Honey and Spice(82)
Chioma sighed into the silence. “Weed brownies, guys—”
A woop, a holler, and a Why didn’t you say so? whipped the air in Mimi into a joyful frenzy that jolted through me and slid over the unease I felt about Malakai. I was going to a social event with a group of girls for the first time in a long time, and in the place of the stomach-tightening trepidation I expected came a thrum of warm comfort. I didn’t want to climb out of my skin or burrow myself further into it. I felt safe within it, with these three girls.
I laughed. “You’re right. My bad. Sorry for being a downer. Killa Keeks officially activated for the weekend.”
“There she is!” Aminah grinned.
The girls’ trills escalated as I connected my phone to the Bluetooth and selected a Destiny’s Child classic. “And she is feeling,” the beginning disparate twangs of the song filled the car, before we simultaneously shout-screamed, “So good!” A song title, a proclamation. We dove into the lyrics, punctuated by giddy giggles, hair flicks, and a lot of pointing as we informed an invisible nemesis that we were doing mighty fine.
“Lads, the QUEENS have arrived! Make yourself decent!” Ty’s muted voice bellowed through the wide doors of the stone farmhouse, a surprisingly elegant, nouveau riche–architectural concoction of both glass and stone, as they fell open and revealed his broad grin and handsome face. He was in his usual weather-ignorant attire of shorts and a T-shirt, an apron that read Mr. Good Lookin’ Is Cookin teetering on his broad torso.
While his father was a football star, Ty was an English-lit-studying, towering, bulked-out gentle Adonis who preferred chilling with his Blackwell crew to the chaotic raucousness of his rugby team, who were known to make jokes about the reason for his strength on the field. (He was Black! That was the joke.) His golden face glowed as he beckoned us into the warm amber crush of the house, scented with the expensive candles his mother owned, the faint aroma of BBQ, and a cocktail of colognes—within which Malakai’s, clean, inviting, and excruciating, rose to find me. My skin pricked.
“You’re the first squad to arrive.”
Squad. I was in a squad now. I waited for the anxiousness to find me. It didn’t. I smiled at Ty as he took off his backward-placed cap and bowed deeply before us.
“So glad the Blackwell Baddies are here to save me from these barbarians.”
I quirked a brow. “The Blackwell Baddies? Is that what we’re called now?”
“Well that’s what Shanti referred to you guys as when I asked what time you’d all be getting here.”
Ty was generous with his smile but he gave more of it to Shanti as he took in her cute, curve-hugging, pink athleisure co-ord. It was clear he wasn’t as concerned about our group’s arrival as he was about hers. She smirked and smoothed a hand over her sleek ponytail. “Our presence is a present—”
“Kiss your ass?” He paraphrased the end of the Kanye bar with a twinkle all of us caught.
Shanti’s response was an expertly cool gaze. She passed Ty her overnight bag. “Where does your dad keep his scotch? Don’t cheap out on me, Baptiste.”
She swayed past him, and Ty followed her through into his own house, entranced.
Aminah, Chi, and I were exchanging smirks when Kofi appeared with a tray of libations. “Welcome to the Chateau, ladies.” He nodded at Aminah as she took a tiny glass of clear liquid. “You alright, mate?”
Aminah almost choked on her shot, eyes wide at Kofi’s impressive pettiness, but he’d already turned to me. “Keeks, Malakai’s been in a mood since we got here. Whatever is going on with you lot, fix it. You don’t want to lose me in the custody battle.”
“Nothing is going . . .”
Malakai emerged from the wide hallway, and my words stumbled and fell down my throat at the sight of him in his basketball shorts and hoodie, the scruff on his jaw. His casual fineness was quite unconducive to my plan of extricating myself from my feelings. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a few days, and the shape of him instantly fell into a space I hadn’t known was there. I felt the inexplicable need to climb on him. His hand flew to the back of his head, his eyes soft, hesitant. I downed my shot, hoping the alcohol would push my heart back to its proper position.
Kofi gave me an unnecessarily pointed look before ushering everyone to the living room. When Malakai reached to take my overnight bag, our fingers brushed; a streak of heat shot through me. Unhelpfully, it seemed the other night had only made me more physically sensitive to him, a drop of water driving a parched desert wanderer rabid.
“Hi.” Probably detecting that I was a horny monster he stood back, for his safety.
I swallowed. “Yo.” Yo?
“You didn’t show up at FreakyFridayz last night.”
I shook my head. “I got caught up with work. My bad.”
He held my gaze and I held my breath, the quiet sitting awkwardly between us. Thankfully, somewhere in the house, the group started to play a game.
I raised a brow and forced myself to speak. “Did I just hear the words ‘tequila pong’? It’s twelve p.m.”
Malakai released a quarter smile. “You know how bars are open at six a.m. at the airport? That’s what this place is like. Time doesn’t exist. Anything goes. Ty’s already insisted on a barbeque, doesn’t give a fuck that it’s ten degrees. He’s calling this party the Blackwell Bacchanal. After I Googled ‘bacchanal’ I got kinda shook.”