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He didn’t engage with his attraction to you because he was so sure of your attraction to him, and why bother trying to make you feel good when he assumed everything he did would automatically feel good to you?
his sexy was fake.
Thissssss
(at the clerb)
We all fam
The 48 Laws of Power
Hell no
It was fun, tangling my words around their ankles, without them realizing, and then watching them trip.
The smile he gave her was mainstream, pop, radio-friendly. The smile he’d given me was the single released after an artist had established themselves, found their voice, could speak directly to their target audience. The smile he’d given me had more R&B to it.
Aminah laughed as she clicked her fingers above her head like she was at a spoken word recital.
It’s not about talking at, it’s talking to, with.
it’s not arrogant to know what you’re good at. It’s arrogant to think you don’t need to grow.
It meant I could mess up. I wasn’t in the habit of doing that.
I loved them both but the sexual tension was getting stuck in my throat. Secondhand sexual tension has a kind of tangy aftertaste.
Romance was a waste of time, a form of manipulation utilized by boys who didn’t wash their bedsheets regularly. It existed, sure, but I wasn’t surrounded by anyone I believed engaged in it properly, with respect for the object of affection, rather than a thirst to claim—a triumph of acquisition, rather than a triumph of winning affection.
I didn’t think horoscopes were my thing but his eyes really looked like stars and I suddenly wanted to be an astrologer, to learn how to read them as they flashed at me.
“What you need me to
I needed to be in control, always,
My body had been ready to move into combat, but now, strangely, I wanted to dance.
He was good. And not just a One Size Fits All good, but good enough to match me.
He was challenging me. This was a duel.
Huh. Good work, Keeks. Me: 1, Malakai: Oh.
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 adjusted my summation of him accordingly in my mental Fuckboi database. Fuckboi with jokes.
My attempt to be a brat flopped.
“You were describing this dickhead that breaks the hearts of gyaldem and I was like, rah, who is this guy? Prick. But then all of a sudden, my phone starts chiming. Messages from girls cussing me out, telling me they were about to reclaim their time. Calling me a Wasteman, saying that I’m trash. And then tonight happens. Two beautiful girls I’ve gone on dates with suddenly turned on me like I married them both then abandoned our twelve children.” I moved to lean against the wall in front of him, fold my arms across my chest and stare up at him inquisitively. “Huh. At the same time? Like was
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“If I was a Bible salesman, that would actually make the whole two-family storyline even juicier.” We each smiled, then stilled, apparently both as disconcerted that our words had fallen into rhythm in the same way our bodies had. The first time we met wasn’t a fluke.
My point is, the same way you were seeing him casually is the same way I was dating the girls. Similar, anyway. Because I actually liked them, and it’s clear you can’t stand Zack. Don’t get me wrong, that’s your prerogative and you can do whatever you want, but I don’t appreciate being judged for doing the same thing you do. All the women I talk to know what’s up from the beginning. I make that clear. That’s why I was able to sort that shit out with Chioma and Shanti earlier. It’s why me and Zuri are cool. I didn’t lie. I never lied. They’re great girls that I wanted to get to know. No
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“Patisserie?” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Can we focus?” His lips bent in an irritatingly inviting manner. “I’m focused.” “You’re mocking.” “Nah. It was clever. Literary.”
Men who looked like him and acted like him and, okay, fine, kissed like him, did not apologize. Even men who didn’t have his credentials didn’t apologize.
“It was an honor to be your sidekick in making a dickhead squirm, Fellow Superhuman.”
“I know I don’t owe you shit. Which is why you’re buying me a drink and not the other way around.” Malakai’s smile widened. That was two shots of dark liquor on its own. “Yes, ma’am.” He looked like a bad decision. The best kind of bad decision.
They’d rather act like there’s something defective with you than be the guy that’s worthy of you, because that would mean they have to face their own shit—and if there’s anything mandem hate it’s facing their own shit—so
“You’re afraid that I’m not actually who you made me out to be. That you might actually like me.” “Huh. You ever tried Pilates?” “Every Wednesday morning just after I drop the kids at school. Why?” I nodded. “Oh okay. Figures. I just feel like someone whose head is so far up their own arse would be flexible enough to be good at it.” Malakai’s eyes sparked as he sipped his drink and shook his head. “You’re an assassin.” “And yet here you are. Still breathing. Despite my best efforts.” “Don’t take it personally. As we’ve previously established, I’m superhuman. Like you.”
“Many, but they include the immunity to Kiki Banjo’s many attempts to kill me.” I released a light snort. “How super can you be if you have to build a whole defense system for me?”
“You’re right. It looks like I tried to alienate him on purpose because I fancied him. Which is so, so, so far from the truth.”
“I just thought he was the best bet! I assumed he would be down because I thought he was a ho.” Malakai quirked an brow. “Excuse me?”
“Oh please. It’s not sexist if it’s directed at a man. Women deserve sexual liberation and guys like you do not. You can’t be trusted with it. You misuse it.” Malakai rolled his tongue in his mouth, his eyes glinting with irritation. “Ah. So we’re back to you acting like you know me again. Cool. I missed that. That was a good time.”
He nodded slowly and his demeanor shifted with a shrug of his shoulder. “What if I did?”
He is hurt! girlllll
didn’t specify if the angel was fallen or not.”
You will not be a victim
Girl who hurt you?
and yoga studios owned by white people with blond dreadlocks.
They needed just enough Blacks in the club to make them feel cool. Too many Blacks, however? That was going too far. Too much Black would make them feel too white.
“You were right. About a lot of things. And, even if I didn’t agree . . . I just think you have a really interesting perspective. A cool voice.”
Unless his game was so ultraevolved that it included insecurity as a disarmament tactic in its package, his need to know seemed real.
“I don’t want to give myself to someone who doesn’t know what to do with me. I . . . don’t want to lose myself.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” I added, “I think romance can be great in the right context, but it’s so rarely the right context.”
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?
Also, I would never take a girl out to McDonald’s. Big ballin’, baby, when I’m courtin’ you.” I curbed the grin that immediately wanted to erupt. “Did you just quote Jay-Z to me?! Don’t do that. Also, you’re not courting me.” “Big ballin’, baby, when I’m fake courtin’ you.”
“You’re not funny.” “Too late. I already heard you laugh.” “It was a cough.” “Sounded like a giggle.” I turned to him. “You were mistaken. I don’t giggle. There was something in my throat. Do you have a lozenge in the glovebox?” “I do, but you’re not getting it. I want to hear you cough again.” “Why, sicko?”
“It was a cool sound. I liked it.”
Can that count even though it’s a duet and on Lauryn’s album?” “No, because if we were counting that, then I would choose it as my favorite, too.” “And God forbid that we agree on something.”
The name tripped off his tongue and sank like it belonged to me, coated my muscles, made me feel relaxed.
