“No onesavedme,” I scoff.
“You looked uncomfortable.”
“Still, no one saved me.” I ignore his astute observation. “And who calls them ‘Merc’?”
That makes him flounder. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly and starts multiple statements with “well,” “you see,” and “I,” but they all fizzle out like water on a hot pan. I can’t help but snicker, and he shoots me a look.
“It’s a nickname,” he finally gets out.
“I can tell.”
Niyi’s brown eyes fix on mine, shutting out the chatter around us. He can be smug and insufferable, but when he’s quiet and looking at me like this…
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly as a stranger walks up to us. His brown skin is lighter than mine, and he looks at me with a nearly perfect smile. My attention moves from Niyi to the new man.
“Hello,” he says coolly, leaning closer so the words land in my ear only.
“Hi,” I respond, enamored by the sharp curve of his jaw. He’s handsome.
“Maxwell.” He opens his mouth as if he wants to say more, but Niyi’s still standing here.
“Moyo,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Maxwell—”
“Likewise, I’m Niyi,” my prospective dating coach says, stretching a hand out to Maxwell.
“Oh, my bad. I thought y’all were done talking. I’ll go chat with someone else.” Pretty Maxwell gets through his words fast and evaporates from the vicinity before I can blink or stop him from going.
I call after him, but he’s already out of sight, lost in the sea of people that has somehow only gotten larger.
Niyi watches me steadily. “He’s not right for you,” he finally says.
“And how would you know that? You didn’t let him get a word in. I barely got to talk to him because ofyourinterference.” I push a finger into his chest, and it’s rock solid. The sensation flusters me.
“He walked away from you just because I introduced myself. No man worth your time should feel that intimidated.”
“He was polite. I would like a polite, kind man, someone who doesn’t intimidate others just because he can.”
Niyi’s brows pinch together, eyes blanking before his face contorts into a scowl. “I didn’t set out to intimidate him,” he whispers as the crowd quiets down.
“You were enjoying it,” I whisper-yell back.
“I don’t want you to make a mistake.” He lowers his voice even more, getting closer to me. His warm breath brushes against my cheek, and it’sfresh and minty, as if he brushed his teeth or took a swig of mouthwash just before this thing started. Up close, I can see the details of his face even more clearly. I thought Maxwell had a jawline, but if I needed to open some mail, I’d call Niyi. His dark lips are sandwiched between his mustache and goatee. The facial hair doesn’t connect, but it works. For him, it works.
His plump lips are moving, but I haven’t heard a word.
“Répétez, s’il vous plaît,” I blurt out in French.
“French?” Niyi gives me a puzzled look.
I don’t have an explanation, so I go on the offensive. “You don’t speak French?”
“Of course I do.”
The smug look returns and his lovely brown eyes twinkle. “Je ne suis pas très doué dans mon travail, mais je sais que c’est un gars peu sûr de lui qui ne te mérite pas. Tu mérites quelqu’un qui t’honorera et te fera sentir aussi vivante que tu me fais sentir.” He barrels through the words so fast, the only one I think I catch is “travail.”
“You rushed through it.”
“You don’t understand French? Do you?” Niyi teases, his eyes bright.
