Page 62 of Two’s Better

My lips twitched, despite the way my stomach was dipping. “Yes.” But it came out sounding reluctant.

“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Dayo snarked, and we all laughed. “And you’re not really afraid you’re alone in this, are you?” If he sounded sceptical, without even knowing just how deep this shit went, what right did I have to doubt?

“No,” I admitted again, just as reluctantly. I knew Ofure clearly felt something for me, or she wouldn’t be freaking out. I didn’t know if that thought terrified or excited me. It felt like a mix of both.

The truth was, I was deathly afraid of things changing between us. But I wanted her so fucking badly. Change didn’t have to be a bad thing. Right? As long as we were on the same page, we could make this change into the best thing that had ever happened to us.

God. My pulse thundered; my blood felt like it had been replaced with liquid desire—I wanted Ofure to be mine, in every way that mattered. Romantically. Sexually. All the allys.

“Ehen, so,” Prince began when he noticed I wasn’t freaking out anymore. ““Amazing sex”, huh?” He leered.

I rolled my eyes, but I was blushing. “Fuck off.”

“I have to admit, I’m a little jealous. About you guys really going for that “perfect” first time thing,” he clarified when I lifted a questioning eyebrow.

I blinked in surprise. When I’d first broached the topic with him, he’d seemed so flippant about it, like it wasn’t a big deal, at least to him.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, running a hand through his short locs. “I told you my first time was a disaster. And, I don’t know, I’d never taken it seriously before. Or rather, I’d forced myself not to dwell on it. After all, I’m a “man”, and men shouldn’t care about shit like that.” He rolled his eyes mockingly. “But I’d done it because of the pressure, and it was ... man, it was just ... yeah.”

“Damn,” I said, the word packed with empathy.

Dayo cleared his throat. His voice was always quiet, but he was even quieter now as he whispered, “Yeah, I don’t really want to get into it, but mine was also terrible. Zero over ten, do not recommend.”

We managed small laughs.

“If only we could get a do-over, eh?” Prince joked.

“I mean, I don’t see why not,” Dayo blurted. He was focusing carefully on his neatly trimmed fingernails. “If we want to pretend it never happened, pretend to have that moment again, this time while properly mentally prepared and with it being a fully informed choice, I don’t see why we can’t. It’s not like our future partners are going to know. Or, rather, even better—if we’re with the right person, then they’ll be firmly supportive.”

“Right,” Prince murmured. “That ... sounds awesome, actually. I would like a do-over. And why fucking not, eh?”

“Exactly,” Dayo said with a small grin.

And, for some odd ass fucking reason, it felt like I’d completely disappeared from between my two friends. They weren’t even looking at each other, not really, but I could feel ... something in the air. A tension I definitely hadn’t noticed before.

“Anyway.” Prince clapped his thighs, standing. “Can we figure out what we’re going to have for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Y’all are eating dinner at almost ten PM?” My stomach chose that moment to rumble. Loudly.

Prince smirked, one eyebrow playfully raised. “Clearly “y’all” is referring to those three stomachs you got there.”

I snorted, standing and shoving him playfully in the shoulder. “I’m feeling like pizza.”

Prince glanced questioningly at Dayo. Their eyes met, and there it was, for the briefest second—that sweet tension. Then Dayo was nodding and quickly breaking eye contact, and I was left wondering if I’d imagined it.

Prince grinned. I wasn’t sure if he was oblivious or only pretending to be. “Pizza it is.”

The first thing I’d done after I’d come home was take a quick shower. After my nightly routine, I came down in my bonnet and my favourite cotton pyjamas—a dark pink tank top and skimpy black shorts, my feet shoved into my fluffy bedroom slippers.

After all the exercise Uzezi and I had done, I was starving. The thought of his name alone sent my heart pitter-pattering like a frightened mouse.

I guzzled down a bottle of water as I gazed into the fridge, wondering what I could whip up in thirty minutes or less that would still be filling. I didn’t want to order, and I definitely didn’t want to spend too much time sweating over a hot stove this late at night. My mind went to Indomie, but I wasn’t in the mood for noodles.

There was some plain leftover rice from the lunch I’d cooked before my date with Uzezi yesterday—Christ, that was just yesterday?—so it’ll have to do.

I brought out the butter, quickly chopped up some vegetables, and began beating up some eggs. I thought I heard the sound of Bernice’s room door opening, and I had, because I glanced up into the sitting room, trying to peer through the opening leading to the entryway, and both my housemates walked inside, making their way to the kitchen.

Bernice’s eyes were red and swollen.