4 #2
I bit back a hysterical giggle as I replied, “Hi.”
“Shall we lie down?”
“Yeah. All right.”
A shaky breath eased out of me as we moved up the bed until we were lying on our sides, facing each other, with me on my left side, my back to my wardrobe a few feet from the bed, and him on his right, his back to the wall my bed was pressed against. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so I could see his face and expression clearly.
He shifted closer until we were almost breathing the same air.
“Fure,” he murmured.
“Yes, Uzi?”
He grinned slightly. “Have you ever found me attractive?”
I felt slightly thrown off at the question. “I mean, you are attractive.”
“Not what I’m asking.”
“I don’t know,” I said flippantly. “Have you ever found me attractive?”
I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to grow suddenly serious.
“Remember when your family moved to Abuja when we were eleven and we didn’t see each other at all for like, five years?”
“Right. Yeah. I remember.”
Uzezi and I had practically grown up together.
Our fathers had been best friends in university, and had coincidentally started dating our mothers, who had also been best friends.
They’d gotten married practically at the same time, gotten pregnant at the same time, with our fathers working at the same architecture firm, our mothers in the same bank, while our families lived literal houses apart on the same street.
We were so close and had known each other for so long I sometimes forgot about those five years we’d literally been in different states, after my father had decided to test out the big city, with the plan for Uzezi’s family to join us over there eventually.
My communication with Uzezi hadn’t been great those first two to three years apart—spotty phone calls, usually only on Christmas and New Years if one or the other family was unable to visit; occasional, brief, unserious text messages on birthdays and other holidays; and tagging each other in memes on social media—but, surprisingly, our friendship hadn’t suffered for it.
As we’d gotten older, we’d gotten better at it, until, somehow, he’d become that one person I could truly be myself with.
“Then my family also eventually moved,” Uzezi continued, “and our dads threw a party to celebrate the merger of their companies.”
“Ah, yes,” I said with a fond laugh. “The party where you tried to drown me.”
“You know what—”
“Am I lying?”
“I did not try to drown you, Ofure; come on.”
“What would you call dunking my head underwater when you know I can’t swim?”
“We were in the shallow side!”
“You ruined my hair.”
“And therein lies the crux of the problem.”
We stared at each other. Then burst out laughing.
How many times had we had this playful argument?
We could laugh at it now, but at the time, I’d been so upset at my ruined hair that I’d burst into tears.
Humiliated not at his dunking, but the fact that he’d witnessed what at the time I’d thought was a “girly, overly emotional” reaction to “just” some hair—yeah, I’d had some internalised misogyny to work through—I remembered ignoring him for days afterward until all his numerous apologies had sufficiently soothed my hurt ego. Good times.
“I’ve never told you this ...” Uzezi turned serious again.
“But the reason I dunked your head in the water was because … well. When I saw you walk out wearing that gorgeous orange two piece—” My lower belly did a funny thing.
I remembered that bikini; it had been my first one, one I’d had to beg and cry and plead for because my mother had thought bikinis were too “mature” for a sixteen-year-old.
She’d relented only after I’d told her it was all the rage amongst all my mates, and did she want me to be the odd one out?
“—for the first time, I saw you not just as my best friend but as ... a girl. An attractive girl. I almost didn’t recognise it was you at first; I was too busy ogling and drooling. ”
“Ah. And so, instead of trying to confront your awkward teenage boy feelings,” I deadpanned, ignoring the way my lower belly was still doing that funny, fluttery thing, “you decided to dunk my head in the water.”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it? Can confirm: after that, I definitely only saw you as my best friend.”
“I guess I can’t blame you for trying.”
I felt more than saw his left hand move, landing boldly on my right thigh.
My breath caught. I was wearing a glittery, sea green, fitted long-sleeved mini dress with a cowl collar.
As we’d laid down, it had slid a few inches up my thighs, and Uzezi’s hand had landed right at the point where the dress ended and skin began.
“All right?” he asked, his voice low.
I tried not to squirm. I felt the warmth of his palm on my thigh all the way to my marrows. “Yes. No. Maybe.” The darkness had to be doing something to me because I was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I don’t know. This already feels weird.”
“Hm.” Something about that rumbly sound had my lower belly dipping deliciously.
I blinked.
Huh?
The hand on my thigh squeezed lightly. He shifted forward on the pillows, slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him.
I didn’t. Our eyes were locked, and maybe it was the comfort provided by the darkness, but all my worries abruptly disappeared.
I was reminded that this was my best friend—I didn’t see him as a brother or other relation, but neither did I see him like I did any of my other friends.
He was simply ... Uzi. A category all on his own. Why would kissing him be weird?
My eyes fluttered shut when his face was about an inch away from mine, my heartbeat thundering like an African drum.
My belly dipped again when our lips met, soft and sweet.
I immediately felt something—like a match igniting inside me—but he pulled back after the gentle peck before I could push forward to explore that feeling. My eyes fluttered open. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding.
“Well,” he breathed. His eyes looked so dark. I tried not to stare at the soft curve of his mouth. Had his lips always been that full, that pink? His beard had been so soft, too. “That was ... nice.”
“Right,” I said with a giggle. “It was nice.” But, despite whatever strange thing was going on in my chest and my stomach, that was about it.
Then again, I felt like I could do with “nice”.
Nice was practically the bare minimum. I felt a frisson of excitement and only a little bit of anxiety that I could actually do this with him, and it’d be ... fine.
And fine was good.
“I don’t think I want nice,” Uzezi said, shattering my tentative optimism.
“Oh?” I tensed up immediately. I couldn’t look him in the eye. What did he mean by that? Should I pull away?
“You’re freaking out.” He sounded amused.
“No, I’m not.” I sounded petulant.
He snorted out a laugh, and I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched in response.
The hand on my thigh slid up to my hip, grasping firmly.
I gasped as he yanked me close like I weighed absolutely nothing, shifting away slightly as he did so I was lying practically in the middle of the bed.
Then he leaned up, holding himself up on his right elbow, using the hand on my waist to gently push until I was lying flat on my back.
He got halfway on top of me, sliding his left knee between my thighs, pushing my dress up even higher.
My legs automatically clamped around his knee, a hot flush spreading all over my thankfully dark skin.
His left hand was still on the generous curve of my hip, his thumb stroking the softness of the edge of my belly.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, voice gruff.
I hesitated. He raised both his brows. I laughed, rolling my eyes a little, but found myself relaxing and closing my eyes. I hadn’t realised I’d tensed up again.
“Fure,” he whispered again. I felt him close the distance between us until his face was very close to mine. “Put your arms around me.”
For some odd ass fucking reason, at the soft sound of that part-plea, part-demand, I shivered.
His shoulders were a little too high, so I wrapped my arms around his torso.
My fingers tentatively clung to the back of his shirt like I subconsciously needed something to hold onto, and my heart was back to pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
I could almost feel his gaze, which was probably focused on my mouth—could almost perfectly imagine his eyebrows furrowed with an intensity I’d never had directed at me before. At least, not from him. My lower belly clenched up hard and tight at the image.
Wait. What the fuck?
“Ofure.” His voice was husky. This time, it was definitely a command when he whispered, “Say my name.”
Jesus.
“Uzezi,” I whispered, helplessly squeezing my thighs together. The reminder of the position of his knee—still pressed between my legs—made all my nerves light up.
What the fuck was happening right now?
“Again.” His voice was soft, low.
“Uzezi.” I swallowed thickly, helplessly opening my eyes, looking up to find he was already looking at me, like he’d been waiting for my gaze. The eye contact shot through me like a bolt of lightning.
What. The. Fuck???
It felt like I was in a Glitch, one that, instead of instinctively recoiling from, I seemed to be letting myself sink into instead.
“One more time,” he commanded softly, his lips ticking up in one corner.
At that little hint of a smile, something in me … shifted.
“Uzezi,” I whispered, my voice practically a sigh.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he sighed back, like I’d given him something he’d been waiting for.
I whimpered—I literally fucking whimpered—when his lips found the side of my jaw, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there.
Oh. My back arched and my thighs spread slightly. I felt helpless and hypnotised, completely caught in his web.
“Ofure.” He purred my name, and I started to get wet. Just like that.
“Uzezi,” I whispered back, extremely confused and hopelessly turned on.