Page 19 of Two’s Better

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.