Page 24 of Two’s Better

She tentatively stepped forward, glancing at me with wide, wild eyes all the while. “Uzezi ...”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You’re not pranking me. This isn’t a prank?”

I laughed. “No, it is not.”

I helped her with the skirt of her dress when she was sitting, my eyes helplessly trailing down her form when I stood again, preparing to close the door. The curves of her breasts from this angle, pushed up sexily by the fitting bodice of her dress, was unbelievable. And as she’d sat, the slit in her dress had ridden up a little and parted like the red sea, exposing her entire leg and thigh. Jesus. I didn’t think I was going to make it to the end of the night.

“All right?” I asked, and she nodded shyly. I closed the door.

“How were you even able to afford this?” she asked once I’d buckled myself in, and the driver began to make his way to the restaurant.

“Well. Let’s just say all I’m going to be eating is Indomie until my next paycheck.”

She burst out laughing. “Yeah, like I’d let that happen.”

I dramatically clutched my chest. “A woman after my own heart.” I gave her a pointed onceover—slow and deliberate, from the tips of her hair to her toes. “You look incredible, by the way,” I said, inwardly reminding myself that my visible admiration was all well and good, but actual compliments were better. “That dress. Your hair. The whole package, Fure, Jesus Christ.”

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen me in this dress before,” she waved me off, blushing.

“In my defence, you’ve worn it exactly once—Uncle Emeka’s wedding, abi?—and this is a completely different context. Don’t think I don’t see the way you’re looking at me, too,” I added boldly.

She blushed harder, but seemed to take that as permission to give me her own heated onceover. Her heavy gaze on my body felt like a caress; it made me feel so fucking handsome. Dangerously sexy. I spread my thighs a little, pretending I was adjusting my position in my seat, and I practically saw her throat bob with a swallow.

“Fucking hell, Uzi,” she murmured, and I wanted to jump her bones, right there and then. “Fine. You’re right. You ... you look good, too.”

“That compliment is by no means elaborate enough, but I’ll take it.” She rolled her eyes, and I grinned. The only reason I hadn’t kissed her was because I didn’t want to ruin that perfect lip combo. Yet.

Plus, I had a mental checklist to follow and, God willing, for this night to be as close to perfect as possible, I wasn’t going to deviate from it.

Ofure was looking around searchingly and eagerly when we made our way to the underground parking closest to our destination; I’d already paid ahead for both a pass and the waiting fee for the limo.

More than one eye landed on me, her, and the car as I quickly made my way to her door to open it. I helped her step out, smiling fondly when I saw that she’d put on some sensible kitten heels; she must’ve predicted that no matter where we were going, parking close to anything was going to be a nightmare. Besides that, I was grateful because I didn’t want her feet hurting too badly before the night ended.

“All right? You’re not too cold?” We were ten days into March; the weather had warmed a bit during the day to forgo the heavy winter coats, but it still had a little bite to it in the evenings.

For a moment, I regretted not bringing a jacket. How romantic would it have been to wrap it around her shoulders by the end of the night? Ofure would have seen right through that slick move, and probably teased me for it, but I knew she would’ve swooned for it, too.

“I’m fine,” she said, gripping my hand tightly.

I hoped my hand wasn’t too sweaty. It felt like it was, but she wasn’t recoiling or teasing me so maybe it was fine. I walked her out of the parking lot, down a few street corners, then we were in front of the restaurant.

Her mouth dropped open with excited shock. We’d talked a few times about coming here, but only for something truly special to justify the expense; we’d eventually settled on the date when we submitted our final portfolios—the unofficial end to our undergraduate degrees.

But we could always come here again, or find somewhere else that would be equally as memorable; an event like this—our first date, fake or not—just seemed more special.

Ofure glanced at me, her hand tight in my own. “Uzezi,” she began worriedly, “how were you able afford—”

“Aht, aht,” I interrupted. “We’re not talking about how much anything costs on this very fancy date. And I better see you ordering anything you want when we get inside; do not hold back just because you’re worried about my wallet.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, but her giddy smile eventually won out. “All right, then. Shall we head on to our very fancy date?”

I beamed. “Yes, we shall.”

8

“So.” Uzezi leaned forward, a serious, almost severe expression on his face, which told me he was about to be really fucking unserious. “Tell me more about yourself.”