Honey and Spice(21)

Malakai nodded. “We could stay like this, sure. Or we could get a drink.”

I laughed. “You serious?”

Malakai’s grin was mischievous. “We’re at a party. You’re here and I’m here, there’s good music playing and your man over there looks like he wants to bottle me, so we might as well have fun with this.”

Of course. This was tactical game playing. Malakai probably wanted Zack’s spot as alpha, and I was a pawn to him as much as he was a pawn to me. I wasn’t in trouble. This reminder calmed and cooled me. “He isn’t my man.”

Malakai’s eyes became less playful. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. It didn’t look like you were into whatever that was. I was gonna jump in when he—” His jaw tightened. “I was waiting for some kind of signal from you. You looked like you had it in hand.”

So that was why he had been ready when I’d turned to him. He’d been watching. He’d been checking to see if I was okay. The idea sent something simultaneously warm and sharp through me. I forced it to mellow. So he was objectively decent. If that was enough to entrap me then the bar for straight men was subterranean.

“I did have it.” I paused. “But thank you. For looking out. And being, you know, there.” Because how else do you say “Thanks for letting me kiss you to ward off a dickhead! Thank you for knowing what was happening.”

Malakai barely nodded, his eyes trained in on me, as if he were studying me. It occurred to me that he was still checking if I was okay. It made my skin prickle. That wasn’t his job. None of this was his job. What was I even doing?! I cleared my throat and let go of his arms. My palms almost smarted as the balmy air of the bar smacked against them, cool in comparison to the heat of this man’s skin.

“Look, um, this has helped, but Zack is . . . well, he’s a Neanderthal, and he’s probably going to be more pissed at you than me so . . .”

Malakai’s smile was breezy, but his voice had an edge. “So?”

I stilled. Why was his recklessness so hot? I was falling for hypermasculine heterosexual tropes like some porcelain-skinned damsel in a Mills & Boon.

“So, I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

Malakai laughed outright. “We both know that’s not true.” His smile slanted up in a way that made my core tighten in a manner I didn’t approve of. “Besides, trouble always ends up finding me anyway.”

He couldn’t have been serious. My brows perked, ignoring his implication. “Oh, you mean like when Chioma and Shanti were in your face? That kind of trouble?”

“A misunderstanding. It’s sorted.”

“Uh-huh.”

The curve of his lips broadened. “You don’t like me.”

“I kissed you.”

The chuckle that Malakai rolled out ironically sounded exactly like chocolate-dipped trouble. I wanted to bite into it.

I smiled reluctantly, twitched a shoulder, conceded the silent point. Kissing meant nothing. I had, after all, actually allowed Zack’s tongue in my mouth. I tried again.

“Fine. I don’t know you.”

Malakai nodded casually. “Right. See, I thought that. But for some reason you’re moving like you do know me. Kiara.”

His face had been straight, and I resisted the immediate bend in my lips. The deliberate slipup on my name had been casually done, expertly executed. Shit, he was funny. More dangerous than I suspected. I adjusted my summation of him accordingly in my mental Fuckboi database. Fuckboi with jokes.

“You been watching me move, Micah?”

“I feel like we’ve been watching each other. And it’s Michael, actually.”

Malakai’s flattened voice created the perfect platform for my laugh to slip out and skid across. Malakai didn’t miss a beat; he caught my bait between his teeth and tossed it back to me with ease. If this was a game, then it was fun to play with someone who could challenge me.

I stepped closer to him. “Okay. I’m sensing that you have something you want to get off your chest. Am I wrong?”

Malakai’s eyes were still dancing. He didn’t look annoyed but he didn’t look pleased either. His gaze sparkled like he was about to jump into a duel. My pulse spiked remembering the last time we did that.

“The Wasteman of Whitewell.”

I was kind of proud of it. It sounded like the title of one of the medieval romance novels I used to love. The Cad of Canterbury. The Richmond Rake. The Vicious Viscountess. The Wasteman of Whitewell.

“Oh, you’re a fan of my show? Thank you so much.”

Malakai’s face didn’t twitch. “I am, actually. I listen to it every week.”

Oh.

My attempt to be a brat flopped. I swallowed this titbit of information he had revealed in an attempt to ignore the fact that it made my pulse skitter, but the fact that it tasted sweet on its way down my neck made the fact that I liked that he listened to me decidedly difficult to ignore. The show was my main source of confidence but also coyness. He tapped into both at the same time.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”

Malakai shrugged, matter of fact. “I wasn’t saying it to gas you. It’s good. It’s good energy, good music and I like what you say. I mean, I really like what you say. Until last week. . . . You know what happened last week?”