Page 7 of Two’s Better

“And that’s why you’ve got me.”

I went through her work, making sure to take my time and be as meticulous as possible; she wouldn’t want anything less. As I did, I couldn’t help but think about the future—our future. Our tutors had it right with this Atelier thing, because it made it easier to imagine what it’d be like to have Ofure working by my side in our fathers’ joint firm, both of us sharing ideas and building, hopefully positively and permanently influencing Nigerian architecture for generations to come. Every time I thought about it, it gave me a giddy little rush. I honestly couldn’t wait.

“Nice work,” I said when I was done. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

She visibly brightened. “Yeah?” I pictured a tail behind her head wagging madly at the praise.

I grinned, not tempering my approval. “Yes. I mean it. This should at least be a 2:1.” She immediately frowned, and I laughed. “If you really want to get into that first-class territory, you’re going to have to redo those atrocious sketches.”

“Atrocious?”

I gave her a look, like, come on, now. She groaned dramatically, flopping back in her seat, which told me she knew I was right but just didn’t want to be arsed about it.

I laughed. “Come on. There are only six sketches here, and they don’t need to be masterpieces. You can bang it out in the next few minutes, easily. I’ll go get us a little something from the vending machine while you get started, all right?”

“Fine.” She grumpily yanked her laptop back, and I laughed again.

Despite her grumbling, she indeed finished her much-improved sketches in less than thirty minutes, beamed brightly at my dramatic nod of approval, scanned them, replaced them in her sheets, and we were officially done with our tech submission. All of Ofure’s stress almost immediately evaporated after we pressed “submit” on the portal online, her aura bright once more as we packed up our things and began to leave the library. The sight of her relaxed shoulders and small smile made my chest puff out slightly in accomplishment.

“And the Lord said …” She paused dramatically.

“It is finished,” I completed gravely.

We laughed.

“Should we order some Chinese?” I asked once we were outside.

She eyed me as she nudged our shoulders together. “Already rewarding me when the results aren’t even out yet?”

“We deserve a little treat for finishing this early,” I said with a playful grin and a shameless shrug. Most of the time, we worked until we had literal minutes to the deadline.

“You know what? I can’t argue with that,” she said, laughing.

As we walked to our favourite Chinese spot, my thoughts returned to the decision I’d made earlier. By the time we got to hers, I was practically vibrating.

We’d taken our jackets off, and had barely settled on her bed, ready to tear into our food when I blurted, “So.”

She looked up, bemused, her right hand holding her chopsticks poised over her noodles. We were sitting opposite each other, her laptop between us and resting against the wall to my right, playing a random episode of Regular Show.

“So ...” she drawled, one eyebrow lifting.

I probably should have waited until we’d finished eating, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached out to pause the episode, then leaned back. I was just going to say it. Rip off the Band-Aid.

“I think we should have sex.”

Ofure blinked. Her mouth opened. Then closed. A million expressions danced across her face, too many for me to parse. At least she didn’t immediately think I was cracking some kind of joke; she knew me too well for that. I, on the other hand, felt like I was about to expel my literal stomach.

“Look.” I set my plate of chicken chow mein aside. When I reached across the bed for her hands, she didn’t hesitate to join them with mine. My heart swelled about ten sizes. I’d known it, that no matter what unhinged idea I come up with, we would be okay, but it was still validating as fuck to be proven right. “Since our talk last Thursday, I’ve been thinking. We both want our first times to not just be good, but to be with someone we love and trust, right? And we love and trust each other. In fact, there’s no one I love or trust more. So, I thought, maybe, if you were willing, we could ... give each other that. A “perfect” first time.”

She smiled helplessly, probably hearing the air quotes. I could see her pulse thundering at the base of her throat. Her hands felt sweaty. Or was it mine?

“Uh, I mean ...” She licked the seam of her lips nervously. “Isn’t there a difference between someone you love and someone you’re in love with?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But, in this instance, does the distinction really matter?”

“I mean ...” She wasn’t meeting my eyes, which could mean anything. She could be nervous or overwhelmed, thinking about how to say yes, or how to ask for more time to think about it, or she just might be unsure how to turn me down. Her left shoulder jerked in the approximation of a shrug. “I think it kind of does.”

Ah. Okay. All right. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be this disappointed at her saying no. I didn’t think I’d be disappointed, period. I guessed it was upsetting because it meant she was still going to lower her expectations in the name of fuckass “realism”, but if she wanted to do that, I couldn’t force or stop her.