“Yeah, I do. I’m surprised you’re interested in me.”
Am I onPunk’d? I look around the room for the hidden camera.
“You’re serious?” I ask.
Niyi responds, “Deadly. You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Niyi closes the distance between our hands and grazes my palm with his fingers, setting my hand on fire.
“I’ll be honest. I didn’t think past this,” I say, giggling. Everything that’s happened with Niyi has been against my usual methodology. Despite the uncertainty about the rest of the night, and a possible future, I’m excited.
Niyi opens his mouth, but a waiter—accompanied with a draft of cold air—comes in.
“Food first, and then we can figure this out.”
We order some calamari, a whiskey for Niyi, and a margarita for me. Once the waiter leaves, it’s back to business.
“We’re technically still working together,” I say, still holding on to his hand.
Part of me expects him to let go; instead, his grip tightens. “We are, but only for three more hours.” Niyi smiles.
“Touché.”
“There is something I’d like to tell you…to be fully transparent.”
Rebelling against my nature, I stop him. “Unless it has to do with you actuallynothaving feelings for me, let’s table it and have a good night.”
A myriad of emotions flash across his face. “We’ll talk about logistics and other things later?”
“I could even send you a calendar invite,” I reassure him.
A different waiter delivers our appetizers and drinks.
“To us, three hours from now.” Niyi raises his glass.
Still holding hands, we clink glasses.
The night continues with even more drinks and fabulous food on theCupid’s Bowtab.
I don’t know what’s changed for him, but his typical tension is nonexistent. For the first time, Niyi looks completely at peace. “Only two hours now,” he says, giving me a sip of his drink.
Two hours, then he’s all mine.
24Moyo
WITH AN HOUR LEFT ON THE CLOCK, WE DECIDE TO SHAREa ride from the restaurant. It’s the economical and environmentally conscious option. Not at all fueled by a desire to be near one another. At my house, I expect to walk to my front door alone and pick up whatever this relationship might be tomorrow, but I hear Niyi’s footsteps behind me. I turn around and raise an eyebrow. He gives me one of his looks, but I don’t budge, not this time.
“It’s the right thing to do to walk a lady to her door.” He stops his stride, hands in his pockets.
“You want to walk me”—I look at my door and then back at him—“four steps to my door?” I chuckle.
“The dat—practicedate,” Niyi corrects himself, “is still currently happening. Let me walk you to your door, please.”
The coolness in his voice forces me to nod. I can’t with this man. He catches up to me and we walk in step. Our hands hover next to each other but don’t touch. Heat is radiating off him.
I reach my door. “This is me.” My voice shakes as I dig out my key.
