After I help this girl with whatever it is, I’m banning her from my residence.
“Anjie, this is um—” The words run out. How do I introduce him? I’m not ready to tell them he’s theCupid’s Bowguy because what do I say? I know I said that nothing will ever happen with us because he’s not part of the plan, but I changed my mind, and he just ate me out like a starving man. I could mention his name and pretend he’s a friend they don’t know, but I have explicitly named him on multiple occasions, so I’m not about to say it now.
“Just a friend,” Niyi provides, and relief floods through me. “A friend who is leaving. Thank you for the drink, Moyo. Have a great night,” he adds respectfully, like he didn’t just talk me through an orgasm and nearly cause another one.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
He grabs his shoes from behind the couch, and I hand him his jacket as I open the door. I shut it gently behind me and check that the curtains are closed. I don’t want anyone else to see this. What this is going to be, I don’t know. Are we going to kiss? Are we pretending this didn’t happen? Are we finishing up tomorrow?
We stand awkwardly, and I’m transported back to earlier tonight, beforeeverything changed. The fog of uncertainty is thick considering we’ve just seen each other naked.
“Uh,” I say to fill the silence.
“I hope your friend is okay,” he says.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
He pulls me closer with his free hand and places a kiss on my forehead.
“Now go back in there and be a good friend.” He releases me and points his head toward my front door.
“You’ll text?” My lower lip finds its way between my teeth. Completely giddy, drunk on him. I can’t believe how routine this all sounds.
“Of course.” He places another kiss on my cheek. Part of me wants to stand there and kiss him all night, but going to help Anjie is the more responsible option.
I give him a final wave as he heads to his end of the street. He walks slowly backward, waiting for me to open the door. As I step inside, Niyi winks, making my legs go weak.
Anjie better have something serious to talk about because I’m about to murder her for ruining my second orgasm of the night.
25Moyo
THE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND ME WITH A THUD THAT SOUNDSeerily like the pounding in my chest. My hand flies to my cheek, remembering Niyi’s warm breath over my flushed skin.
Anjie coughs obnoxiously, her eyelashes batting overtime like a plane about to take off.
“So…” She draws out the final syllable and cups her face as she looks at me all starry-eyed. What this babe does for gist.
“So, what?” I roll my eyes as I retrieve the emergency ice cream pints from the freezer.
Late-night visits like these are rare and thus extremely important. The vulnerability of showing up at someone’s house late at night—even when you’re basically sisters—isn’t lost on me. So, to increase our comfort and reduce tension, in all our freezers, we girls each always have three pints of ice cream on hand: cookies and cream for me, butter pecan for Sewa, and chocolate fudge brownie for Anjie.
Anjie takes her googly-eyes off me when I place the mini bowls and spoons in front of her. She heads towards the couch when I latch onto her gray hoodie.
“What?” She looks at my arm, and I quickly let go.
“Let’s talk in my room.”
Anjie narrows those piercing brown eyes at me and kisses her teeth in the dramatic way my mother does. “You were fornicating on the couch, abi?”
I bow my head and angle my body towards my door. “Anjola, nitori Olorun, let’s sit on my rug.”
“You’re a nasty, nasty girl.” She snickers behind me. I don’t let her see because that would be admitting defeat and affirming the accusation, but I smile a little as we step into my room.
The ivory shag rug in front of my bed is one of the softest things I own and truly one of the best purchases I’ve made since moving in. We usually don’t eat on it, but since the couch is out of commission, it’s the second-best place. Anjie sits crisscross on the rug while I lie back against my footboard and spread my legs out. She expertly scoops some chocolate into her bowl, and I do the same with my cookies and cream.
“What’s up?” I ask. The spoon hangs in my mouth.
She takes another spoonful before she answers. “Can we talk about you first?” Her eyes are gooey, her version of puppy-dog eyes, which she hardly ever uses. I give in.
