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He’s nowhere to be seen, but I hear clattering in the kitchen. I slide out of bed, brush my teeth with the toothbrush Maliki didn’t give Rex, and rub my sleepy eyes decorated with old mascara off with a washcloth.
I make a stop at his closet, snag one of his tees, and find a pair of my panties in the drawer I was using. Yes, I’m walking out half-naked, but whatever. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen.
Maliki’s head rises, his attention moving from the sizzling pan to me when I wander into the kitchen.
How much shit-talking did I do last night?
I don’t realize those words actually left my mouth until Maliki answers me.
“Oh, you definitely expressed yourself, Jailbait.” He forks out bacon strips from the pan and drops them onto a plate with a napkin covering it. He grabs another pan and cracks two eggs inside it.
“Oh, we’re back to Jailbait now, huh?”
He turns to snag a water bottle from the fridge, motions for me to sit, and slides the bottle to me when I do. “Drink this.”
“All right, Dr. Hangover. Do you know how many times I’ve been plastered?Way more drunkthan I was last night?” Sorority life hurts your liver.
“I won’t dispute that, but next time, make sure you’re only plastered around me.”
“I thought drunk people annoyed you?”
He scoops the egg on a plate, drops a few bacon strips on it, and hands it to me. “They do. You’re not just a person to me, so I don’t mind.”
I slump down in my stool and start eating.
I miss you.
And just like the shit-talking comment, that wasn’t supposed to come out either.
He doesn’t eat. He just stares at me, leveling his elbows on the island, even though he made himself a plate. “Fix it then. Pack your shit and move back in.”
“You need time.”
“I need you.”
“You’ve had a serious life change,” is my next argument.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that I need you. If anything,thisis when I need you the most—when I’m going through some shit.”
“I wish you had needed me when everything started,” I mutter. “Or at least told me.”
“If I could take it back, I would.”
“But you can’t.”
His face falls. “Tell me this, do you trust me?”
I swallow.
“Do you trust me, Sierra?”
I shake my head. “I don’t trust anyone anymore.” Not my family, not my exes, not even the lady at Sephora when I went there last week.
My new life philosophy is,Don’t trust anyone. Maybe I should get it tattooed.
His lips twist downward. “Never doubt your trust in me.”
I pick up my fork but drop it seconds later. “I never doubted you before, but you can’t honestly stand there and defend what you did, say that it didn’t hurt our trust.”
