Page 2 of Two’s Better

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach when his dark eyes finally found mine, his full lips curling into a pleased grin as I approached.

“Your order, madam?” he said in an extremely posh accent.

“A vodka and coke please, my good Sir.”

He looked delighted at the fact that I’d played along, winking as he said, “Coming right up,” and turned back to face the bar, that grin still curving his lips.

This is it, I thought, pulse racing. Tonight was going to be the night. I couldn’t stop looking at the stranger from the corner of my eye, trying to imagine what he’d look like naked, how he’d be in bed. Would he be rough? Gentle? Would he listen to me, do what I asked? Would he laugh with me if things got awkward—take some of the pressure off? Or would he want to just get down to business, no jokes allowed? What if he simply wanted to dance and wasn’t interested in taking me home at all? Would I have to take the initiative and make the first move?

Stop it, I growled inwardly when it felt like my nerves were rapidly morphing from excitement to fear. I couldn’t help but glance back toward Uzezi, and found him in the midst of our friends, five of them watching me and leering when they caught my gaze.

Uzezi waggled his eyebrows and gave me a double thumbs up like the proud best friend that he was; Prince cupped the air in front of him and began to thrust; Tamara made a crude gesture with her fist and pointer finger; while Ezra spread his pointer and middle fingers in a “V” across his mouth and began to wildly flick his tongue. The only reserved reaction was Fiona’s; all she did was blush, hand across her mouth, laughing at the others’ crudeness.

“I hope you know I hate you all,” I mouthed, discreetly giving them the finger.

Adonis turned around at that moment, and my friends abruptly spun away from the bar in a comical fashion, dancing haphazardly and laughing their lungs off. I struggled to hold in my own laughter.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his grin widening when he saw me holding back laughter, like my amusement was contagious.

“Ofure.”

His eyes lit up. “Yoruba?”

“Isoko, actually.” He frowned in confusion. I laughed, used to that response. “We’re related to the Urhobos! From Delta State.”

“Ah! I got you. I’m Dubem.”

“Igbo?” My eyes twinkled.

“You already know.” He winked.

That wink did things to my insides I didn’t think was possible. Yeah, tonight was definitely the night.

Tonight was not the night. I’d thought this would be it; the way Dubem danced told me he would at least know how to move his hips in bed, plus, when we’d danced face to face—so close I could feel the evidence of his interest pressed against my inner thigh—the scent of him and the weight of his dark gaze had made my body positively thrum, had made my heart race so hard and so fast I didn’t know how I’d remained conscious.

But then we’d departed from the slightly dreamy atmosphere of the club, leaving the flashing lights, the pounding music and the surging crowd behind, and suddenly I hadn’t felt so confident after all.

Reality had slammed into me like a truck, the cool air of the night rapidly drying my sweat and making me shiver. My ears were still ringing, and Dubem was watching me expectantly. Where that keen gaze had made me feel excited back in the club, now it just made me feel suffocated.

The thought of following him home, of kissing him, having him touch me made me feel slightly ill. And what if he did something I didn’t like? What if he was a terrible kisser? What if I changed my mind halfway through and he refused to let me leave? A million and one scenarios raced through my mind, each one more horrifying than the last.

Dubem had seemed to notice my hesitation, because he’d asked for my phone. He’d saved his number, then leaned down to whisper sexily in my ear, “Call me.”

My friends had cheered, ribbing the fuck out of me when I’d showed them the digits.

“Eyyy!” Prince had yelled, drawing the attention of other people on the pavement as we’d walked to the nearest kebab spot. No matter where we went, when Nigerians were in a good mood, we just had to let the whole world know.

“Ofure, is that you, yeah?” Ezra had leered.

“That’s what’s up!” Tamara had hailed, throwing an arm over my shoulder, sounding way too proud for my benefit. “At least one of us shouldn’t be single anymore, abi?”

“You’re literally not even single,” I said, but the rest of them were echoing, “Abi o!” which made us all burst into laughter.

They’d all seemed to assume getting his number had been my end goal; oh, if only they knew.

Now, I was in my room, feeling a pang of regret. My bed was pressed against the right corner of the room, and I sat with my back to the wall behind the non-existent headboard, one foot dangling off the edge, the other stretched out on the mattress. Uzezi was on his back on the inside beside me, his shoulder against the adjacent wall, holding his phone above him, scrolling through social media.

Goddammit, why had I chickened out? I should have gone home with him, screw the consequences. Dubem had seemed like a nice guy; I was sure I’d have been fine. He’d have taken it slow if I wanted, made sure I was truly comfortable, and it probably would have been, if not great, at least good. And besides, I could’ve sent my location to the group chat on WhatsApp, and if he’d tried anything nasty, I could have dug my acrylics right into his eyeballs—there were tips and tricks to this shit; stuff I’d memorised!