Chapter 18 #2
The noise that leaves his mouth when my hand connects with his arse is downright diabolical, even my cock takes notice and twitches. I clear my throat and focus on rinsing the soap from my arms because we don’t have time for round two right now.
We finish our shower quickly after that.
Once we’re done, we dry off and put on clean clothes.
By the time we reach the hotel, the reception area is deserted enough that we slip through without running into any of the guys.
We head in opposite directions towards our rooms with an agreement to meet back at the reception.
Inside my room, I pull on a pair of blue tailored pants and a white shirt, and I take a minute to run a comb through my hair before heading back out.
I’m halfway across the hotel lobby when I stop dead in my tracks.
Johnson is already there, and he’s wearing a full black suit that fits him snugly.
The jacket hugs his broad shoulders, the white shirt underneath it is doing the Lord’s work, and there’s an actual bow-tie sitting at his collar.
Even his shoes are proper polished Oxfords, not sneakers like the ones currently on my feet.
God, he’s such a vision.
He lifts his eyes from his phone. When he sees me, a small smile spreads across his face.
“You clean up nice,” I say honestly as I walk over, eyeing him from head to toe without even trying to hide it.
He lets out a chuckle and puts his phone in his pocket. “I want our date to be memorable,” he says as we start walking towards the doors. “Because—” he continues, then stops himself mid-sentence.
Unlike in the shower when I pushed for him to complete his sentence, I don’t do that now.
Something in my chest sinks a little because I have a feeling I know what he’s about to say.
I’m not sure I want to hear it. We step outside; the evening is cooler than the lobby.
I try to focus on the simple things, like the sound of the traffic and the glow of the lights from the restaurant across the road.
I decide I’m just going to have a nice time tonight, pretend it’s just us on this date, and that the entire Nigerian football team isn’t really there.
The cab Johnson booked pulls up to the kerb a few minutes later, and Johnson glances around before stepping forward to open the door for me.
He then checks the street again before jogging around the car to get in on the other side.
The driver pulls away from the hotel after the door shut.
We don’t say much during the ride, but the silence is not awkward.
I can feel him beside me without even looking, I swear the sexual tension between us could cut a wire.
Judging by the way the driver is glancing at us in the rearview mirror, he’s probably picking up on it too.
When we reach the restaurant, the guys are just being ushered to our table.
If anyone notices that Johnson and I arrived together, they don’t say anything about it.
The restaurant is lively, already filled with conversation and the clinking of glasses.
My nose loves the smell of grilled food and spices drifting through the air.
My stomach takes notice too. Johnson reaches the table before I do and pulls out a chair.
But then he pauses, and he shifts like he’s changed his mind.
He slides into the seat beside it instead, gesturing for me to sit in the chair he had just pulled out (which makes me think he pulled it out for me).
God, I never knew him to be such a romantic. I could get used to this.
Actually, that’s the problem. I want to get used to this.
Dinner starts. The topic of conversation is our plans after dinner; people talk over each other, laughter bounces around the table, and at some point, Coach announces that the players not based in Nigeria won’t have to travel back with the team immediately.
Instead, we’ll be contacted later about when we’re expected to meet the president—since he apparently wants to host us.
I only absorb half of what is being said, the rest of my attention is completely occupied by the man sitting beside me.
Johnson looks unfairly hot under the restaurant lights.
I can’t stop checking him out, and every time our eyes meet, he gives me a small wink that sends a ridiculous amount of want through me.
While everyone else is busy talking about travel plans, his hand slides across my thigh under the table, and my entire body goes still as he lets his fingers move dangerously close to my groin before stopping.
The fucker has a straight face, talking to Alozie across the table like he didn’t just put me through torture.
Dinner eventually winds down, with conversations breaking off into smaller groups. Coach leaves first, clapping those of us nearest to him on the shoulder as he excuses himself for the night. After he leaves, the rest of us decide to head up to the rooftop for drinks.
I’m sitting alone on the rooftop, nursing my drink and trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to get Johnson alone tonight that I didn’t notice someone sliding into the seat next to me.
“Can you be more obvious?” Bayero asks, chuckling.
I whip my head towards him and freeze, already digging through a bullshit excuse I can throw out without looking dumb.
“Relax,” he says, patting my back. “He’s been looking at you like he wants to eat you up all evening.”
A big smile spreads across my face before I can even think of stopping it. “Yeah, how can you tell?”
“Because when we won the AFCON,” he says with a small shrug, “he didn’t take us out to celebrate.” He glances towards Johnson, who’s laughing on the other side of the rooftop with Akintola. “And I know how it feels when you can’t be with the person you want openly.”
My brain scrambles around before what he’s saying clicks. “You and Akintola?” I whisper, trying not to sound shocked, but I can feel my voice pitching higher than intended.
He shrugs again. “Five years now.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a keycard with a smirk. “Room 514. I’ll tell you that story another time. But for tonight, go get your man.”