Chapter 7
MICHAEL
—Sability by Arya Starr
It turns out, sneaking two famous footballers into the country is not as easy as I thought it would be.
There’s bribing involved, a bit of creative convincing, and some light threats from Roland’s cousin that I’m choosing not to examine closely.
Paul’s calm demeanour could trick anyone into believing he couldn’t make you confess your darkest secrets by just looking at you.
Somehow, the stealth operation was successful and now they’re all in the car.
Taj is driving, one hand loose on the wheel, the city fading behind us, replaced by the open roads of the countryside. We’re heading to Nehvizdy, a small town about an hour from Prague to the house Taj has so considerably offered to us.
“I’m hungry,” Austin says from the back, shifting closer to Roland like he’s actively trying to merge with him. “Are we going to a hotel?”
“You really think it’ll be easy to waltz into a hotel without your cover being blown?” Paul asks from beside Austin, eyeing him.
“Well, there’s no reason for a hotel,” Taj pipes up from the driver’s seat. “We’re going to my aunt’s house, and there are a lot of rooms for everybody.”
“How much room?” Austin asks, still half draped over Roland in a way that makes me wonder how Roland is even breathing, but my best friend looks entirely unbothered. I’ve never seen him so smitten.
“Eight rooms across three floors. Plenty privacy to go round,” Taj says, pointedly glancing at me at that last bit.
Going to Taj’s house is not exactly how I should maintain professional boundaries.
I’m not convinced I can be in close quarters with him and not lose my mind.
Or worse, my self-control. This is torture.
But my friend needs me, so here I am. I can only hope my remaining discipline is enough to resist Taj Badmus’s charm.
“I’m still hungry,” Austin whines.
“Is there an African restaurant we can stop at on the way?” Roland asks Taj.
“No need,” Taj says. “I have food at home.”
“Nigerian food?” Austin asks, perking up immediately.
“Yeah, the freezer is loaded. I like cooking,” Taj explains.
“Nice one, dude,” Austin quips. “When did you relocate to Czechia? I had no idea there were Nigerians here.”
Taj lets out a small laugh. “I was born here. And you would be surprised to know there’s a growing community of Nigerians here.”
“Do you speak the language?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I speak Yoruba fluently, too.”
“Wow,” Austin pipes up immediately. “Your parents really tried. I grew up in Lagos, and my Yoruba makes me ashamed.”
Taj chuckles a little as he drives. “Well, it was easy because I had my cousins here, both paternal and maternal. My aunt, whose house I’m staying in, has four kids.
And my uncle on my dad’s side has two kids.
You may actually know one of them. His name is Daniel, but you probably know him as Dani. ”
“The artist?” Paul asks, and there is an immediate edge in his voice.
“The very one,” Taj confirms. “He was lucky to be picked up by a big record label and go global.” There’s clear pride in his tone.
“I still can’t believe it. We were literally raised like brothers since I’m an only child.
He used to pick me up from school and all because he’s older than me.
Then he’ll take me for ice cream, and we’ll lie about it to our parents later. ”
Paul snorts derisively, and Taj looks at him from the mirror. “Problem?”
“Your brother is annoying,” Paul says flatly.
“You’ve met him?” Taj sounds genuinely surprised.
“He’s my brother’s best friend.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Taj’s face changes. “Wait!” He breaks into a wide grin. “You’re Paulie? Prosper’s little brother?”
“My name is Paul!” he grits out through his teeth.
Taj ignores him. “Oh my God, Daniel never stops talking about you, it’s always Paulie this, Paulie that.”
“I swear to God, I’ll kill that big devil,” Paul mutters.
Taj laughs properly now. “Nah, this is too good. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Paul only rolls his eyes. He leans back in his seat like Taj is background noise he has chosen to tolerate.
He doesn’t even bother telling him not to mention anything to Daniel, which is interesting.
If he truly hated the idea, I’m fairly sure he would have shut it down.
Paul is many things, but being subtle when he’s annoyed is not one of them.
Taj, encouraged by the lack of protest, or perhaps simply incapable of stopping once he gets going, carries on happily.
He launches into a full account of all the hilarious things Daniel told him about Paul over the years.
The car fills with the easy sound of it, with Taj’s voice and Paul’s occasional grumble. By the time Taj finally turns into the drive of his aunt’s house, he’s midway through a story about Paul’s disastrous attempt at homemade cocktails, and even Paul looks too tired to argue.
Taj parks, kills the engine, and grins at us. “We’re here,” he declares.
“Whoa! This house is huge,” Austin says the second he climbs out of the car.
Huge does not even begin to cover it. Taj is parked on a wide circular drive with a stone fountain in the middle, the Mercedes is here with two other cars, but there’s still enough space for several more cars.
The house rises in front of us, three floors of pale stone and glass, broad steps leading to double front doors, tall windows, and balconies running along the upper level.
“What does your aunt do for a living?” Austin asks, staring up at it. “I may need to change my hustle.”
Roland chuckles beside him as he heads for the boot. “You’re always changing your hustle,” he grumbles, but his tone is fond.
I swear, I’m still surprised by this new Roland Johnson. He has moved from a terrifying football god to a soft boyfriend who dotes on his man.
“Just think about it,” Austin says, following Roland while he lifts their bags. “We can live in Nehdaddy forever.”
“Nehvizdy,” Taj corrects as he unlocks the door and steps aside for the lot of us to file in. “And to answer your question, she owns international schools in Nigeria, and also in Prague and Brno. And also, one university in Nigeria.”
Every follow-up question dies in our throats the second we step inside.
Bloody hell! I’m not unfamiliar with money, but there are levels to this shit.
The entryway alone is bigger than my apartment.
The ceiling stretches high above us, fitted with hanging lights that spill a golden glow over polished floors, the air smelling faintly of cedar wood and expensive candles.
One wall is lined from end to end with white wardrobes.
Taj opens one and reveals rows of hanging rails, shelves, and storage drawers.
He then takes our coats one by one and hangs them before producing Crocs for all of us.
We swap our shoes, and Taj carries them to a fitted shoe rack behind another wardrobe door.
“Uhm, like I said, there are three floors, and you guys can pick whichever rooms you want except the locked ones on each floor, those are already occupied.”
Austin doesn’t waste a second. He grabs Roland by the hand and starts hauling him towards the stairs. “We’re taking one on the third floor,” he announces. Then he twists back to look at us over his shoulder. “Give us one hour to shower the trip away and we’ll be ready to eat.”
“I’ll stay on the first floor,” Paul says dryly. “As far away from them as possible.”
“What about you?” Taj asks, turning to me.
“Wherever is fine,” I say.
“Okay, second floor with me it is then.”