8
“So.” Uzezi leaned forward, a serious, almost severe expression on his face, which told me he was about to be really fucking unserious. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“Oh my God.”
He snorted at his own antics, then we were both laughing. Underneath our table, just like back at Tamara’s and Ezra’s, his ankles were hooked around mine. He rolled one or both every other minute, not-so-casually stroking the side of my foot with his own.
I could barely meet his gaze, my heart and lower belly fluttering and popping like they were made entirely of fizz.
It felt like I was in an alternate universe, the fact that I was literally having one of my dream dates with my best friend, and that best friend was Uzezi.
I repeated the sentence in my head because it just refused to feel real.
The restaurant was truly luxurious, modern, with bright, low hanging lamps that bathed the place in soft yellow light. Pale, yellow-brown wooden floors contrasted nicely with dark tables and walls, and lovely, comfortably cushioned dark grey chairs.
Despite Uzezi’s insistence that I order anything I want, we didn’t even have to do that because he’d apparently already pre-ordered one of the restaurant’s recommended full courses when he’d booked our spot.
While they prepared our starter course, we were served the best wine I’d ever tasted—and I didn’t even like alcoholic wine.
“No, but let’s be serious,” Uzezi said, swirling the wine in his glass, looking at me with hooded eyes. I’d barely taken a sip of my own and I already felt drunk. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“Uzezi,” I said flatly. “You literally know everything about me.”
“Do I?”
“Oh my God.”
He tried to hold back his laughter, taking another sip from his wine. “Let’s start with the basics, shall we?”
I sighed like I was put upon, even though my lips were curving helplessly. “If you must.”
“Favourite colour?”
“You know what my favourite colour is, Uzi.”
“Do I?”
I wanted to tease him about how badly he pissed me off when I actually thought about the question. My favourite colour had changed from the last time we’d talked about it, which must’ve been years ago.
“Fine,” I said, deciding to indulge him. “It’s pink. Like, a magenta pink.”
His eyes roved briefly, pointedly over my curls, his smile smug. “Is it?” he said with exaggerated surprise. “But I could’ve sworn it was yellow.”
“You know it’s no longer yellow.”
“For the purpose of our date, let’s assume I don’t know anything about you that’s changed since we were teenagers.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I shook my head, even though we both knew I was still going to play along. The smile I was failing to keep off my lips said as much.
“What’s your favourite colour?” I asked with faux breathiness, leaning forward and widening my eyes like I really wanted to know.
“Guess.” He winked.
“That’s not how this works, Uzi.”
“Damn, I didn’t know there were rules to this game—a game I literally just made up, mind you.”
I snorted. “What do I get if I’m right?”
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips. My lower belly tightened. “A kiss.”
My pulse went wobbly. “So, you weren’t already planning on kissing me after our date?” I flirted, peeking up at him from underneath my lashes.
His gaze darkened. “Two kisses.”
Oh my God. It took effort to hold in my laughter; if I didn’t, I’d probably bray like a donkey.
“Fine. You drive a hard bargain. It’s still yellow, isn’t it?” Yes, we’d both had the same favourite colour once upon a time. Though I was pretty sure that, unlike me, his was still the same.
“Ding, ding, ding, ding.”
“Do I get my kiss now or?” I gave him that sultry look from underneath my lashes again.
I expected him to return with a quip, but instead, he picked my right hand up from the table, then brought it to his mouth.
He kept his eyes locked on mine as he pressed his soft lips to the back of my palm.
I felt the brief contact zing through my entire body, peaking my nipples and warming the spot between my legs.
Jesus.
He dropped his hand on the table, but didn’t let go of mine.
“All right.” He leaned back in his seat, still loosely holding my hand, and I tried not to stare at his …
everything. The way he looked in that fitted kaftan, his thick body straining the fabric.
The way he filled his seat, powerful and confident and cocky and handsome.
“Time for the big guns. What are your thoughts on kids?” He waggled his eyebrows again.
I was about to give him a flippant answer when the question fully registered and I paused. And even though I knew he was just messing around, I said, with a coy smile of my own, “You know what? Maybe you actually don’t know everything about me.”
“Wait, what?” He leaned forward, his focus on me—impossibly—intensifying. As he moved, his ankles did, too, rubbing sensually against mine. I tried not to shiver. “What’s this I’m hearing now?”
I squirmed. “It’s a … recent development. That I may not want kids, I mean.” My eyes flickered away from his.
“At all?”
“At all,” I said firmly.
“Huh.” He tilted his head, and it was my turn to take a sip from my own wine to escape his scrutiny. “Okay, so, maybe I don’t know everything about you. What else have you been hiding from me, eh, Ofure? This is how it starts, you know. Your hatred of me.”
I snorted out a laugh. “You piss me off so fucking bad. What have you been hiding from me?”
“Well, now that you’ve said you don’t want kids I’m curious about why not.”
I shrugged. “I’ve just come to realise it was only something I wanted because I thought I was supposed to. The moment I realised I had a choice, I decided maybe it’s not something I want after all. That’s basically it.”
“Huh.” He looked lost in thought for a moment, then his focus was back on me, and I was back to suppressing giddy shivers. God, what was even happening right now? This was Uzezi, for fuck’s sake, what was happening. “Maybe I don’t want kids, either.”
“For fuck’s sake, Uzi—”
He burst out laughing. “I’m serious! I’m not just saying that because you did. I’m serious, Ofure, stop looking at me like that. It’s like what you just said—I’ve never really given it much thought. It’s just a thing I’m supposed to want, right? To continue my “legacy”.” He rolled his eyes.
I laughed. Okay, maybe he really had given it some thought.
“On a lighter note, here’s something you don’t know about me: I want to be fluent in French, Spanish, Chinese, and Korean by the time I’m thirty.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t, in fact, known that. “Wow. That’s … ambitious. But doable,” I added, knowing Uzezi and his zeal. Then I sighed. “You’re going to make me fluent right alongside you, aren’t you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t even argue,” he said with a laugh. “What about careers?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Excited to take over our fathers’ firm?” His gaze grew hot, lingering. “Damn. You’d make a sexy fucking CEO.”
“Jesus Christ.” I blushed. Our first course came before I could properly panic; if I addressed what he’d said in any other capacity, he’d know instantly about my discontent.
And I was in no way ready for that conversation.
I immediately dove in once our waiter disappeared and Jesus fucking Christ. “What the fuck did they put in this?” I said after swallowing, stars in my eyes. “An angel’s tears?”
Uzezi almost choked on his bite. I chuckled, and the topic was thankfully forgotten.
By some unspoken consensus, we continued this unintentional game Uzezi had concocted, trading new, little pieces of knowledge like we really were getting to know each other for the first time.
Sure, we’d have shared it all eventually—or kind of subconsciously absorbed the information via osmosis just from how much time we spent together—but doing it now with the clear intent between us made the date feel terrifyingly real.
Every time I tried to ground myself back to reality, Uzezi stroked the side of his leg against mine, or said something—or simply just looked at me and I was right back in the clouds.
If he wasn’t him, and I wasn’t me, I’d probably have started to fall in love with him right then. Which was a strange and frightening thought, one I hastily pretended I hadn’t thought at all.
He held my hand when we left the restaurant and got into the limo to go back home. When I glanced at him, like it had been happening all night—every single time my eyes had met his—my lower belly fluttered madly.
“Favourite food?” he asked with a quirked mouth, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.
It seemed the happier and bouncier I’d become as our date progressed, the darker and sexier Uzezi had gotten in turn, his heavily lidded eyes drinking me in like the sight of my happiness was quenching some immeasurable thirst he had.
“Oh, are we still playing that game?” I teased.
“Did we ever stop?”
I snorted. “Fried rice, if I make it myself. Isoko delicacy”—He laughed because I said it the exact way our fathers did whenever our mothers prepared the traditional dish—“but only if my mum’s the one making it.”
“Obviously,” he said with a laugh. My mum did make it better than his mum or I did. “For me? Pepper soup, if my mum’s making it.”
“Obviously.”
We were grinning like buffoons. “And fried rice, if you’re the one making it.”
“Flatterer.” I blushed, my heart deciding to join my fluttering stomach, beating madly beneath my ribs.
He laughed, then his smile went soft and warm. The fluttering of my heart and in my belly doubled. His thumb was still stroking the back of my palm, and I suddenly couldn’t think of anything beyond that tiny caress. The air between us thickened.
“Isn’t it so weird how not weird this is?” I couldn’t help but blurt, my voice high and breathless.
“Right?” Uzezi agreed with a chuckle. He didn’t stop looking at me with those dark, heavy eyes, his thumb gently stroking and stroking and stroking; I almost couldn’t stand it.