Chapter 8 Niyi
Niyi
I KNOW THAT SCENTS AND MUSIC CAN HOLD ASSOCIATIONS with another time and place, but I never thought working on a new algorithm would have me thinking about her.
First, it was the moment at the hospital when the Cupid’s Bow card suddenly appeared in her hand. Now, two weeks of fine-tuning a process that typically drives me up the wall triggers a buzz in my veins now because I end up thinking about Moyo.
I don’t know what these inexplicable power surges are or why Moyo appears to be a trigger. It’s not on purpose, but if thinking about her makes my unsavory workload a little less tiresome, then so be it. Moyo is a means to an end. A potential client. Nothing more.
Regardless, every time Merc’s phone rings, my ears perk up, hoping she’s calling to accept the coaching proposal. And like a dog whose owner hasn’t thrown the ball, I’m disappointed every time. Luckily, I hide my feelings well.
It’s another Sunday without excitement, and we’re at Merc’s place because they wanted to try this fairly new Nigerian restaurant in the city. I’m lying on the couch, halfway to sleep, when Merc says, “You’re gonna run a little errand.”
I’m up, fatigue evaporating like mist. “Not your errand boy.” I might still be getting my footing in the business, and this is their house, but I will not be spoken to like that.
Merc stares me down. Their brown eyes glisten with gold flecks, and the corners crinkle a tiny bit.
Merc always laughs with their eyes first. They’re fucking with me.
“Thought you wanted to fix your mess with your Saturnian client, Moyo, but I guess not.”
Are my Saturn powers malfunctioning again? All I can hear is my increased heart rate.
“She called?” I croak. I know I should be excited for an opportunity to get her help for my algorithm but that’s the last thing on my mind. Her gorgeous face takes up every nook, cranny, and corner.
“Ten minutes ago—”
“You waited ten minutes?” I blurt out. I cough, clear my throat, and try again. “I mean, why didn’t you come get me immediately?”
It’s Vee who responds. “Are you gonna sit around, or—?”
I regret telling them anything at all, let alone accidentally gushing about Moyo’s beauty when I got back from the hospital that day. The teasing that is still going on is insufferable. But on the bright side, it does bring me updates like this.
“Toss me my keys,” I say, and she obliges.
Merc blocks my exit and hands me an envelope with the check inside. “Before you go, do you remember everything you need to say?”
I recite the script like a robot: “Hand the customer the envelope, explain the coaching process, answer any questions.” It’s not a long list, but they’ve mentioned it multiple times over the last two weeks.
I couldn’t forget if I wanted to. I couldn’t forget anything concerning Moyo even if I tried, and trust me, I’ve tried.
Merc nods, satisfied.
“Okay, go get ’em, Tiger. I—we”—they gesture to Vee—“are counting on you.”
I’m in my car when Merc texts me the address, and my buzzing optimism flickers to confusion for a moment. Moyo lives on my block. On the opposite side of the street but definitely the same block. How have I not met her before Cupid’s Bow? I park my car in my driveway and walk to her house.
The question gnaws at me until the second I’m in front of her navy-blue door. I take one more calming breath, my finger hovering over the white doorbell.
I will not get carried away.
I will control myself and will not succumb to weird emotions.
I’m here to provide a service and figure out how to improve an algorithm I created.
I push the button and the door opens before I take my next breath.
Moyo Adegbite greets me in a pair of blue jeans that accentuate her curves and a white crop that highlights the fact she’s clearly not wearing a bra. I stare a second too long before I remember why I’m here. I repeat my mantra in my head one more time.
“It’s good to see you again, Dr. Adegbite.” I extend a hand. I’m going to be the most professional person she’s ever met. “I’ll be your dating coach. May I please come in?”
“Once a month?” She repeats my statement with a slack jaw. It’s been almost an hour, and we’ve gotten nowhere. This woman is insufferable and nothing like I expected. Don’t get me wrong, she is beautiful and breathtaking, but she’s also a pain in my ass.
“What’s wrong with once a month?”
“I don’t know what your dating life is like.
Maybe you haven’t been on a date in a minute.
But when I’m actively dating—which I will be if I decide to go through with this—I see someone more often than once a month.
I’d say every two weeks.” She folds her arms and pushes her full tits up, letting some cleavage show.
If this were another situation, I’d trail a finger along her collarbone and ask if I could feel more of her soft, delicate skin. Now, I just want to wring her neck.
Why is she commenting on my dating life?
I grit my teeth. “Next time, just say you think every two weeks would suffice.”
“I’m trying to see if this arrangement will be worthwhile. Once a month wouldn’t make sense,” she scoffs.
“Fine.”
The quicker I leave her house, the better.
It didn’t start off like this. When I first arrived, we were cordial.
She invited me over to a comfortable, green sofa.
I handed her the white envelope and told her we’d discuss the initial details to see if we were a good coaching fit.
Her smile was captivating, she invited me to use her lovely first name, and she radiated anxious, excited energy.
I was the confident one. Everything was perfect…
until I suggested that I sit in on dates.
She asked if I was dizzy. It was all downhill from there.
So far, we have agreed that I will not be sitting in on any dates.
Supposing we do this—a prefix she never neglects to add—we’ll meet in predetermined locations that will be communicated via Mercury.
Yes, I suggested giving her my number or email to eliminate the extra step.
Yes, she snapped at me. Throughout this debacle, one thing has rung clear: this woman is a Saturnian individual. Too many walls, not enough faith.
“Anything else, Dr.—”
“You called me Moyo before. Why are you calling me ‘doctor’?”
I plaster on my fakest smile. “Yes, Moyo. Anything else you want to touch on?”
“To clarify, if I agree to this process, we’ll only meet after each of the three dates. Yes?”
“Yes. Three dates with three separate matches. Unless you happen to be satisfied after the first, and then we’re done.”
Despite wanting to test my algorithm, I hope that’s the case. I hope it will be perfect on the first try because I don’t think I can last long with this woman.
“If you agree, we’ll meet every two weeks, assuming that’s the time between dates. We speak through Mercury and meet a maximum of three times,” I recap.
Moyo sits with the words for a moment, her pretty face deep in thought, signified by the little crease in the middle of her forehead and a slight jut of a pink tongue.
The tip adds even more color to the rich palette of her face.
If I weren’t so irritated, I might say she looks stunning.
I can only wonder what pleasant things she can do with that tongue because being nice to me certainly isn’t one of them.
“If,” she over-emphasizes, “we do this, that sounds acceptable.”
Acceptable? I literally just repeated her own words back to her. I forget to take a deep breath and jump to my feet. “Is this how you are with everyone?”
Her jaw ticks. “Thorough? Yes.” She grins, and it is breathtaking.
“Not that. The light condescension.”
Moyo also stands. She’s only a few inches shorter than me but is still intimidating. “Condescending? Because I don’t want you creeping all over my dates?” she asks.
“It was a suggestion, and it’s worked for other people,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Then you should’ve led with that evidence.”
I clench my jaw to stifle a groan. She does work in medicine, after all. Being obsessed with numbers and evidence makes sense. Doesn’t make this any less annoying, but it does make sense.
“Want to hear another strategy that’s worked?” I ask, attempting to salvage this meeting. She nods receptively, and I think about the list I compiled. Here goes nothing.
“Role-play?” she shrieks, alarmingly loud for someone with neighbors. The reaction isn’t as bad as some of her previous responses, but like the others, it leads to some bickering. I want to rip my hair out, but actually (and I’ll never repeat this) it’s kind of fun.
“After a date, you’ll give me a rundown, yes?” I go over the process we agreed on one more time, and she nods. “Then, if need be, you’ll tell me about a situation you’re conflicted about, and we’ll role-play it together. You’ll play yourself, obviously, and I’ll give you some feedback.”
She nods warily.
“There’s also role-playing that involves us going on a practice date so I can give you feedback on spontaneous scenarios,” I expand, and the receptive vibe ends.
“Maybe not that second part. Can’t have you falling for me.” She takes a sip of water.
“Not in your wildest dreams.”
Is she gorgeous? Yes.
Would I love to make her putty in my hands? Absolutely.
Am I seeing her in a purely professional capacity, and have I found that she grinds my gears? Yes, and yes. Therefore, romance is not an option. Plus, this attraction is just because of my powers. And I refuse to build a relationship based on powers I don’t appreciate having.
I run a hand through my coils, and she laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh, and it sounds like angels.
Wow.
Dial it back, Niyi. I try to speak sense into my raging, god-influenced hormones.
“It’s almost fun ruffling your feathers. If you could watch yourself, you’d do it too,” she says, and I get quiet. This isn’t news to me. Merc and Vee say it all the time. It hasn’t even been two hours, and she reads me as well as people I’ve known much longer.
“Let’s call it a night,” I say. Best to stop before she reads into me even more.
“Yes. I’m still deciding, but I’ll let Mercury know soon.” Moyo rises and gives a big stretch that reveals a healthy amount of underboob.
I look away for both our sakes, depriving myself of the glorious angle.
I remind myself she might become a coaching client, and if she does, she’ll be the most important one.
With her help, I’ll figure out my algorithm once and for all and finally pull my weight as part of the upper management core trio.
“See you on Wednesday?” Moyo says, walking me towards her front door.
“Wednesday?”
“At the mixer?”
I need to stop forgetting about that. “Oh. Yes, I guess I’ll be there.”
My hand hovers above the doorknob as I take another look at her. Her brown eyes latch onto mine and everything in me pushes against leaving. But I must, because this is my job now.
True love isn’t real, at least not for me and the Saturns who came before me. Plus, this woman drives me crazy.
“I gotta go,” I say.
“Get home safe,” she says, her voice soft as she opens the door for me.
“You actually can be nice,” I say. It breaks some of the tension. The fire in her demeanor returns.
“I’m polite. There’s a difference.” She fights back a smile and then shuts the door in my face.
As I walk home with the cool, fall air caressing my face, I feel…
different. Moyo’s the most confusing person.
And that was a trainwreck of a meeting. Nothing like I imagined, but it was fun in spite of the tension.
This is the most stimulated, awake, and alive I’ve felt since before Cupid’s Bow… maybe ever.
Do I feel this way because of my increasingly malfunctioning powers?
Nothing can or will happen between us, but damn, it feels good.
For the first time in forever, I feel good, and I want that to continue, despite common sense saying it’s an anomaly.
I don’t know if Moyo’ll do the coaching program, because I think she hates me now, but a selfish part of me hopes she does.