Page 8 of Two’s Better

I smiled and gave her hands a squeeze, stroking my thumbs over the backs of her palms to let her know we were okay. She finally met my gaze, silently seeking the reassurance I was already giving her.

“That’s all right.” I’d told myself I’d hit the breaks and pull back entirely at the slightest sign of hesitation. I gave her hands another squeeze and did as I promised, pulling back and picking up my food. “It was just an idea.”

3

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—

It was just that phrase, on loop in my head for the last twenty-four hours since Uzezi had clearly temporarily been replaced by an alien. Because what in the actual fuck?

He’d just posted on Instagram. I let myself stare at the picture like I’d never seen him before.

His afro was cut close to his scalp, his jaw framed with a thick, full beard. Unlike me, who’d gained weight once I hit university, Uzezi had been fat all his life, and in my opinion, had only grown fatter and hotter as he’d gotten older. All his dedicated gym visits had done was make that thick body a little more defined.

His warm, medium brown skin was flushed with sweat, and he was sitting at the end of a weightlifting bench, phone up to face the gym’s floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A bright grin showed pearly white teeth, and deep dimples in his cheeks that were sadly hidden underneath his beard. But I loved me a sexy ass beard, so I accepted the dimples their sacrifice. Prince was on the bench literally fighting for his life behind Uzezi, his hands clenched around the bar mid-lift, expression twisted with frantic desperation.

Despite myself, I snorted at the pic, guessing they’d likely staged the whole thing as I commented:

Prince is literally dying behind you.

I didn’t have to wait long for Uzezi’s reply:

This aint about him.

Even though I’d predicated his response, I still snorted out a laugh.

“What’s that?” Fiona glanced up distractedly.

Fiona, Bernice, and I worked for an events company, and today we were working at a wedding. We were outside, at the back of the reception venue, waiting to serve the food and drinks, and pick up any stray trash. All of us—my housemates and I, along with some of the other hires—were either on our phones or gisting amongst ourselves, since the guests were still at the church and wouldn’t be arriving for another twenty minutes, according to the events planner.

We were just about to end the first week of March; Spring was supposed to be coming in a few weeks, but we’d had a brief snowfall literally this morning. Despite that, the sun was out, and Fiona, Bernice, and I were echoing our white counterparts—we were the only Black, non-British people here—by enjoying the sunlight for the decoration it was while it lasted.

I was standing, resting against the wall behind me, with the back doors to the venue a few feet to my right. Fiona sat on a metal bench to my left, reading on her Kindle, while Bernice was standing a few feet in front of me, on her phone like I was.

I resisted the urge to throw my phone into the trash beside me like a guilty child. Bernice noticed my expression, dancing up to my side and peering at my phone screen before I could hide it.

“Damn.” She whistled. I know, right? I may not be attracted to him, but I had working eyes, and Uzezi looked really fucking good in that pic. Then she frowned and laughed when she caught on. “Looks like Prince has lost his spotter.”

“What’s that? Let me see.” Fiona reached out a hand. I showed her the picture. She snorted. “Fucking clowns, both of them.”

“Right?” I said, bringing the phone back to my face. I stared at Uzezi, at his dazzling smile, at the way his shorts clung to his thick thighs, which were spread wide as he straddled the weightlifting bench.

I think we should have sex.

I didn’t know what my face had done after he’d said it last night; in fact, I’d almost convinced myself I might have hallucinated the whole thing had he not grabbed my hands in his and squeezed before he’d left for the night, asking, “Are we okay?”

“Yes,” I remembered scoffing. “Of course we’re okay.”

He’d smiled, sweet and relieved, and I’d loved him so fiercely in that moment I’d easily been able to shrug aside his brief loss of sense. I hadn’t been lying when I’d said we were okay and had gone to bed without sparing it another thought.

Then I’d woken up and it had hit me all over again, and I’d thought, what the actual fuck.

I think we should have sex.

Had he meant it? Of course he’d meant it. Uzezi was meticulous like that; he said he’d spent the days since our convo thinking about it, and I knew he meant that shit literally.

But I’d flailed and he’d backed off, and now, I was spiralling. What even the fuck? Why was I still thinking about it? Surely, I wasn’t considering it? Ha. Ha. No. Of course not. The fuck.

“What’s all this, then?” Bernice raised an eyebrow when I glanced guiltily at her. “What’s going on with your face?”