Chapter 16 Niyi
Niyi
WAITING FOR MOYO FOR OUR POST-DATE DEbrIEF IS fucking with me. Even the busy, late-afternoon coffee shop atmosphere fails to distract and I find myself zoning out even more.
After the events of two nights ago, in every spare moment, I recall the sensation of Moyo’s body against mine. Dancing kizomba together, with our bodies melting into each other, was bliss.
I’m constantly transported to that night. Her hands draped across my neck, her hips in harmony with mine, heavy breaths exchanged in the space between us. Conversation was not on the menu, just whispered minor instructions that I readily complied with.
But despite that lovely moment, I need to remain focused on Cupid’s Bow, not the feeling of Moyo’s soft skin.
My fingers run through the questionnaire that wrecked our last meeting. Maybe second time’s the charm? After all, she is still willing to meet with me. From the way she sprinted away when she learned I was the man behind the mask the other night, I thought she’d request another coach.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen because I need to fix my algorithm.
I go over my checklist to chronicle what went so wrong with her first match. Based on her initial profile, Julian should’ve adored Moyo, and she should’ve eaten it up. Even working without The Sight, I felt good about that one. But alas, I messed up…again.
Isn’t that good? I hush the inner voice that has gotten even louder since the night at the party.
I cannot be with Moyo. She has a plan to use Cupid’s Bow to find love and I have a plan to succeed at work.
We’re soulmates in our aligned wishes. I can’t mess that up just because I find myself hooked onto her every word, think about her constantly, and her waistline elicits dormant physical reactions.
The coffee shop door opens and a gust of cold air attacks my face.
I suck in a short breath, and then I see her.
Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, drawing attention to her face.
This is the first time I’ve seen her hair up, and somehow, she’s even more stunning.
She scans the room, her piercing eyes focused on finding her target.
It’s interesting, seeing this side of her.
It’s clear she’s still in work mode because she’s more like the Moyo I met in the hospital than the one I’ve seen since then.
Nothing like the carefree Moyo I met a couple nights ago.
She pivots in my direction and her face blooms, her eyes softening in tandem with a sheepish smile, but as quickly as her expression arrived, it disappears.
“So, so sorry I’m late,” she says. The urgency in her tone is a mismatch with her steady pace.
“No worries.” I stand to welcome her, hastily pulling out her chair before she gets the chance. First, she looks at me, then the chair, and then back at my face. I raise my eyebrows and nod at the seat. Our gaze locks. Moyo squints, while my eyes widen.
This is as intense as our stares on the dance floor, maybe even more so.
Moyo blinks first. “Fuck.”
The unexpected expletive tugs up the corner of my lip. It’s cute. She’s cute.
“It smiles!” Moyo says dramatically as she takes the seat.
I push her in. “Good?” Her nod is my reply, then I take my seat opposite hers. “I do smile.”
“Between our first meeting, the mixer, meeting in your offices,” Moyo counts on her fingers. “Even the other night…” Her tone borders on hesitation.
I wasn’t going to bring it up if she didn’t, but here we are.
“The dance was very different.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” Moyo says.
“Me neither. If I did, I would’ve just said hello.”
Moyo lets out a weighted exhale. “So, we good? Do we need to report this to Merc or anyone?”
Considering the employee handbook and my selfish goal, I say, “We didn’t go beyond dancing, and we didn’t know it was each other.
If your mask didn’t fall off, this would be any other meeting.
Therefore, we don’t need to, but if you feel more comfortable or would rather change coaches, I completely understand. ”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.”
“I’m very comfortable from where I’m sitting. Are you?”
“As I could ever be, Coach.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief and amusement. I can’t look away. Like I’m being consumed by a black hole, the pull is intense and out of my control. It takes everything to force myself back into reality.
I clear my throat in a semblance of professionalism. “Before we get into the specifics of the date, I’d like to get to know you and your interests more. Sounds good?” I ask cautiously. She stormed out the last time I tried to dig deeper.
“I actually wanted to apologize for our last meeting. It was a little unnerving to be told that my meticulously put-together profile wasn’t good enough.” Moyo picks at her fingernails.
I stretch my hand towards her. Not touching, of course.
But holding space. “Dating profiles are hard. Distilling yourself and your wants into a few hundred words is near impossible. Especially because we rarely think about what we want. We just go with the flow until something clicks, but that doesn’t happen for everyone.
And it’s not just in dating, but almost every facet of life.
We hardly ever sit down to reflect on what we truly want.
” My mind drifts away from dating to my life, my role as Saturn.
Ever since I took on this role, I haven’t had a minute to examine how I want my life to go. Do I even have a life to direct when I’m beholden to my family and godly duties?
“Sounds like you can relate.” Moyo’s voice softens.
“Can’t we all?”
“Touché,” Moyo says. Her eyes light up again. “I have an idea. I know you have questions for me. How about when I answer, you do the same.”
“Moyo…”
“Remember? I don’t do well with solo vulnerability. Plus, a conversation is better for follow-up questions. You can dig deeper. You get to know me, I get to know and trust you. It’s a win-win.”
I shake my head. “I really shouldn’t. Everything should be focused on you.”
“And it will be. Unless you don’t want to share. It’s okay if you can’t handle it.” She shrugs, but her lowered pitch makes her tone the furthest thing from nonchalant.
Succumbing to the moment, I drop my pitch to match hers. “Moyo, I can handle whatever you give me.”
The entire room melts away and the late fall weather evaporates along with it. I thought Saturn was cold and unfeeling, but I feel a foreign, burgeoning heat.
If this is a sign I’m not good at this job, I accept it. I’d rather be warm, my blood rushing at a probably unhealthy rate, than cold and measured like my father.
Neither of us say a word, and my eyes fall on her parting plump, gorgeous lips.
In another world, I’d make a move, but Moyo deserves more than that. I am beholden to an unforgiving, isolating duty. And I refuse to be like my father.
Despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to stop, I sit back and give a piss-poor attempt at laughter. It’s stiff and undeniably awkward, but it brings us back to some air of normalcy.
Moyo sits back as well. She clears her throat. “So, what’s your first question?”