Page 15 of Falling for 42
Sid leans casually against the doorframe, his gaze lingering on me for a beat too long. “Yeah, we’ve spent some time together. Gotten to know each other pretty well.” His tone is light, but the implication is clear.
My teeth grind together as frustration bubbles up inside me. I’m about to tell Sid to knock it off when Malik shifts, his hand sliding possessively to my thigh.
“Funny,” Malik says, his voice laced with an easy confidence that makes my heart race. “Kobe and I have been getting to know each other too. I guess we’re both lucky, huh?”
Sid’s smirk falters, his posture stiffening slightly as he looks between us. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” Malik’s hand tightens on my leg, his eyes locked on Sid’s with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. “Though I have to say, I’m not the type to share. So, if you were planning on sticking around….” He lets the words hang, his meaning unmistakable.
The silence that follows is deafening. Sid’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might say something snarky. But instead, he shrugs, his expression carefully neutral.
“Well,” Sid says finally, pushing off the doorframe. “Don’t let me interrupt. Enjoy your evening.”
With that, he turns and walks out, his footsteps fading down the hall.
The tension in the room lingers for a moment before Malik’s gaze shifts to me, his expression softening. “Did I overstep?” he asks quietly, red touching his cheeks.
I shake my head, my chest tight with affection. “No, not at all. I’m just sorry he barged in here.” I gesture vaguely toward the door, unable to find the right words. Do I overshare? I can’t imagine Malik wants to know about the deal Sid and I had.
He smiles, leaning in to kiss me again—this time slower, sweeter. “I meant what I said, and you didn’t seem like you wanted him here.”
I ease away, a fresh smile tugging my lips. “You staking your claim… hot as fuck.”
His snort is all amusement. “Was that what I was doing?” Humor rings in his tone.
“Sounded like it to me.” I stroke my fingers against his cheek and quickly realize I’m still wearing my gloves. “Let me get your arm taken care of, and then we can get out of here.”
“Sounds good.” His gaze doesn’t waver for a beat, seeming to drink me in before he drops his attention to his ink for the first time. “Holy shit, Kobe.” His eyes jerk back to me. They’re wide and filled with emotion. “It’s… man, it’s incredible. Thank you.”
“It’s just the start, and the swelling and redness will fade.”
“I know.” He shoots me a smile before peering back at the design I painstakingly created just for him. “I’m not worried about any of that.” He shakes his head, his dark eyes once more connecting with mine. “Seriously, it’s even more incredible than I imagined. You even managed to get the 42 finished today.”
I drop my gaze to the number in question. The two digits are nestled among the branches of the willow tree, so subtle that they almost look like shadings and lines of the trunk.
It’s the number that got us to where we are. Sure, my brother had a big role to play, but those two digits caught the attention of both of us that day. And not going to lie, I’m more than happy to keep wearing his number on my jersey, whether watching one of his games or not.
“Thank you,” Malik repeats, this time softer and closer. Apparently, I’d moved into him without even realizing.
“No problem,” I say, my voice soft, the words carrying more weight than they should. Malik’s arm is still cradled in my hands, wrapped and protected, but he doesn’t move to pull away. His eyes are on me—dark, deep, and full of something I can’t quite name but desperately want to explore.
I clear my throat and take a small step back, reluctantly breaking the moment. “Let me grab my stuff, and we can head out. You’ve got the rest of the night to relax, and I’ll make sure you’re all set before tomorrow’s session.”
“Sounds good,” Malik says, his gaze lingering. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, warm and familiar, and it sends a flutter of something traitorous through my chest.
I clean up quickly, my hands working on autopilot while my mind races. Thirty hours. That’s how long we’ve got before he heads back to college. It’s not a long time, but it’s enough. Enough to make my intentions clear, to tell him I’m ready to put in the effort and the time to make this thing between us work.
If he feels the same.
As we leave the shop and step into the cool evening air, Malik falls into step beside me, his arm brushing mine just enough to make me hyperaware of every inch of space between us. It’s quiet for a while, the city’s hum filling the gaps in conversation, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels… easy.
At the apartment, Malik drops his bag by the door and kicks off his shoes, his movements fluid and familiar, like he’s already made himself at home. It shouldn’t feel as natural as it does, butI don’t question it. Not when the sight of him here, in my space, sends a calm through me I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before.
“You hungry?” I ask, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I can whip up something quick.”
He shakes his head, leaning back against the counter, his long frame relaxed but his eyes still tracking me like I’m the most interesting thing in the room. “Not yet. We good to just chill for a while? Been a long day.”
We settle into the living room, Malik sprawled out on one end of the couch while I take the other. The TV is on, though neither of us is paying much attention. Instead, Malik starts telling me stories again—little things about his teammates, his classes, and the pranks he used to pull with my brother.
