Page 17 of Two’s Better

As we made for the high-rise, my stomach—which already had me feeling peaky all day—tried to knot itself into a bow.

I didn’t know how I was going to react when I saw Ofure today. Damn. This must be how she felt every time she had a presentation; it felt like my stomach was literally trying to eject itself from my body. The feeling grew worse when we finally made it to the building, and Tamara buzzed us in; I swore I could feel the organ sitting somewhere in my throat.

What if last night was a fluke? What if we took one look at each other today and realised it was a mistake? Ofure was my best friend, for fuck’s sake; ignoring that one time with the orange bikini, and the other times—which were few and far between, I felt the need to emphasise—I’d never been attracted to her like that. And I knew she’d never felt that way about me, either, though I hadn’t failed to notice she’d skilfully evaded the question when I’d asked.

Last night had to be a fluke. It felt like I’d—like we’d both been taken over by something. A lust demon, most likely, Ofure would’ve said in that dry tone of hers, which made me smile to myself.

“Hey!” Tamara answered the door on Prince’s knock, and my pounding heart leapt up to join my stomach. Mint-green cat-eye glasses sat perched on her nose, contrasting nicely with her warm brown skin and chin-length ginger curls, a small, plain gold ring peeking from her nasal septum. She was a little shorter than Ofure, but just as wonderfully fat. “Ah! Thank you guys so much for coming!”

“Like we’d have missed it,” Prince said, dutifully accepting her hug.

“Oh my God, did you guys bring drinks?” Tamara exclaimed after she’d hugged me and Dayo, her voice and expression filled with obvious relief.

Dayo looked pointedly at Prince, and the latter pointedly ignored him. I shook my head in amusement. Those two would not kill me.

“I was just about to beg Ezra to go down to the shops but maybe now we don’t have to,” Tamara was saying, inviting herself to look into the bags. “Yup, we definitely don’t have to. Chai, you people have saved my life.” We snorted. “Thank you so, so much! Biko, come inside. Everyone’s already here. Ofure’s almost done with the food.”

The sound of her name made my stomach—which had dipped down to my chest cavity as we said our hellos—abruptly rise right back up into my throat.

The entryway was a long hallway with three doors, two on the wall to my right, and one straight down the corridor. An opening in the middle of the left wall presumably led to the rest of the flat.

Tamara led us there, and we stepped into an open floor plan. The kitchenette was directly to my left, the dining deeper in, divided from the former by a countertop. The sitting room was to the inner right, and I spied a little balcony on the far edge.

Ofure was standing in front of the stove, pretending to check on the food. How I could tell she was pretending, I didn’t fucking know. Something about the way she was holding her shoulders, maybe, the way she was pointedly not looking in our direction despite how loudly Tamara was talking, telling us not to mind the mess—there were opened and unopened boxes and bags everywhere—while Dayo told her we didn’t give a shit about that, and Prince playfully asked, “What mess?” She didn’t once look back, despite knowing I must be standing right here. I took the opportunity to peruse her form.

She was wearing one of her favourite dresses; it was a soft, baby blue and had a halter neck, with the two straps covering her breasts resembling falling petals. The dress was cinched to her waist, with a wide skirt that flowed freely to stop just below her knees. Her braids were pulled up tightly into a bun as they always were when she was cooking, leaving all that back bare, her dark brown skin glistening lightly with sweat.

I pictured her skin glistening for a reason other than her hovering over a hot stove, and felt desire hit me like a punch to the gut. The memory of her soft mouth, her sweet noises, her thick ass in my hand, flashed rapidly and vividly through my mind like I was having a near-death experience, my heartbeat ratcheting up to match.

Okay. So, maybe last night wasn’t a fluke, then. Fuck.

And if Ofure was deliberately ignoring me right now, that meant she was probably having the exact same worries I’d had.

I was moving before I could think it through. In fact, I seemed to have completely lost control of myself because instead of coming up next to her to say hi, I found myself crowding her in from behind.

Her shoulders stiffened. She didn’t turn around, even though she must’ve known it was me. I couldn’t help it; I lifted my right hand, gently brushing the tips of my fingers against the glistening curls at the nape of her neck. She shivered all over. I felt that shiver like another punch to my gut.

“Hey, Fure.” My voice came out unintentionally low.

Finally, finally, she looked at me, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Our gazes met for the barest second—but even that was enough to send butterflies fluttering madly in my stomach—before she turned back to the pot of fried rice in front of her, ducking her head. The back of her neck was so fucking pretty, her shoulders soft and round. Goddamn, I was down bad; I couldn’t say I’d ever in my life noticed someone’s neck and shoulders before.

“Hi, Uzi.” Her voice was equally soft and low. She sounded a bit odd.

It took me a moment to realise she was blushing. She was blushing. I’d never made her blush before. At least, not like this—not for the reasons I hoped she was blushing for right now.

Heat burned in my lower belly. My right hand found the curve of her hip, squeezing slightly. I heard her breath hitch. The sound made my gut clench again. I resisted the urge to step closer, to eradicate the space between our bodies. We were usually very tactile, so touching her like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but after last night, every single touch felt like it was laced with magic.

“That smells so good,” I murmured.

“Th-Thank you.”

I wanted to kiss her bare shoulder. The nape of her neck. The soft space between her shoulder blades. I wanted to press properly close, so she felt my warmth all along her back—wanted my left hand on her other hip so I was holding her properly.

I took a step to the side instead, letting my hand trail “accidentally” along the curve of her waist before reluctantly letting it fall to my side.

She looked at me again—another quick glance then her focus was back on the stove. My new position against the corner of the counter between the stove and the sink afforded me a view of her face, and I saw the blush this time; it was in the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her lips—shiny with pink gloss—curved shyly, helplessly at the corners. Her head was ducked, soft shoulders rounded.

Oh Jesus. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to make her blush again. I wanted to be close to her, so fucking badly it felt like I’d never wanted anything else in my life before.