Page 5 of Summer Breakdown
“Yes?” Mali asks, like perhaps she wasn’t expecting that answer.
“Did you ask me because you were being polite, or because you want me to come over?” Jasmine asks, and Mali blushes a little. “Because you can change your mind. I won’t be mad.”
Mali swallows, and Jasmine hopes she invites her over still, because she can see the strong jaw and thighs from here, and she hasn’t had a decent flirt in such a long time. Flirting is fun. Kissing is more fun. It doesn’t even need to end in sex.
“No,” Mali replies, then shakes her head, pink hair flying everywhere. Lani would be obsessed with her. “I mean, yes, we want you to come over.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Sure!” Mali replies, with a wide smile. “Have you done the quiz before? Are you any good?”
Jasmine follows her back to her table. “I haven’t done it before, but it depends on what the categories are. There’s a group of IT blokes over there I’m worried about.”
Mali groans. “Oh my God, I know. We spotted them the moment we got here.” She slides into the booth, and Jasmine sits next to her. Opposite Arms.
“This is Cam,” Mali says, gesturing to another annoyingly attractive dark-skinned woman. Jasmine smiles, and Cam smiles brightly back. It’s possible she thinks women arehot, because they are, but this is some crazy work for a friendship group. Jasmine isn’t used to talking to this many Black people all at once, let alone a group of friends. It’s thrilling, and exactly what she was hoping for.
“Hi!” Cam says, her smile still bright and wide. There are more rings on Cam’s fingers than Jasmine owns, and enough bracelets that she knows they could never walk anywhere in silence. Jasmine thinks she’s cool. She wants to tell Lani about her. She might even go shopping tomorrow.
“And this is Frankie.”
Frankie leans back against the booth and gives her a closed-lip smile and a nod. Jasmine can’t tell what her vibe is. Annoyed that Mali invited her over, perhaps, or she’s playing it cool. Jasmine has no idea but every intention to find out.
“Wait, I didn’t ask you what your name is. That’s so rude,” Mali says.
“Jasmine,” she replies, with a smile. Mali smiles back, and it feels comfortable, but Jasmine’s attention is taken by Frankie.
“Jasmine,” Frankie replies, like she’s tasting the name on her tongue. The syllables sound different when she says them—less like a name and more like the first line of a story she very much wants to read. She sits up a little, looking right at her. A shiver flows through Jasmine’s body at her tone. Or the look in her eye. Or it really might be her arms. “Cute.” Oh, she’sbold.
“Keep it in your pants until the end of the quiz,” Cam says, and Jasmine wants to know how often Frankie flirts with people here, in this bar, maybe in this very booth. She also wants to ask Cam how she did her hair. “We need you if we’re going to beat those guys.”
Jasmine smiles, letting her gaze linger on Frankie, until she turns back to speak to the group. “If it helps,” Jasmine says, “they were complaining about not knowing whatLove Islandis.”
“Thank fuck,” Cam replies, typing frantically on her phone.
“Swear jar,” Frankie says, but Cam flips her off and continues.
“I’m surprised they managed to talk about anything other than how hot you are. They spent the entire time staring at you.”
Jasmine laughs again. “I looked at one of them, and I think he stopped breathing.”
“So that’s what happened! We thought he’d had a heart attack. Frank almost called an ambulance.”
“Shame,” Jasmine replies. “We might have had a chance if we’d rendered them unconscious.”
Frankie smiles at her. Kind of. She smiles, then immediately ducks her head to the table. She’s so pretty. Jasmine doesn’t have a type, but if shehadto describe someone under pain of death or something, Frankie would be it. Jasmine researched being a lesbian in the dark of night, so she knows there’stypes. Masc and femme, and a plethora of other terms she tries to hold in her mind but loses the moment a hot woman looks at her.
Jasmine decides she likes muscles and a nice smile. The rest doesn’t matter to her. The attraction to Frankie hit her the moment she watched her walk to the bar. The sure confidence she has, the way she doesn’t shrink down, those bloody arms. But now she’s here. Close enough Jasmine can see the small scar on the side of her face, the dimples on her cheeks, and the white of her smile. She’s so goddamn pretty.
Jasmine is about to tell her as much as they look at each other, but Mali starts talking.
“Jasmine, what’s your last name? My parents are going to want to know if they know you.”
“Kieta.”
“Hot,” Cam replies, writing on their quiz sheet. “I’m so glad you’re normal. I was terrified you were a weirdo. You’reon your own, and people with faces like yours are always a bit weird.”
“Cam,” Frankie admonishes, but Jasmine laughs.
