Oh, for fuck’s sake.
He carefully didn’t look beside him. Ejiro would probably slow down. If last night’s events were anything to go by, he seemed to be the type of someone who avoided confrontations at all costs.
But Ejiro didn’t slow down. In fact, he seemed to be speeding up, attempting to leave Obiora behind.
And that thought, for some ridiculous ass reason, had Obiora’s competitiveness rearing its ugly head.
He increased his own pace.
They glanced at each other. Ejiro’s eyes burned with barely concealed irritation. Obiora, too immature to resist, smirked.
When they reached the second fountain, turning to head back in the direction of the mansion, Ejiro suddenly bolted into a full run.
“Fuck!” Obiora ran after him.
Their feet pounded down the driveway, the only sound apart from their harsh breaths.
And Obiora suddenly felt fucking ridiculous. What the fuck was he doing? Here was a man he’d slighted last night, and instead of apologising like a grown ass adult, he was what … racing him? What the fuck?
He slowed down. Ejiro didn’t. Obiora met him at the fountain catching his breath.
Fuck it, fuck it. He was here on vacation. He’d made an error in judgement last night and it was his job to fix it. If Ejiro held a grudge, it might inspire the other bachelors who’d disapproved to hold a grudge as well. And what if the sentiment somehow got back to Sophia? It didn’t seem like she’d noticed his move last night, and the last thing he wanted right now was for it to be brought to her attention. He couldn’t risk getting eliminated yet.
“Look,” he began, still breathing heavily, hands on his hips. “I’d like to apologise. I’ll admit—what I did yesterday? Yeah, kind of a smarmy move, am I right?” He grinned, inviting Ejiro to laugh.
He didn’t. Ejiro straightened, his expression twisted into a sneer. Gone was the shy, anxious man of last night.
“That’s your apology?” he asked with a scoff of disbelief.
Obiora bristled. “Look, this shit wouldn’t even be this much of a big deal if you’d just come up to me last night and said something, instead of disappearing into—”
“Don’t blame me for your actions,” Ejiro interrupted derisively, his Nigerian accent—thickened in his irritation—doing nothing to soften the blow.
“I’m not blaming you.” Obiora rolled his eyes. Talking so heatedly with him was bringing out Obiora’s own Nigerian accent, and he didn’t bother to switch it. “Sophia looked uncomfortable in her heels, all right? It would’ve been heartless if I’d just left her to stand there—”
“And seducing her behind my back—because, let’s be clear, that’s exactly what you did—was so much better, abi?”
“Ejiro.” Obiora scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t want to argue. It really isn’t my aim to start this show off with some silly beef that can easily be resolved. So.” He held a hand out. “Truce?”
Ejiro looked at his hand like it was the bottom of his shoe. Then he met Obiora’s eyes, his own eyes blazing. “If you didn’t aim to start this show off with some “silly” beef, then perhaps you should have thought of that before you acted.”
Then he turned around and left, jogging up the stairs to the mansion.
Obiora watched him go. He slowly dropped his still outstretched hand.
He only realised then that his pulse was back to racing, as if he’d only just finished running.
How the fuck had he thought that Ejiro was dull or average looking?
Because standing there right then, as he’d stared Obiora down, his eyes dark and penetrating, all Obiora had been able to think about was whether Ejiro looked this fervent and intense when he fucked.
EIGHT
IT’D BEEN NEARLY TWO DAYS, yet Ejiro was still living off the high from facing Obiora. He couldn’t believe he’d done it; he could have placated Obiora after that pathetic attempt at an “apology”, which was what he usually did when he found himself in situations like that—nodding and fake-grinning until his cheeks hurt, saying, “No, no, it’s okay, it’s fine, don’t apologise!”, all the while he shrivelled slowly on the inside.
But during their jog, when Obiora had turned and freaking smirked at him, with that frankly irritating dimple of his flashing, Ejiro had felt an irritation so blinding he’d basically responded to Obiora on autopilot.
And the worst thing Ejiro had imagined happening to him during a confrontation—him spontaneously bursting into frustrated tears—seemed almost ridiculous in hindsight.
