Lines Almost Crossed

Malik couldn’t name the feeling sitting in his chest.

It wasn’t anger.

Not yet.

It was tighter than that. Hotter. Like something slowly turning over beneath his ribs, looking for a place to land.

Across from him, Imani laughed softly at something Zariah said.

Not her polite laugh.

Not her social laugh.

Her real one.

The sound hit him before he could prepare for it.

He watched the way her shoulders loosened, the way her eyes warmed, the way her body angled—subtly, naturally—toward Zariah instead of him.

He swallowed.

“So what made you agree to this?” Zariah asked her.

Imani glanced at Malik briefly, then back at her. “Curiosity, I guess.”

Zariah nodded slowly. “Curiosity can be powerful.”

Their knees brushed again.

This time neither of them moved.

Malik saw it.

Saw everything.

His jaw flexed.

He told himself to relax. This was the point. This was what he wanted. This was the fantasy he’d suggested, planned, imagined.

So why did it feel like he was the only one outside of it?

He stood abruptly. “Y’all want music or something?”

Imani blinked. “Sure.”

He walked to the speaker and turned on a slow R&B playlist—low, smooth, intimate. The kind of music that filled spaces instead of just playing in them.

When he turned back, he noticed something that made his stomach tighten.

Zariah was leaning closer to Imani.

Not inappropriate. Not obvious.

Just closer.

Like gravity had shifted.

Malik returned to his seat slowly, watching.

“You dance?” Zariah asked Imani.

Imani smirked faintly. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I am.”

The simplicity of her tone made the question feel heavier than it was.

Imani hesitated.

Malik felt that hesitation like a pulse.

Zariah stood and extended her hand—not demanding, not playful. Just offered.

A quiet invitation.

The room felt smaller.

Imani stared at her hand.

Her heartbeat thudded.

She should say no.

She should laugh it off.

She should look at her husband first.

Instead…

She placed her hand in Zariah’s.

Malik’s fingers tightened against his knee.

Zariah helped her up slowly, their hands lingering a second longer than necessary. Then she stepped closer—close enough that their bodies nearly aligned, close enough that Imani could feel the heat coming off her skin.

The music hummed low around them.

Zariah’s hand settled lightly at Imani’s waist.

Not gripping.

Resting.

Asking permission without words.

Imani’s breath caught—but she didn’t step back.

Her hands hovered awkwardly for half a second before settling on Zariah’s shoulders.

Soft contact.

Warmth through fabric.

Electricity underneath it.

Malik watched every second.

Every shift.

Every glance.

Every breath.

Zariah moved first—slow, subtle swaying that matched the rhythm of the song. Imani followed instinctively, their bodies finding a shared pace like they’d done this before.

They hadn’t.

But it felt like they had.

Imani became hyperaware of everything.

The curve of Zariah’s waist beneath her palms.

The steady rhythm of her breathing.

The faint scent of her perfume wrapping around her senses.

The way Zariah’s thumb brushed once—lightly—against her side.

That small touch sent a quiet spark up her spine.

Zariah leaned closer, her voice barely above the music.

“You’re tense.”

“I’m not,” Imani whispered.

“You are.”

Her tone wasn’t teasing.

It was observant.

Imani exhaled slowly. “Maybe a little.”

Zariah’s hand shifted slightly, still gentle. “You can relax.”

Her voice was softer now. Closer.

Imani’s lashes lowered.

Malik’s chest tightened.

He hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected the way Imani seemed to melt inch by inch. Hadn’t expected how natural they looked together. Hadn’t expected how invisible he suddenly felt sitting there watching.

Something sharp slid through his thoughts.

“You look comfortable,” he said.

Both women glanced at him.

Imani nodded lightly. “I am.”

Zariah didn’t say anything.

She just held his gaze calmly while her hand remained at his wife’s waist.

Malik stood again.

Slowly.

He walked toward them, stopping close enough that the tension between all three of them felt almost tangible.

The music kept playing.

Low. Steady. Thick with mood.

He reached out and brushed his fingers along Imani’s arm.

She looked at him.

His voice was quieter now. Rougher around the edges.

“You having fun?”

Her lips parted.

“Yes.”

One word.

Soft.

Honest.

And something inside him twisted.

Because she didn’t look conflicted when she said it.

She looked… lit up.

Malik’s eyes flicked to Zariah.

She didn’t move her hand.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t break eye contact.

The air between them sharpened.

And for the first time that night—

It wasn’t curiosity filling the room.

It was competition.