Page 3 of Two’s Better

“Ugh.” I thunked my head against the wall behind me.

“Wetin happen?” Uzezi asked a little distractedly, not taking his eyes off his phone.

“Nothing.” I heaved a dramatic sigh. “I just ...” I took a deep breath, subconsciously bracing myself. “I just can’t believe we’re about to graduate and we’ve never had sex.”

Uzezi paused. I felt that pause physically, deep in my bones, making me automatically freeze, too. Then slowly, still holding his phone up, he turned to look at me.

Our eyes locked, and for that brief second, I experienced what I’d been referring to in my head as a Glitch, capitalisation and all; a split second where I wasn’t me and he wasn’t him, and my heart was suddenly skipping and my belly flip-flopping for anyone other than my best friend. These “Glitches” were few and far between and always lasted nothing more than an instant; I’d blink and he was Uzezi and I was me again, and I’d think—with more than a mild hint of distaste—well, that was fucking weird.

His full lips—framed by a thick beard—ticked up in the corner, and the Glitch, impossibly, seemed to stretch, his dark eyes not leaving mine as he murmured, “Why?” He gave me a quick, playful onceover that made me feel like I’d been kissed by a flame, his voice going a few octaves deeper as he added, “Want to do something about it?”

“Stop it.” I picked up one of my pillows and whacked him in the face, effectively ending the Glitch, grinning widely when he laughed and batted the pillow away. “I’m serious.”

Uzezi sat up, his grin widening. “Wait, wait, wait …”

Goddammit, he was too smart for his own good.

“Don’t tell me you were actually planning on going home with that guy? Ah, ah, Ofure, is that you?”

“Shut up, oh my God, I’m being serious.” I picked the pillow up to hide my hot face, then dropped it, meeting his eyes. “Look, I know we’ve talked before about what we want our first times to be like”—Ah, shit, I was blushing again; memories of that night never failed to make me blush—“but I’ve decided wanting my first time to go perfectly is slightly unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” Uzezi looked incredulous, almost defensive.

“No, Uzi, don’t be like that. That’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean, then?”

I sighed, sinking back against the wall, staring up at a random spot on the ceiling. Uzezi shifted until he was sitting beside me, our shoulders pressed together, both of us staring up. I followed the impulse to rest my head on his shoulder, and he dropped his phone, sliding his hand down to tangle our fingers together.

I sighed with contentment. “I feel like, because I want my first time to be amazing, I’ve created this—this ideal partner in my head, right? So, like, with all the people I’ve dated, there’s always something ... off about them. Either they chew too loudly, or they hate animated movies, or they take me on dates to watch football at a bar when I’d literally told them I hate football—”

“That was one time, Ofure, and I’m still firmly of the belief that Sophia was a narcissist.”

I laughed. “Or they’re—I don’t know, just fucking boring—” He snorted, and I laughed again, I couldn’t help it. “But now I think the problem is really just me. No one’s going to be able to compete with the idealised version of this person I’ve created in my head, so, I think it’s high time I managed my expectations.”

Uzezi was quiet for a moment. The only sound was our breathing, and the sound of Fiona playing music in her room coming in slightly muffled through the wall we shared.

My voice was slightly quieter as I added, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with waiting for that special someone, or that special moment, I truly believe that, but maybe I’m tired of waiting. In how many months we’re going to graduate. It’s been four years since my last and only serious relationship—which was back in secondary school, mind you—and God knows how many Tinder dates and I haven’t met my “special someone”. I honestly think most of my dates failed because I put so much emphasis on taking it slow, on wanting to wait for just the right moment”—I said that last part slightly mockingly—“that they probably thought I wasn’t serious and moved on to the next best thing.”

Uzezi straightened abruptly, forcing me to lift my head. He looked almost furious. “Or maybe all those people were assholes and didn’t deserve you.” I grew warm all over. “Every single person you’ve dated who lasted more than the first date showed their fucking ass when you said you wanted to take things slow. Either they took it as a challenge, or they had some kind of fetish, or they took it really fucking personally. And for those who weren’t weirdos, there was something about them that rubbed you wrong, which is perfectly valid.”

“Thank you, Uzi,” I said softly, giving his hand a squeeze, “but my point still stands. I think all our teenage romanticising has gone straight to my head to be honest, because what even is the right moment, anyway? This is reality; almost nothing works according to plan. Either we find a way to go with the flow, or we set ourselves up for a world of disappointment.”

Uzezi’s eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth working like he wanted to say something, but he seemed to change his mind. When he did speak, I knew he’d planned on saying something else, but I didn’t want to push.

“So, what you’re saying is you want to just … get it over with?”

“Don’t make it sound so—ugh. I just don’t want it to mean so much anymore. Is that so bad?”

“No, of course not. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting sex for the sake of it, first time or no; a lot of people don’t care and that’s fine. If that’s what you really want.” His eyes were far too perceptive.

I stood to hide my expression, even though it was pointless because he’d know exactly what I was doing. My hand felt cold without his touch. “Have you ever thought maybe the reason we even put so much emphasis on our first times is because of, I don’t know, society’s expectations and all that shit? I mean, think about it. Realistically. It shouldn’t. Even. Matter.”

“It shouldn’t matter to whom?” Uzezi argued, shifting so he was sitting on the edge of the bed and facing me properly, swinging his legs around to balance his socked feet on the carpeted floor. “Wanting your first personal experience with sex to be a positive one has absolutely nothing to do with what the fuck society may or may not think.”

“But it’s not just a “positive” experience I want, is it? I want profound emotions and curling toes and stars in my eyes and—” I stopped and shook my head. “I just don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. And putting this “perfect first time” shit on a pedestal is going to do exactly that.”

“I …” Uzezi stopped, sounding heartbroken. He straightened. “You’re right, it’s probably not going to be perfect in the most literal sense of the word, but, for me, when I say perfect, I just mean that no matter what, it’s going to be good. It’s going to be everything.”