Chapter 24 Moyo
Moyo
WITH AN HOUR LEFT ON THE CLOCK, WE DECIDE TO SHARE a ride from the restaurant.
It’s the economical and environmentally conscious option.
Not at all fueled by a desire to be near one another.
At my house, I expect to walk to my front door alone and pick up whatever this relationship might be tomorrow, but I hear Niyi’s footsteps behind me.
I turn around and raise an eyebrow. He gives me one of his looks, but I don’t budge, not this time.
“It’s the right thing to do to walk a lady to her door.” He stops his stride, hands in his pockets.
“You want to walk me”—I look at my door and then back at him—“four steps to my door?” I chuckle.
“The dat—practice date,” Niyi corrects himself, “is still currently happening. Let me walk you to your door, please.”
The coolness in his voice forces me to nod. I can’t with this man. He catches up to me and we walk in step. Our hands hover next to each other but don’t touch. Heat is radiating off him.
I reach my door. “This is me.” My voice shakes as I dig out my key.
“It is you,” he says, looking anywhere but at me.
I place the key in the lock and open the door. We speak at the same time.
“You—”
“I—”
We laugh at the same time.
“You go,” he says.
“Wanna come in for a drink?” I ask, and his eyes widen slightly. “Or you can go home, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“A drink would be lovely. Thank you.”
He walks in behind me. I take off my coat and hang it behind the door. He does the same.
I lean on my heels and point my thumb toward the kitchen.
“Let me go get you that drink. Any requests?” I walk backwards, not wanting to take my eyes off him.
The back of my calf bumps against the couch, and I stumble a bit.
God, this is embarrassing. He moves to help, but I wave him off.
“I’m good.” I find my footing and heat rushes to my ears.
“I’ll take anything that won’t kill you.”
“Comedian.” The air feels lighter now that my calf is in pain. One burden for another. I look at the lone bottle of red and raise it so he can see. “Red?”
He responds, “I’ll have what you’re having.”
I crisscross the stems of two glasses in one hand and grab the bottle with the other. I make an obvious effort to sidestep the couch on the way back, and it earns me a slight chuckle. He takes the glasses from me and sets them on the coffee table before us. I take a seat beside him on the couch.
“Glad to see you made it in one piece.” He examines the bottle of 2019 Tignanello that I purchased years ago on a whim. It was an expensive wine, but what is life without leaning into the finer things it offers? I hurry back into the kitchen to grab the bottle opener.
“This is the wine you’ve been saving,” he says. I’m hyper-aware of the distance between us as I sit beside him, our knees a hair’s breadth away.
“Yeah…I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who has a fancy bottle they could show off,” I say.
Because of my student visa, I couldn’t work as many hours during college as other people who needed money.
And despite my dad, bless his heart, doing everything he could to ensure my upkeep was decent, I never had enough for extras.
After I got my green card and started earning the big hospital dollars, I started making little frivolous purchases like this one as a token to the younger me, who went to bed many nights on Indomie instant noodles.
“And you want to share it with me?” Niyi shifts his weight and pivots to face me. The earnest look on his face is piercing. I struggle to pinpoint whether it’s happiness or sadness.
“Good things must be experienced sometimes.” I reach for the bottle. Let’s get this show on the road.
“Thank you,” he says while I twist the corkscrew in. Our silence amplifies the pop as I uncork the bottle.
“I mean it.” He slows my hand. “Thank you for sharing a part of you with me.”
He takes the bottle from me and pours us two perfect glasses.
He swirls the glass at the base with his thick, steady fingers, making the almost purple liquid slosh in the bowl.
He brings it to his nose. I already know the scents that are attacking him.
It might’ve been a spontaneous spend, but I did my research afterward.
The top notes of blackberries, dark cherries, and plums seem to please because he smiles.
He takes a sip and smacks his plump lips as he deciphers the flavors before taking another sip. He makes drinking look so good.
“Thoughts?” The hoarseness in my voice surprises me.
“Taste it yourself,” he responds, raising his glass. I reach for mine, but he gently holds my shoulder, moving me away from the coffee table and toward his face. He tips his glass towards me, like he did at the restaurant, but this time, it feels more intimate.
“That’s your glass.” My voice comes out low.
“And I want to share mine with you.” The bass in his voice is more prominent.
He scoots towards me, and our legs touch.
I lean forward, and his fingers brush the side of my face as he places the glass on my lips.
When the dark liquid touches my tongue, colors burst before my eyes.
Blacks, dark reds, and purples come to light.
As it settles, hints of vanilla, oak, and cinnamon linger.
I close my eyes and take in the flavors.
I go back for another sip and moan lightly as each taste finds its place on my tongue.
“Thoughts?” He tries to mimic my earlier tone, but it comes out more rugged.
“It’s delicious,” is all I can say while I look at him and attempt to keep my composure. It might be the drinks I had at the restaurant or this gorgeous wine, but I’m feeling frisky.
I take the glass from him and place it on the table. He shoots me a look. “So, are we at the ‘kiss-and-goodnight’ part of the date?” I ask. “Or are we gonna wait and do a countdown like on New Year’s Eve?”
Instead of my desired reaction, I’m met with silence. Did I ruin the vibe?
“Ignore that. Too many drinks. I know you’re still on the job.
Ignore me,” I blurt out and jump off the couch, turning my back to him.
I am so stupid. How could I be so stupid?
Jumping the gun when all I had to do was wait out the hour.
He’s definitely going to leave, and it will be awkward, and I’ll never see him again.
Great job, girl, you killed it (the mood, that is).
I hear him rise from the couch. Soon, his body heat mingles with mine.
“Moyo.” His voice is low, serious. “Ignoring you is not an option.”
“No, you don’t have to make me feel better.” My mouth is running like a broken tap. “I know we said three hours—and there’s still time left—but if tonight’s not the night, we can circle back later. It’s fine.” He pulls my hair to the side, his breath kissing my earlobe.
“You’re insufferable, do you know that?” he asks. “I said, ignoring you is not an option.” His body pushes up against mine. He’s so firm and hard, all the air rushes out of my lungs.
I feel dizzy.
“I am…” he pauses, “your coach for another thirty minutes.” The strain in his voice is undeniable. “I shouldn’t want to do this, not before I—not this soon after we decided to wait.”
I tremble at the weight of his words, the tension in his voice, his fingers lightly caressing my neck. I attempt to face him, but his other hand holds my waist in place. I gasp at the contact. I didn’t know he was this strong.
“Moyo,” he moans, and my name sounds like a desperate prayer on his lips.
“If you turn around, I will kiss you. If you don’t, I will leave here, and we can pretend this never happened.
You can call me tomorrow if you’d still like my company.
It’s entirely up to you.” His warm breath fans my ear, and I clench my thighs.
Who cares about thirty extra minutes? It’s midnight somewhere.
I turn around, and his eyes are on mine. He keeps one hand at my waist and moves the other from my neck, lightly trailing down the space between my breasts. I can’t look away as his fingers tease me. I want to yell at him to move them lower already.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he breathes, moving a hand to my face. He holds me sternly—his thumb is in the center of my lower jaw, and his fingers relaxed on my cheek.
“And why not?” I flick my eyes up to hold his gaze, keeping still to savor his steady hold on me.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth. “You know you want to,” I tease. Niyi’s head tips back, a breathy exhale falling from his parted lips. He returns his heavy gaze to mine, and my mouth becomes increasingly wet.
Every second increases the cravings…my desire to be touched by him.
“Moyo.” He leans in and whispers directly in my ear, “Know what you are to me?”
I can barely register his words, the pool between my thighs is so distracting. He pulls me close and takes my helix between his front teeth, nipping my ear hard.
“Mhmm,” I whimper, completely forgetting the question.
He presses his head against my cheek. The friction from his facial hair rubs against my smooth skin, further lighting my body on fire. I can’t see him, but his groan reverberates against my throat. “You’re my favorite,” he breathes, then puts his lips to mine.
I thought the wine was good, but it’s nothing compared to this.
How did I ever think I’d kissed anyone before this?
Our lips move in unison to choreography my consciousness isn’t privy to, but somehow my mouth knows all the steps.
Niyi’s like a never-ending wine glass overflowing with lust, and I’m drunk on him.