Chapter Ten

"Take me home, Jack."

She might as well have said, "Take me to the moon," for all of the effort that it cost me to walk out of there. I couldn't leave for several reasons, only one of which was the desire to knock in the mouth the knucklehead who'd thrown that drink at us.

Just as Priye had not wanted to end our date at the emergency room, I didn't want it to end on that note, either. The look on her face when the drink had splattered against her got to me. She was angry, disgusted, and a little frightened. Not of the knuckleheads at the other table, but of me. Of my reaction. She'd taken one look at my expression and bolted for the door. I'd run her off.

She'd put up with a lot this evening. The constant interruptions. The overt flirting. Not from me. From my behavior, you'd never know that there were other women in the room. Where Priye was concerned, I had tunnel vision. But that didn't stop other trains from trying to jump onto my tracks.

I don't know how she handled it and still managed to maintain her composure. Perhaps I'm jaded. I'd started taking all of that attention in stride. After all, football was the profession that I'd chosen. I'd known what I was getting into.

When I'd signed that contract, I knew that my performing for the crowd didn't always end at the last whistle. Sometimes when the game was over, especially after a win, we had to put on our best performance. Each and every one of us Steeldogs was a public-relations representative. We'd joined an exclusive job. We were charter members of the entertainment industry. It had its perks and its downsides.

Even with all of the talking Priye and I had done, I hadn't had the opportunity to warn her about that particular hazard of the job.

Since we were at the beginning of the season, the press stayed all over us - keeping our images in the public eye. Good money was dished out to keep the excitement high, even to the point of creating rivalries and scandals. If a fan became a little too enthusiastic, so much the better for the team's reputation.

A man could talk all night long. He could reinvent himself with words, paint any picture that he wanted. But let a raw emotion like anger, or fear, or even love unexpectedly surface - that's when the true worth of a man came out.

Some people say that a woman can look at a man's shoes and judge his worth. Priye had looked into my eyes. Whatever she saw there frightened her. It made her want to leave me standing there - all by myself.

As she'd left me, I'd taken a moment to collect my thoughts. I couldn't believe that just that quickly I'd lost her. But I had. Realization of her loss had swept over me and left me feeling conflicted, confused. I wanted to show those knuckleheads that Steeldogs don't play. I wanted to show them that Jack Deneen was not a man to be trifled with. Jack Deneen was a man. Period.

Maybe that's what had changed my mind. The farther Priye had walked away from me, the quicker the cloud of confusion had lifted. Jack Deneen was a man, all right. And nothing more. In a room filled with people, Jack Deneen was all alone.

More than I wanted to beat them down, I wanted my woman by my side. That's right. Mine. That's how I'd come to think of Priye. I'm not sure when, or how, or even exactly, why. I had no right to. During our conversation, there had been no grand declarations of love. Neither one of us had gotten on our knees or made other such sweeping gestures of devotion. I couldn't think of one good reason why I should make a claim to her. But I did.

So I'd left it all behind me. All of the anger, and the trash talk, and the macho bull posturing. I'd opened my wallet and carefully placed a few bills on the table. On my way out, I'd made a quick detour by their table. Hadn't said a word. Just walked by. It had taken every ounce of my self-discipline not to react, even as they continued to harrass me.

"Loser."
"Has-been."
"You mean never-was."
"You got that right."

On the playing field, we talked a lot of trash. It's all a mind game, trying to get the opponent so rattled that they make a mistake. Everybody did it.

But the ones who really had the best mind games were the ones who didn't have to utter a sound. Just stood there. Just glared. If you could get your opponent to screw up with just a look, then you knew that you were at the top of your game.

The trouble was, we weren't on the playing field. Priye wasn't my wife and she wasn't my mother. She didn't deserve having a drink thrown at her. So when I'd passed the table of knuckleheads without speaking, pinning them with a long, hard stare, I think it got my point across. I'd let them live - tonight.

I'd caught up to Priye at the door. Her hesitation had been barely noticeable as she'd pushed on the handle to make her way outside. As I'd come behind her, she hadn't seemed to acknowledge me. Yet our eyes had met in the dark glass. I'd watched as the tensiond drained from her face. Slowly, she'd closed her eyes as she let out a long, cathartic breath.

That had brought a fresh surge of anger in me. She'd been so worried that I'd start a fight. Did she see me as nothing more than a big, dumb dude whose only answer to being challenged was to start pounding? Maybe that had been my first reaction. She hadn't given me a chance to show her that I could be otherwise.

I'd opened the car door, helped her to settle into her seat. She'd said nothing, and neither had I. What could I have said? Sorry for standing up for myself? Sorry for trying to protect you? It hadn't seemed right. If I'd tried, my tongue would have stuck to the roof of my mouth. Apologizing for having a normal, typical male reaction would be like apologizing for breathing.

Still, as I'd watched her out of the corner of my eye, I'd had to say something. Anything was better than the smoldering, uncomfortable silence.

"Where are we going, Priye?"

It wasn't a simple question. It was as close to asking "what about us?" As I could get without coming right out and saying it. Perhaps I was too subtle. I don't think she picked up on the hidden question within a question. Instead, she started going on and on about the different routes we could take to get to her parents' house, and the merits of taking one freeway over another.

I didn't want to hear that from her. If I really wanted to know how to get to her parents' house, I would have simply activated the Global Positioning System on the panel in front of me. The GPS could have gotten me wherever I wanted to go - without the slight tremor in its voice or the nervous wringing of hands.

We rode the remainder of the way to her parents' place in virtual silence. Except for an occasional clarification of direction - turn right there, turn left there - there was no noise. I didn't even turn on the radio or put in a CD. What is that old adage about misery loving company? I kept it quiet. I wanted her to experience every moment of agonizing silence along with me. Not because I wanted to hurt her. Heaven forbid! I would never intentionally hurt her.

What I wanted was for her to hurt for me, with me. I wanted to know if she was as broken by the untimely death of our budding romance as I was. If only I knew that she was feeling as desperate as I was feeling, then I would know that there was still a chance for us.

More than jealousy, or infidelity, or even the death of a partner, I believe that apathy is the greatest killer of love between a man and a woman. If she could bear the silence that had fallen between us, then perhaps she wasn't the woman for me. If the silence did not affect her as deeply as it did me, then there was no meeting of the minds. Without a meeting of the minds, there was no joining of our hearts. Chalk up this evening to just another wild time and call it quits.

As we drove, I divided my attention between the road and Priye. The overhead streetlights alternated between illuminating her face and casting it in shadow. She stared straight ahead, with her hands clasped primly in her lap. As we approached her parents' house, she turned her face toward the passenger window.

That's when I saw it. She'd done it so quickly, it might have been a gesture to move aside a stray strand of hair. But I had been watching, hoping, for any sign. Any glimmer of hope on which I could focus.

The glimmer slid down her cheek. What I'd thought was a reflection of residual spring raindrops left on the windshield were tears. She'd been crying! I didn't know whether to laugh or cry myself.

If she felt this way, after barely a first date, then her feelings had to run as deeply as mine. I didn't have to guess whether I was alone in this feeling. Her silent suffering said it all.

Priye cleared her throat and said softly. "We're coming up on my house now."

Priye's parents lived in an older, well-established section of Victoria Island - before planned communities had become all the rage and individuality had taken a backseat to community. It was a curious mixture of old-fashioned charm and modern-day conveniences.

The house itself was two stories tall, and painted the palest yellow with white trim along the windows. A large wraparound screened porch practically invited relaxation with porch swings on both sides of the deck. A single porch light cast a pale yellow glow that accented the front door, but didn't quite reach the farthest corners of the porch.

On the right side of the house, set back even farther from the main road, was a gazebo covered with purple flowers around the trellised wall and up the column supports.

I'd parked. The gates opened. As she walked up the path, her pace was considerably slower than when she had walked away from me at the restaurant. It could have been due to fatigue. It had been a long night. Wishful thinking made me hope that her pace was directly related to her reluctance to leave. She ambled wiith her hands clasped behind her, swinging that little purse by its strap.

I followed alongside her with my hands shived deep into my pockets. As we walked, my elbow brushed hers once, maybe twice. To the casual observer, the contact might have been incidental. It wasn't. At least not on my part. I meant to touch her. I wanted a lot more than just to rub elbows with this woman. But she'd shrouded herself in an air of impenetrable, personal space that I couldn't charge my way through.

She climbed the first step of the front porch, then the second. As she turned to face me, I could almost hear the mental gears grinding, turning. She was searching for a polite, socially acceptable method of telling me good night and good-bye. Raising her eyes to the stars for inspiration, Priye took a deep breath, shrugged, and said, "Well, at least it isn't raining anymore."

"No," I agreed amiably. "Looks like it's going to clear out quite nicely."

I suppose it was as safe as any conversation opener.

It didn't take long for her play-it-safe mood to change rapidly. I could see another emotion transform her face as irritation with herself set in. In our conversation, we'd gone well past the play-it-safe mode. Without preamble, Priye stuck out her hand.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Jack."

"A lovely evening?" I echoed without trying to hide the sarcasm in my tone.

She folded her arms and her expression changed again. Defensive this time. Good-byes didn't come easily to Priye, and I wasn't cutting her any slack. If she was going to write me off, I didn't want mealy-mouthed platitudes. Give it to me straight. If she never wanted to see me again, then she was going to have to tell me. Right then, right there.

I wasn't going to leave until she told me where I stood. Or, if it came to that, where I could go.

"I had a good time," she confessed.

"But?" I pressed. "I definitely hear a 'but' tacked on somewhere at the end of that sentence."

"Are you pulling words out of my mouth?"

"No, ma'am. I'm not. I'm trying to draw them out."

"As much as I like you, Jack - and I do like you - I just don't think. . .that is. . .we can't. . .uh. . .we could never. . .the differences between you and I. . .you understand, don't you, Jack?"

Perfectly. But for the sake of one last shot at us, I pretended that I didn't.

"No, I don't. Why don't you break it down for me?"

She had a hard time bringing herself to tell me good-bye. Fine. I didn't want her to say it anyway. Though no one could argue that I hadn't given her every opportunity to say it. At the airport. At the restaurant. The hospital. During the long, silent drive to her house. She could have dismissed me at any time and avoided altogether the awkwardness of the after-the-disastrous-date-is-over drop at the front door.

Instead of a good-night kiss, she could have told me to kiss off, to go away. She could have urged me to forget that we'd ever met. Or, to temper that cruelty with kindness, she could have promised to stay in touch or asked that we always remain friends. She could have made her point any number of ways. But she hadn't. She'd stammered and faltered. And in that faltering, Priye had given me the opening that I needed to try to change her mind.

http://lolatellsatale..com/2013/07/hearts-of-steel-chapter-ten.html?m=1

Shuoooooo Lola don't tell me dat u'll just leave me hanging wit dis last update. Seriously babe, do add something naaa. Abeg. Is it not enuff dat I've bin stalking dis page for d past 3days. Lola puleeeeeezzzz

tijehi: Shuoooooo Lola don't tell me dat u'll just leave me hanging wit dis last update. Seriously babe, do add something naaa. Abeg. Is it not enuff dat I've bin stalking dis page for d past 3days. Lola puleeeeeezzzz

Eleven, today! Pwomise *wink*

Lola u're d best. I don't know why peeps are not commenting o. Maybe they are not seeing d amazing qualities I'm seeing. Detailed story. According to a colig of mine dis story done. Well cooked. Please publish ur stories dear.

Omolola1:

Eleven, today! Pwomise *wink*

ur promise don go since almost 24 hours now. U can post d address here we will come 2 check it our self

Damex333: ur promise don go since almost 24 hours now. U can post d address here we will come 2 check it our self

Am soweeeeeeeee

Chapter Eleven

Mind over matter. Mental telepathy. Or some sort of sleight-of-hand parlor trick. It had to be. Otherwise, how could I at one instant be this close to giving Jack the brush-off, and in the next, be in his arms?

Not just holding him, or hugging him, but pressing myself against him as if he could absorb me into his skin. How did it happen? What did he do to me? Wave a magic pendant in front of me to put me into a trance?

It wasn't supposed to end like this. I had my speech so carefully prepared. I was supposed to be kind, sympathetic, but firm in my resolve. I'd tell him what a good time I had, tell him what a sweet person I thought he was. I'd shake his hand, maybe give him a perfunctory peck on the check, then send him on his way. Simple, direct, all loose ends tied.

I held my hand out to him. A cordial, socially acceptable handshake of dismissal. He'd understand that, wouldn't he? Didn't all of his games begin and end that way? No matter how much he hated or respected the other team, didn't he always put aside his differences for a sportsmanlike ending?

But as I drew closer, my senses were suddenly overwhelmed.

"Priye!"

He murmured my name and pressed his lips against my cheek. It wasn't the first time that he'd kissed me that night. He'd brushed butterfly kisses across my cheek, my hair. He'd even given my hand a very continental peck. But the passion in that single utterance after he kissed me on the front porch did more to excite me than all of the coy, flirtatous, give-and-take conversation we'd shared during the night.

"Jack..."

I flung my arms around his neck, launched myself off the steps, and clung to him for dear life.

I should have been more discreet and thought how we must have looked to the neighbours. I should have worried about how that gossip would eventually reach my grandmother's ears.

Even at three in the morning, I knew that someone, if not my own parents, would be watching. A strange, expensive car pulls into the neighbourhood, parks in front of my parents' house - you'd better believe there would be talk among certain prominent circles in Oniru Estate, where I live.

Vestiges of those recriminations echoed in my ears like wind rustling through the poplar trees. Priye Cole, the headstrong daughter of Doris and Sunny Cole, turned up her nose at perfectly good local schools to run off to God knows where, finally drags her fast tail home in the middle of the night with a strange man, and practically mauls him in plain sight. The hussy! What could she possibly be thinking?

He'd groaned my name and instantly, none of that mattered. None of those concerns bothered me when Jack held me, caressed me. He kissed my cheek, my jaw, my ear, my hair. I felt my spine melt away as his large hands splayed against my lower back, drawing me to him.

Kisses strayed to my eyelids, the tip of my nose. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, gently nipping, then moving along my jaw. All I could do was hold on as he literally carried me up the steps and pulled me into the shadows at the farthest corner of the porch.

Shielded by the flower-covered trellis connecting the porch, I used the false security of the shadows to push the bounds of propriety. Never, in ten thousand years, would I have imagined myself like this. Never, not even during my wildest, most rebellious teenaged days, would I ever have believed that I could be this desperate for a man's touch.

I'm absolutely certain that if my first sexual experience had been anything like this, I could have easily become known as the campus skank. I would have done anything to seek out these sensations. Thank my lucky stars that my first time hadn't been anything like this.

As each of Jack's touches grew more insistent, I grew less fearful of discovery. I couldn't fault him for moving fast. I encouraged him. Not with words. I encouraged him with soft sighs as the mystery unfolded and with groans - greedy and guttural - as mystery turned to mastery.

Wordlessly, mindlessly I let him know in unambigous terms how he affected me. When he found the rught spot, and he did repeatedly, I rewarded him with more access. Heat from his palms warmed the backs of my thighs, slid upward past my thigh-high stockings, kneaded the contracting muscles of my bottom, bare and exposed by the thong Brenda had convinced me would help to make the lines of my dress lie smoother.

He pulled me closer, lifted me several inches, so that my feet dangled in midair. My back crushed morning glories on the wall as thick as carpet as he pressed against me. I felt him throbbing, lengthening, seeking me out. As my knees separated, Jack settled between me, slowly, deliberately moving his hips in a rhythm that I was able to fall into naturally, as if we'd been dance partners for years. I gasped as his fingers probed warm, moist depths. Warmth ignited instantly to flame. I bit into his shoulder to keep from crying out.

At first, I might have been able to fool my parents into thinking my soft, mewling cries belonged to some kind of animal - a stray female cat in heat, perhaps. But what kind of cat calls out, "Now, Jack! Please!" in the middle of the night? Somehow, I had to keep myself together long enough to remember where I was.

"Back pocket," he growled, once again bringing to mind images of the untamed.

I didn't have to question what he meant. I knew.



************************************************


I didn't knoe how much longer I could hold out. When I'd explored her, felt how she constricted around my fingers and imagined how she would feel with me fully inside her. I knew that it wouldn't be long. . .my ability to wait, that is.

Length, in other aspects, wouldn't be a problem. I was a big man, in more than one sense of the word. I had no question whether I could satisfy her. It wasn't vanity. It wasn't an overinflated estimation of sexual prowess.

I knew that I would because it's all that I wanted to do. All of my energy, all of my passion was focused on a single objective: to bring pleasure to Priye Cole. I don't remember ever wanting a woman so much.

My deepest concern was whether or not I would hurt her. She'd seemed so small and tight. One finger, then two. . .I'd barely begun to explore before I felt early contractions - ever-widening ripples of pleasure making her tremble.

She'd called out my name and pressed her face into my shoulder in a futile effort to prolong the inevitable. You might as well have asked her to hold back an ocean tide.

"Back pocket."

I don't know who reached my wallet first, but it wound up in my hand. Priye made up for her lack of quickness by aggressively tackling the buttons of my shirt. She managed to undo the first three before frustration and haste gripped her.

For someone so small, she surprised me with her strength. She yanked on either side of my shirt, sending several buttons flying into the floor. My own clothing became my worst enemy while I tried with one hand to hold her and with the other to undo the buckle of my belt and the clasp of my waistband. The sound of the zipper going down sounded more like a rip of fabric as I yanked it away from me. An apropos sound. Not unlike the rip of my sanity as anticipation of bringing pleasure to her bordered on the unbearable.

The humid air was nothing compared to the heat pouring off my exposed skin. My head swam in delicious delirium as my heightened senses took it all in. The cloying smell of the flowers, the intermittent wind whistling through the trees.

"Let me," she offered, taking the foil packet out of hand. Priye carefully withdrew the condom and covered the tip of my p.enis with its lubricated coolness. Before fully sheathing me, she ran her hand up and down my skin. Her fingers closed around my girth, squeezing possessively until I cried out, "Enough, woman!"

I unfurled the condom as Priye reached behind her and clung to the treils. I grasped her hips, maybe a little too roughly. She gave a little gasp and bit her lip.

"Oh, no," she choked out, her face stricken.

"No?" I echoed. Not something I wanted to hear at this late stage of the game. "What's wrong?"

She lowered her head to my shoulder. Her voice was muffled as she said, "I have to go in now."

"What do you mean?"

"My mum. . .or maybe my dad. . ." She nodded in the direction of the front porch. "They've flashed the porch light."

"Flashed the porch light?" What was that, some kind of secret Cole family code?

"When I was a little girl, and stayed out a little past my curfew, the porch light coming on was my signal to come in," she explained.

"You. . .you've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not."

"Priye, you're a grown woman." I smoothed my hands over her to emphasize my point.

"I know that I am. You know that I am. But to my family, I will always be the Sweet Banana."

"Sweet Banana?" I wanted to laugh. Something told me that it wasn't a good time. The look on her face was deadly serious.

"A nickname my dad gave me. That's probably him flashing the lights on and off at me. I've got to."

"Pretend like you didn't see it." I moved to block her view of the porch. "See? Problem solved." I tried to pull her to me again, at least for another kiss. But she turned her head aside.

"Problem not solved. If I'm not in the house in five minutes, they'll turn the floodlights on us."

"And after that, what's next? The dogs?"

She then roughened her voice in a poor imitation of her father's. "As long as you're living under my roof, young lady, you'll obey my rules."

"You and your family are intentionally trying to drive me into the nuthouse, aren't you?"

"We don't have to try. It's a natural progression from prolonged exposure to us. I'm so sorry, Jack. I didn't mean for things to get this far. . .so fast."

"It's all right, Priye." I mentally crossed my fingers behind my back at the little lie. It wasn't all right. I was hurting pretty bad. I'd live. I wouldn't like it. But I'd live.

"Promise me that you won't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad." Again, another half-truth. I could feel the punitive flames of hell licking at my toes. Lust and lies. There would be a seat at the right hand of the Devil himself for those two.

"Are you sure?" She looked at me, narrowing her eyes. She didn't believe me. I guess I wasn't a convincing actor.

"I'm not mad," I said through clenched teeth. Flames rose higher, scorching my knees. At any moment, I was going to spontaneously combust.

"Yes, you are," she said, and planted a kiss on my nose. "You are mad."

"Okay, not really, really mad."

"I'm sorry, Jack. Are you still coming to the outing tomorrow?"

"I've got some things I need to take care of in the morning, but I'll be there."

"See you tomorrow, then. Good night, Jack."

I watched her turn toward the house. She looked back only once, then waved, then hurried to the front door. Before she could get her key out of her purse, I heard the door crank open. She paused, speaking to whoever it was behind the door, then disappeared inside.

http://lolatellsatale..co.uk/2013/07/hearts-of-steel-chapter-eleven.html?m=1

My girl, u are too much joor. I doff my gele. Ah ah, see detailed story. Every scene weLl detailed. Please publish o.

tijehi: My girl, u are too much joor. I doff my gele. Ah ah, see detailed story. Every scene weLl detailed. Please publish o.

I accept your gele
Thnk u soo much dear

Hmmmm, i will say this again, i love this family. I love d code. They sensed it,but they didn't want to embarrass her, and thats freaking too fast, d first day of outing and he is already almost inside of her? , thank God 4 her parents o.

Damex333: Hmmmm, i will say this again, i love this family. I love d code. They sensed it,but they didn't want to embarrass her, and thats freaking too fast, d first day of outing and he is already almost inside of her? , thank God 4 her parents o.

Yh, thank God for her parents, it was too fast. You can't blame them, can you? Konji is a bastard

Awesome !!!! I'm stuck to this one till the end.
Omolola several bottles on me.

j-slimz:
Awesome !!!! I'm stuck to this one till the end.
Omolola several bottles on me.

Do make the bottles champagne
Thanks j-slimz, glad u are stuck

Omolola1:

Do make the bottles champagne
Thanks j-slimz, glad u are stuck

Anything you want.

A very Captivating story. Well done Omolola.

akejujoe: A very Captivating story. Well done Omolola.

Thank you Joe

Wow gal u're really gud!! Isnt dat a little too fast,on the first date?? Lol jack no dey slack at all

j-slimz:
Awesome !!!! I'm stuck to this one till the end.
Omolola several bottles on me .

me i no understand d bolded, shey make we break several bottles on ur head ni? Or wat?

Chapter Twelve

I hated to leave him like that, but what else could I do? Somewhere, in the great, unwritten parenting handbook, it has been decreed that parents will forever have that power over their children. I could be a hundred years old, blind, deaf, and toothless. It didn't matter.

Whenever that porch light went on, I'd better run toward it as if it were the light showing the way to heaven. I'd better hear my parents when they call my name loud enough to rival the final trumpet blast, and answer for my sins if they had to flash the porch light more than twice to get my attention.

Maybe that's why my brothers did so well in running. They must have unofficially broken Olympic records trying to get home when neighbourhood kids warned them that someone was flashing for the Cole kids.

As I sat and sipped my morning tea, I contemplated the events of last night. Maybe things had turned out for the best. My mother turning on the porch light had saved me from what might have been a gross error in judgment. I had to admit, I hadn't been thinking very clearly.

I'd been acting on pure instinct. That was the trouble. Maybe I shouldn't trust my instincts when it came to Jack Deneen. He was so unlike anyone I'd ever met. I couldn't trust my usual defense mechanisms when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. What experience did I have? A few fumbing attempts in the university?

And all of my dealings with the men on my job were strictly eight-to-five. I had no inclination to get to know them any deeper than the thickness of their three-piece suits.

Relatives, by default, weren't considered. I grew up with my brothers, learned by trial and error how to deal with them. Male cousins weren't much harder than brothers to figure out. But there, my experience ended.

You couldn't say that about Jack. He knew exactly what he was doing, and how well he was doing it. I had no doubt that given five more minutes, I would have firsthand knowledge of his skills.

"Oh, God," I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. This wasn't like me. This wasn't like me at all. How did things get so out of control so fast?

If anyone had told me that I would be getting it on with a virtual stranger, I would have sued him in court for slander. I just wasn't the spontaneous type. Just ask anybody. Priye Cole was careful, calculating. The ultimate control freak. What had I gotten myself into? A better question to ask, why was I so quick to let him into me?

"Well, now. I didn't expect to see you up so early."

Mother leaned on the wall at the kitchen entrance, her arms folded, watching me. "Or didn't you go to bed last night?" Her tone was full of suggestion.

"I went to sleep. I didn't go to bed. . ." The "with Jack" was left unspoken, but clearly implied. "Were you waiting up for me?"

She had barely said a word to me when she'd opened the door to let me in last night. But her sleep-filled gaze had taken in my disheveled appearance, my rumpled dress and matted hair. As I'd passed her, she'd reached out, plucked a crushed flower from the back of my hair, and set it on the dining table.

"Of course, I waited for you, Priye. Just doing my job."

She moved casually over to the table and poured herself a cup of tea. Mother held the warm mug between her hands, staring over the rim before looking up at me. "Looks like I'm not the only one working overtime."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" My tone was more belligerent than I had a right to be.

Mother took the tone in stride. No one in the Cole household was ever their best before their first cup of tea.

"Oh. . .nothing. But, you'd better fix that scarf before your father comes down. It's cute, goes with the outfit, but clashes with that big purple necklace on your neck."

Unconsciously, I lifted my hand and adjusted the floral scarf knotted at my neck.

"So." She set the mug down with a clink against the table, then began to drag out pots for breakfast. Her back was to me as she asked, "Do you want to tell me all about it?"

"There's not much to tell, Mum."

"I find that very hard to believe, Priye."

She wasn't going to leave me alone until she had some sort of account of last night. I started slowly, gathering my thoughts and carefully choosing my words. "After we left the hospital, Jack and I went out for a drink."

"And?" She prompted.

"Biscuit?" I suggested.

Mother heaved a wistful sigh and bit her lip. "You have to admit, he is one very sexy man."

"Mu-um!"

"What?" Her expression was all innocence.

"But you're married to Daddy."

"Until death do us part," she said. "But am not dead yet, dear. I have eyes."

"It wasn't like that, mum. We just talked."

"Talked?"

"Yes, mum, we talked. You know, the lost art of conversation."

"You don't get a mark like that with just talk, Priye. I may be old, but I'm not senile. I still have a vague memory of how it works between men and women."

She stood at the stove as she cracked eggs and dropped them into a sizzling pan with one hand.

"Jack is a wonderful conversationalist," I said softly. "We talked about everything, from Politics to Music."

"I hope you used protection, Priye," Mother said bluntly.

"I didn't know there was protection against conversations," I said flippantly.

She whirled around, waving a wooden spoon at me, "That isn't funny, Priye."

"I know, mum. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to smart off."

"We had this conversation when you were sixteen and again at eighteen."

"When you went with me to pick up a prescription for birth-control pills. I know, mum. But the only thing I ever really used those pills for was to clear up my skin."

"Are you sure you don't need a refresher course? I'm serious, Priye. You know how I feel about s.ex outside of marriage. We raised you up in church, hoping that you would follow the church's teachings. . .but. . ." She paused and seemed to reconsider what she was going to say.

Was it something on my face that silenced her? An expression? I don't know if she could have accurately read my expression. Maybe because I wasn't exactly sure what I was feeling.

I was fearful of disappointing my mother, angry at myself for letting myself be so easily manipulated. At the same time, I was eager to see Jack again. I was secretly pleased that he was as aroused as I was; though my brothers would probably tell me that it didn't take much to get a man in the mood. I still wanted to believe that it was something about me that Jack wanted, not something that he could get from any woman on the street.

"You're a grown woman. You do what you want to do. I just want you to be careful. Not with all these diseases flying around. It kills."

"I'll be careful." I promised her. I didn't insult her by telling her that there was no need for care. I didn't promise her that I would abstain. How could I? I couldn't even promise myself.

"And next time, stay to the far side of the house. There's a blind spot there where the porch light barely hits."

"How do you. . ." I began, then quickly closed my mouth with a click. I didn't want to know. The image of my parents in passion was more than this baby girl wanted to picture.

Mother then pulled up a chair beside me, folded her arms on top of the table, and whispered conspiratorially. "With those luscious lips, he has to be a great kisser."

"He's all right," I said.

"Come on now, on a scale of one to ten, where does he fall?"

"You don't give up, do you?" I shook my head.

"If I was the giving-up kind, you and your brothers wouldn't have lived past puberty."

"What? What do you mean? We were such angelic children!"

"Hah!" Mother snorted in derision. "Just who gave you that impression?"

"Aunt Rosa. She said that we were wonderful kids. She told me that I was her favourite."

"She tells all the children that. I was her favourite before you and your generation came on the scene. Besides, our Aunt Rosa, has a nasty habit of egging you children on.

I laughed my heart out till my back ached.


********************************************

I should have been more honest with Priye and told her how her abrupt shutting down had affected me.

When I left Priye last night, she'd known that I wasn't being truthgul. The way she'd kept insisting that I shouldn't be mad let me know that she had an inkling of how I felt. It was only an inkling, however. There was no way she could know the full extent of my emotions. Hell, I didn't even know. I didn't want to dwell too deeply on them last night. It was much better for my sanity if I concentrated on other matters.
I'd left her, driven around the city for a while, letting the necessity of focused thinking to navigate the Saturday night streets of Lagos occupy my attention. I'd driven until the needle indicating the level of gas in my tank had sunk dangerously close to empty.

In the calmer light of day, I can honestly say that I wasn't really mad at her. That is, I'd thought about it and come to the conclusion that she wasn't deliberately being a tease. Her responses were too open, too unrestricted to be practiced.

In those heated moments, she'd wanted me just as much as I'd wanted to have her. It must have taken just as much effort for her to emotionally withdraw as it had taken for me to physically withdraw.

Was I mad? That wasn't exactly the right word. It didn't fully sum up the cauldron of emotions boiling barely beneath the surface. Disappointed, yes. Frustrated, somewhat. Aroused? Definitely. The combination of all three had put the scowl on my face that she'd translated to anger.

They say that discretion is the better part of valor. Loosely translated, rather than make a foolish mistake and force her to accept my passion, I'd backed off, letting the cooler head on my shoulders prevail.

Some of my teammates would have encouraged me to "go for it." To "get it while it was hot." Others would have advised me against letting a woman know right from the get go how to get to me. But the ones whose advice I trusted, the ones who would have recognized that I'm looking for something more than a quick lay, would have held up my friend Paul as the perfect example.

He'd made it very clear early on how Priscilla turned him on. She didn't have to read the heated thoughts burning in his head. Every touch, every whispered offer, every heated glance he tossed her way melted down her token resistance. In the end, she would only let him go so far. Paul had left it up to Priscilla to decide just how far he would go.

They went, all right. All the way down the aisle.

As I toyed with the idea of calling Priye to apologize, I decided against it. She'd backed off last night, put some distance between us. In doing so, she'd put something in my mind. It was my turn now. It was my turn to give her something to think about. Would she think about me?

Damex333: me i no understand d bolded, shey make we break several bottles on ur head ni? Or wat?

She was offered several bottles of whatever drink she wants, with it still having its contents. And I take care of the bill. Better now?

My lolascious baby, hope u're okay o. Waiting patiently for my usual tonic.

Where is omolola ooooooooo! Plssssss come and update sharp sharp ooooooo. U are a talented writer. Just finishd reading divided emotion, i was soo touched, thank God i came across dis story tooo., more ink to ur pen.

Omolola wr r u naui usually dnt pressure writers fr updates bt mehn dis is jst too gd to ignore.....

My dear Omolola , your writing is so narrative,well thought out, captivating and the best have read in NL.

Thank you for taking me on this journey called Hearts of steel. I simply love it. I love your style of writing babes. keep it up. LOVE YOU SIS

Hello omolola1 I've been expecting ur update
Bt it seems its nt forthcoming, hope all is
Well?

UPDATE UPDATE WE WANT UPDATE. The interval is getting on me now . Receive more grace from God to continue this fantastic story. oleku baby is waiting ooo. well done

Omosexy, why na. Why are you not updating. *sobs*. Pls na beg we dey beg.

This is so not fair enuff said

Omolola where are you now? Please update ooo

Omolola last seen 9:09a.m, so i wonder why she is not updating! well, i gt to unfollow, thanks.

OMOLOLA IS ON HONEYMOON . PLS DONT DISTURB. WRITERS BLOCK IN ACTION. PRAYER TO CONQUER IN PROCESS . TOO STINGY

Damex333: Omosexy, why na. Why are you not updating. *sobs*. Pls na beg we dey beg.

oleku baby: My dear Omolola , your writing is so narrative,well thought out, captivating and the best have read in NL.

Thank you for taking me on this journey called Hearts of steel. I simply love it. I love your style of writing babes. keep it up. LOVE YOU SIS

akejujoe: Omolola where are you now? Please update ooo

Angel_777: Omolola last seen 9:09a.m, so i wonder why she is not updating! well, i gt to unfollow, thanks.

AM SO SORRY for the silence. My system crashed and it had all the chapters typed out already in it.
It just got repaired and av been trying to recover all my documents, but the damage had already been done.
I have a handwritten copy, means I'd have to start re-typing. Am so so so sorry, pls, bikonu, ejor, don't be vexed.
Expect an update tonight.