Malik opened the door slowly. His eyes scanned the street like always, then locked on her.
Aku was slumped in the driver’s seat of her truck, feet cocked up on the dash, one heel off, head leaned back like she’d been trying to convince herself to leave but couldn’t.
Her lips parted like she’d just cussed somebody out or kissed somebody good.
“You drunk,” he said flatly, leaning against her window.
Aku tilted her head, squinting up at him. “So?”
“You smell like Casamigos and club carpet.”
She burst out laughing, that deep belly one she only did when she was real gone. “Fuck you, Malik.”
“Nah, you tryna do that to me.”
“I am,” Aku confessed, hiccupping.
Malik shook his head then opened the door and helped her find and put on her shoe. Then he helped her up, steadying her by the waist as she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself, when she wobbled a little in her heels. She clung to him, face buried in his shirt like she was trying to inhale every part of him.
“You smell good,” she mumbled, eyes closed.
He led her inside with patience, letting her keep an arm around his neck as they moved. Her bag dropped on the floor as soon as they hit the living room. Her shoes came off next. Then her lashes—she yanked them off mid-step like she was shedding layers.
He got her to the couch, easing her down, and she flopped back like she lived there…like she belonged…like it wasn’t her first time in his home.
Aku reached behind her to unclasp her bra under her crop top.
“You always take your bra off in other niggas’ houses?” he asked, eyeing her sideways.
“Only when I feel safe.”
He didn’t say anything to that. Just shook his head again, brushing his hand over his hair.
“You need water.”
“I need you…” she mumbled.
He looked at her—really looked. Her lashes were off, edges slightly sweated out, eyes red but full of something ancient.
Longing…that’s what he saw.
He brought her water and crouched in front of her. “Drink this before you start confessing shit you gon’ regret in the morning.”
She took it, sipped slow. Then whispered, “I don’t regret wanting you.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond.
“I’m not just drunk,” she went on, voice husky. “I’m tired…tired of wondering if I’m too much or not enough depending on the day…tired of matching energy with niggas who ain’t even plugged in emotionally.”
He flopped down beside her.
“You ever seen something so good, so whole…that it made you question if you could ever have it?” she asked. “That’s what my parents got. My mama still blushes when my daddy walks in the room. He still looks at her like he prayed for her and God over-delivered.”
Malik nodded slowly. “So you know what real love looks like.”
“I do,” she whispered. “And that’s what scares me. Because I’d rather be alone than settle for something that don’t feel likethem.”
He turned toward her, fully…his voice low. “I can tell you now, I ain’t him.”
