6
“Never have I ever ...” Tamara paused for dramatic effect, her eyes sparkling with something that had me automatically bracing myself. “... kissed a girl.”
“I’m taking that one as targeted harassment,” Prince said as he, Uzezi, Ezra, and I took a shot, sending all of us laughing.
“Wait, o,” Bernice said, just as Tamara and Fiona also took a shot, the former with a mischievous smile, while the latter was blushing furiously. “Wait, wait, wait. Both of you have kissed girls? You—what? Huh?”
We all burst out laughing again, though I was just as surprised.
Almost everyone in our friend group was queer; it was how we’d met, during freshers’ week of first year at a mixer thrown by the university’s Queer African Union; we’d bonded over being first years, our queerness, the fact that we were all Nigerian, and that, for literally all of us, it had been the first time we were publicly letting ourselves claim that part of our identities.
Uzezi and I were bisexual, Fiona was biromantic and demisexual, Tamara and Ezra were both pansexual, Dayo was gay, Bernice identified as queer, and the only unqueer person in our midst was Prince.
He’d been a flatmate of Dayo’s in first year and they’d apparently just “clicked”.
When he’d tagged along with Dayo to one of our group hang outs, he’d seamlessly meshed with the rest of us, so we’d happily taken him in as our token straight.
In the nearly three years we’ve known each other, Fiona has never so much as looked at anyone—regardless of their gender—with interest, and Tamara and Ezra have been dating practically since that first, fateful QAU mixer where we’d all met.
If either of them had so much as kissed a frog, we’d all have known about it. Right?
“Y’all don’t know everything about me,” Tamara said with a wink.
“Nah, you I trust, but Fiona?” Bernice exclaimed.
“I don’t think I like your tone,” Tamara said playfully, at the same time that Fiona complained, “Why are you saying my name like that?” but she was blushing. “Just because I’m an introvert doesn’t mean I’ve never ... you know.”
“Hear, hear,” Dayo said, lifting his empty shot glass in a mock toast.
“I mean, I was thinking more because of the whole demisexual thing, but colour me wrong, I guess,” Bernice said, sending us into laughter once more.
Fiona shrugged jerkily. “I have kissed and been kissed,” she said primly. “In fact, the kissing was one of the many pieces of evidence of my demisexuality. Now that we’re done acting like I’m an alien, can we continue?”
“Oya, I’m sorry,” Bernice said dramatically. We laughed again.
“All right, my turn,” Uzezi said, and as usual, practically since the moment he’d shown up today, the sound of his voice made my heartbeat stutter, and my lower belly tighten. “Never have I ever driven a car.”
“Uzezi ... et tu?” Prince said with mock betrayal, and we all burst out laughing again.
Uzezi shrugged unapologetically. We were all seated in a circle on the carpeted floor of the sitting room, with Uzezi sitting directly to my left.
I was leaning back slightly, resting on my left palm, and even though Uzezi was right-handed, he’d been using his left hand to take his shots, while his right hand rested on the space between us, the side of his wrist brushing not-so-innocently against mine.
I could barely think over the soft touch against that small strip of skin, ninety percent of my attention focused on what felt like the smallest, sweetest caress known to mankind.
Every time either of us shifted, even for the briefest moment, it had our wrists rubbing, making my heart threaten to play leapfrog behind my ribcage. I was a sitting, ticking timebomb, with what seemed like seconds before exploding.
That morning, despite Uzezi’s late-night assurances, I’d woken up full of disbelief.
Surely last night hadn’t happened. Surely I hadn’t kissed my best friend so wantonly, like all I’d ever wanted in my life was the feel of his hot mouth on mine.
Surely I hadn’t been filled with so much lust after said kisses that I’d actually touched myself—to sexy thoughts of my best friend! !! Surely none of that had happened.
But it had happened, and the Ofure of Before and the one of After were staunchly refusing to reconcile.
The Ofure of Before was thinking, what the actual fuck?
This is weird. This is so fucking weird!
While the Ofure of After was thinking, maybe we should kiss him again, just to make sure.
The Ofure of After’s thoughts made my lower belly dip deliciously.
I wanted to kiss him again. Oh God, what the hell was happening?
I’d come over to Tamara’s and Ezra’s new place on autopilot, Bernice in tow.
Fiona, being Tamara’s best friend, had already been over early this morning, helping her and Ezra move the rest of their belongings from the old place.
While the rest of us had been the last to know about the move—Tamara and Ezra had wanted it to be a surprise and had only told us after they’d literally moved the last box—Tamara rarely could, if ever, hide anything from her best friend.
Every time one of my friends spoke to me—so much as looked at me—I felt like they should know what had happened last night. Couldn’t they see I was irrevocably changed?
I kept waiting for Fiona to slyly ask why Uzezi had spent so long in my room before leaving, but she didn’t.
And why would she, when Uzezi had done that numerous times before and it hadn’t meant shit?
Yeah, she’d been the one to suggest the kiss, but unlike me, she obviously wasn’t spending every waking moment wondering when or if it would happen.
By the time Uzezi and the guys arrived, I’d barely been able to hear anything over the sound of my thundering heartbeat. While my friends’ voices sounded like they were underwater, Uzezi’s was bright and clear, the familiar sound making my spine quiver with an unfamiliar tingle.
What’s going to happen now? Had been the general direction of my thoughts before he’d arrived. We hadn’t texted again that morning, which was rare but not unusual. Were we going to talk about it? Here? Oh God. I didn’t know if I could do that.
But no, Uzezi didn’t talk about it.
Instead, he ... touched me. Stood close to me. Talked to me in that deep, low voice that did strange, fluttery things to my insides.
I found myself wanting to hug him. To bury my face in his throat and inhale his scent—cocoa butter mixed with the orange zest from his shampoo and conditioner. He wasn’t wearing his usual cologne today; I didn’t think I’d have been able to handle it if he had.
When he’d stood behind me while I’d been pretending to focus on the fried rice, I’d had the irrational urge to yank him even closer so he ended up crushing me against the stove; it felt like I needed to feel his weight on mine, or I would literally crumble.
I’d just wanted to touch him, badly, in any capacity.
And like he wanted the same thing—or more likely, he could read the desire plain on my face for all to see—he wouldn’t stop touching me.
“Good idea!” Tamara had said when she noticed him piling dishes on the counter between the kitchenette and the dining area. “Let me help with that.”
“Let us help with that,” Dayo corrected, trailing after her.
Each time Uzezi went to the cupboards for something—the cups, the cutlery, and the serving spoons—he let his hand rest briefly on me.
My hip. My waist. My back. My shoulder. Each touch burned like a brand, forever imprinted on my soul. I wanted that touch all over my fucking body.
Good God.
When the stoves were off, and the food was dished, he sat opposite me on the dining table.
I nearly flew out of my skin when he stretched his legs underneath to casually hook his ankles around mine.
When I met his gaze—which I suddenly seemed unable to hold for longer than the breath between seconds—his eyes were dark, hooded. My lower belly tightened.
We stayed like that throughout the meal. And after Fiona and Bernice forced me to remain sitting—“You cooked! The least we can do is put dishes in the damn dishwasher.”—Uzezi’s ankles remained hooked around mine.
It felt like I was missing a limb when, after the meal, Tamara held up one of the bottles of vodka, Ezra following behind her with a grin and shot glasses, and we had to leave the table and head to the sitting room. I felt the phantom touch of Uzezi’s ankles around mine all the way to the parlour.
The feeling didn’t last long though, because Uzezi didn’t hesitate to sit beside me. And when he dropped his hand to rest on the floor beside mine, making sure our wrists were in contact, I’d nearly forgotten how to breathe.
A laptop, either Tamara’s or Ezra’s, was connected to a cute, small speaker designed to resemble a peach, and had been playing songs from one of their Afrobeats playlists.
“Never have I ever”—I guessed it was finally Prince’s turn—“had an orgasm.”
“Come on, now,” Tamara said, as we all took our shots. “After all your complaining, you take a direct hit like that? I thought you wanted this to be hard.”
“I needed to take my revenge.” Everyone’s lines so far had had Prince drinking, and he’d eventually—playfully—started taking it personally. “Even if I had to take myself down with all of you.”
Then, like we were in a sitcom, we all seemed to notice Fiona’s indecision at the exact same time.
“What?” Bernice screeched.
Prince booed, automatically assuming she was trying to fuck with us.
“What’s happening right now?” Tamara asked, glancing from Fiona’s still full shot glass to her face like either would explain it.
Fiona quickly downed her shot with a grimace. “Happy? Jesus. Leave me alone.”
“How can you not know if you’ve ever had an orgasm?” Bernice said with a cackle. “Do you not ... you know?” She made a crude gesture with her hand.
“I mean—” Fiona couldn’t seem to meet anyone’s eyes. “I do. I guess. Technically.”
“Technically?” Tamara almost yelled. “What does that mean?”