Obiora laughed again, stretching out on the sofa, his bare feet nearly brushing against Ejiro’s socked ones. The almost-contact, for some odd reason, had Ejiro’s breath hitching in his throat.
“Come on, Ejiro,” Obiora teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
“Oh my God.” Ejiro groaned, rolling his eyes. “You piss me off.”
Obiora laughed again. He raised a challenging eyebrow. Ejiro responded to the action with another roll of his eyes, but dutifully flicked his sketchbook onto a new page.
Friends, he thought, a pleased smile curling his lips.
Yeah, Ejiro would like that a lot.
THIRTEEN
IT WAS BARELY LUNCHTIME, BUT for Ejiro, today was already turning out to be a really good day. He propped his sketching materials against the door, then sank into the comfortable seats opposite the camera in the “confession” room, exhaling giddily and running his sweaty hands down his thighs. His cheeks hurt from how hard he was grinning, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
“First off, I miss you both so, so much,” he said. “And … I have good news!”
He’d just come back from his second date with Sophia, and whatever qualms he’d had the first time they’d gone out together had been completely eradicated by today’s date. Since Noah had won the Red Heart, the tattooed biker was given the opportunity to have Sophia to himself for an entire day. The other three bachelors—Ejiro, Dean, and Chris Wu—only had breakfast, lunch, and dinner to choose from.
Ejiro had chosen breakfast, feeling it would be safer than lunch or dinner due to the expectations for a kiss being lessened, even as the thought had had him immediately feeling weird and guilty.
Now though, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been so nervous about. After the initial awkwardness of waiting for their meals and fielding away small talk, something simply just loosened between them, and they were suddenly relaxed, laughing and cracking jokes with each other. Ejiro still didn’t feel completely himself just yet with Sophia—he still donned his “extrovert” mask in a desperate attempt to make her laugh—but little by little, as the date had progressed, he’d felt the mask grow looser and looser.
By the end of the date—he’d been warned beforehand that he would be returning to the mansion alone—he’d felt confident enough to take Sophia’s hand in his and press a tender kiss to the tips of her knuckles, hoping it would please her. The way she’d shivered and her eyes had lit up had made the action worth it, leaving Ejiro feeling thrilled all the way back to the mansion.
The giddiness made him re-evaluate their first date; perhaps he’d only been uncomfortable then because he’d felt she was moving too fast. When she’d tried to kiss him, he’d recoiled because he hadn’t felt ready, for whatever reason, to kiss her.
“I think I might just be the kind of person who likes to take it slow,” he reasoned after he’d finished explaining the date to the camera. “To be honest, I’d always been uncomfortable with how fast things had gone with Sam, so perhaps I was still harbouring some apprehension from that relationship when I came here? I don’t know, this date just felt so good—no expectations, you know? Just two people hanging out and getting to know each other. I loved it. If our relationship continues to progress like this … slow and sweet and steady, then I really can see myself falling in love with her.”
He covered his face to hide his blush from the camera, then, feeling a little silly, he outright left the room, biting his cheek to reduce his grin. He didn’t want the other bachelors asking any questions of him just yet.
He must not have succeeded, because when he entered the kitchen, sketching stuff in one hand, intending to head to the little nook outside, he stumbled upon Obiora making French toast. Ejiro beamed, shoulders relaxing when he saw that Obiora was the only one currently in the kitchen, and headed straight for him.
At Ejiro’s expression, something flashed through Obiora’s face so quickly Ejiro missed it, before it settled on amusement.
“Someone have a good date today?” Obiora teased, waggling his eyebrows.
“Abeg, leave me alone,” Ejiro said, but he was blushing, coming to stand beside Obiora as he inhaled the sweet, delicious scent of frying cinnamon, butter, and brown sugar.
Obiora laughed. “It’s like that, abi?”
“Yes, it’s like that,” Ejiro said, grinning. He inhaled again, groaning slightly. “God, that smells so good.”
“Did you not eat on your date?” Obiora asked with amusement.
“Shut up,” Ejiro said, eying a plate set with an already fried stack of the French toast greedily. He glanced at Obiora slyly, playfully, nudging Obiora’s hip with his own. Warmth filled his chest at the easy intimacy of the act, at the way Obiora echoed the movement, nudging him back like they did this every day.
Obiora snorted when he noticed Ejiro’s puppy eyes. “Fine. Go ahead and take one, before you end up absorbing the plate with your eyeballs.”
“Shut up,” Ejiro repeated, laughing. He made sure to take the fattest slice with a perfect golden-brown burn, the edges crisp from the pan. He took a bite and moaned as he chewed. “God, so good. I can’t remember when last I had French toast.” He sucked the sweet, excess butter and sugar from his fingers one by one.
Obiora sounded strangely hoarse when he responded, “And you call yourself a chef?”
“Assistant chef,” Ejiro argued weakly. It was becoming a mantra between them now.
Obiora smirked. “Sure.”
Ejiro glared at him, but it held no heat. “Keep smirking like that and you’ll end up wrinkling asymmetrically.”
