Page 73 of Two’s Better

“Nothing,” she sing-songed, taking a few pics, then typing furiously, hiding the screen from me.

“Ofure,” I repeated just as my phone pinged.

I brought it out of my pocket, my chest heavy with dread.

The group chat went wild, filled with laughing, corn, and clown emojis, which were immediately followed by congratulatory messages, mostly from the girls, while the boys clowned my ass like there was no tomorrow. Despite myself, I found myself laughing, while also being hit with the realisation that this was real.

Ofure was truly mine. What the fuck.

I stared at her, overwhelmed, even as I joked, “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

She shrugged, her happiness so obvious it looked almost visible, like a halo shining brightly around her. Damn, look at love making me all poetic and shit. I yanked her close to kiss her hard, basking in the certainty that we could now do that whenever the fuck we wanted.

After I’d gotten Ofure’s things settled into my room, we’d changed into our pyjamas. She began setting up something for us to watch on my laptop while I got us some water, soft drinks and snacks from the kitchen.

We put on a movie, and I sat at the foot of the bed while she got comfortable on my spare wrappers on the floor, between my legs. The movie finished just as I was done with the last braid, then we headed up to the bathroom so I could help her wash her hair. We had a small plastic stool in the kitchen, which I grabbed so she could sit on and tilt her head back over the edge of the bath.

She kept reaching for my dick as I worked, making me laugh every time I tried to dodge her hands.

“Stop that.”

“I just want to hold it.” She pouted.

“For fuck’s sake. It’s like you’re obsessed with my dick.”

“Just like you’re obsessed with my pussy.”

“Well. You got me there.”

We laughed. I wrapped her hair in a towel when we were done. She’d brought her hair dryer with her, so, while she sat perched in my desk chair, I helped her gently oil and comb through her afro until it was dry and glossy and kink-free, the tight, dark pink 4C curls brushing against the top of her shoulders. Then she wrapped her afro in a complicated style around her scalp, tied it down with a scarf, and slipped her bonnet on top.

God, she looked so fucking cute, in her black bonnet and nothing but a dark pink spaghetti-strap pyjama top with plain black bottoms that might as well have been booty shorts for how little ass and thigh it covered.

I switched off the lights, and we slid into my bed, cuddling close, heads on the same pillow.

As our breathing slowed, our racing hearts calming, the endorphin rush—the high we’d been riding since I’d officially asked her out finally seemed to be winding down. Except, for her, it seemed to be crashing.

“Do you think ...” She had to stop to take a soft, shaky breath. “Do you think if we hadn’t—if that first kiss hadn’t gone the way it had, if we hadn’t had that conversation about our first times, that we’d have ended up where we are right now?”

I cupped her cheek, stroking it with my thumb, encouraging her to meet my gaze. My voice was low to match hers. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. I forced myself to give it proper thought, wanting to soothe the anxiety in her eyes. An anxiety that seemed to perfectly mirror my own. “Sometimes, I believe falling in love isn’t a choice,” I eventually whispered. “But sometimes, I believe it is. And we’ve been choosing not to fall for so long that it eventually became our reality.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“If we hadn’t kissed, if we hadn’t gone down this path, maybe, eventually, we’d have found other people—people who fit right—and we’d have genuinely been happy for each other. We might have looked back sometime in this alternate future and thought, what if. But ... we chose differently.”

“We did,” she whispered, her eyes still wide and a little shiny. “I did. I chose you.”

God. “And I chose you, too.”

“But what if we’ve ruined everything?” she added in a rush, the tears finally spilling down her temple. She sniffed, clenching her eyes shut and shoving closer, burying her face in my chest. My heart was shattering into a million pieces. I held her close, tight, like I’d be able to squeeze her anxiety away. “What if something happens and we break up and I—I can’t lose you, Uzi. I can’t.”

“Fure, na today I meet you?” She laughed like I’d expected her to. I waited until she pulled back enough to meet my gaze once more, then I leaned forward to kiss her glistening eyes, making her laugh softly again. “I don’t love anyone the way I love you.” Her breathing hitched. “And, no matter what happens, I’m never not going to love you. I promise you. A new label isn’t going to change that.”

“And sex,” she quipped. “A new label, along with sex.”

I laughed. “Yes, a new label and sex.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, thick and passionate. “I love you so fucking much. But I’m so afraid, Uzi. Why is this so fucking terrifying?”