrapped itself around his words and lodged his tongue in his cheek.
I slipped in the front seat. “Ew. I’m not a princess.”
“I know that. You’re both Beauty and the Beast. Just wanted you to know how it feels to be given a title that don’t suit you.” He shot me a tiny, sloping, dangerous smile and shut the door on my parted, wordless mouth.