Page 45 of Lethal in Pink

“You game?” he asks in an almost groany voice.

“Is that illegal?” I shoot back, glancing at him sideways.

“No, just surprising. Let me guess—Cozy Grove? Animal Crossing? Something where you can color-coordinate a farm?”

“Apex Legends,” I correct him, tilting my chin up. “And don't look at me like that. I main Horizon, and I'm sitting in Diamond.”

He actually stops on the sidewalk, turning his head with a slow, dangerous smile. “Diamond?”

“Yes. Why? Do you have a problem with that?”

“No problem at all,” he says, his dark eyes sparkling under the amber glow of the streetlights as he catches back up to my stride. “I just—usually my friend and I play together but with the time difference, he keeps being a little bitch and falling asleep on me. Would you…maybe wanna come over one night and play?”

Going to a guy's apartment? Entering an unfamiliar physical space with zero operational control, run by a guy who already makes my pulse spike?

Absolutely not.

“Yes.” The word flies out of my mouth before my conscious mind can even register the syllables forming on my tongue.

I freeze.

Did I just say yes? Why the fuck did I say yes?

His smile is slow and warm and rearranges my insides. “Cool. I’ll text you.”

“Cool.”

We say goodbye on the sidewalk. He heads north, gym bag bouncing against his hip. I head south, taro tea cold between my palms, and with each step the reality of what I’ve just done settles into my bones like cement.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I mentally kick myself in the ass with every single step. What am I doing? What the hell am I actually doing?

I just agreed to go to a broad-shouldered, dark-eyed distraction's apartment.

He’s a risk. A massive, bright-red, walk-on-two-legs hazard sign. I can't afford him, I can't afford his distracting laugh, and I definitely can't afford to step into his personal space where I'm not the one holding all the cards.

I pull my keys out of my pocket, unlock my car with a sharp beep, and shove myself into the driver's seat. Taking another pull of my taro tea, I stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror—glossed lips, high ponytail, ballet-pink nails—and let out a slow, painful exhale.

On the bright side, I can always back out.

Chapter fifteen

Jae

The knock comes at exactly 8:17 and I quickly pretend like I’ve been casually stretching instead of wearing a hole in my hardwood floor waiting for her.

I open the door and my brain does a full system reboot.

Amiyah stands in the hallway with a pink canvas tote bag slung over one shoulder and a secondary, smaller pink purse clutched in her opposite hand. She’s wearing an oversized black hoodie, gray joggers with pink piping down the sides, and—this is the part that breaks me—bright pink fuzzy socks tucked into what I can only describe as adult-sized slippers shaped like cartoon cats. The ears wobble when she shifts her weight.

“Hey,” she says, like showing up to a stranger’s apartment in cat slippers is the most normal thing in the world.

I blink. “Hi.”

She walks past me without waiting for an invitation, the cat ears bouncing with each step.

My apartment is flooded with the low amber glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I spent an hour making sure the place was spotless—the dark hardwood floors swept, the sleek minimalist kitchen counters wiped down, and the modern leather couch cleared off.