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Make una no kpai me o. I have been busy with the book I wanted to release. Finally, it is out

Let me peep and run

Finally, you can buy and read my other stories from Sèlár Àmazōn Bambooks. Physical copies are also available at Bookpeddlers Lagos, Buy Books In Port Harcourt, Port Harcourt. Then in Enugu (with an individual, just indicate interest and I will give you his number).

If you can, please support an author by buying their books, then recommend their works to your reader friends.

My latest book coming out this August is titles

Black White Blur. You can pre-order on Amàzon and Selàr. Also add it to your Goodreads as a book you'll want to read. That way, the algorithm will push it to the bestseller spot in Amazon.

Finally, I will be taking a few week's leave from here after this story to complete the scripts I have at hand.

Scented Water: The Soldier Story Book 2

Whispers From home: the Idemili's story retelling

And one 10k words romance I am supposed to submit for an anthology.

And, oh, I have to work on the reference pages of my PhD thesis.

So, you guys have to bear with me. I will be returning again with another story when I clear my table small.

Also, I know some of you do repost most likely posting my stories on their personal blogs and social media pages. Please, ejoor, Biko nu. This is my work. I don't copy them anywhere. Credit me to these stories at least.

I met one of my stories on Facebook one time and was shocked at how the page owner was taking the credit for it.

You can ask me for consent, and also credit me as this is an intellectual property.

Hey, beautiful people.

I want to thank you all for staying with me from the beginning of this story till now.

There is really little remaining in this story

What happens to Preye.

Oghene's school grads (he had to graduate nau)

A wedding. (You know na)

But, I will not be writing those here because presently, my hands are very full. I have a book coming out on the 31st of this month, and I am working hard to make sure I dont fail Amazon while crazily marketing my other works as daughter of Zion needs to make sales.

However, I will still drop a few chapters to end it. Whatever holes remaining to be fixed 8n this story will be done in the edited and re-written version.

As you all know, I always re-write my stories and publish them, so this one will not he an exemption.

I will refine this story and that is where Preye will be properly developed, as well as other minor characters. Esosa will also get a story. But the refined version is purely for publication and money making 😁😁

****
Ife

How could one man look so drunk in lust and so terrified at the same time? And to think he just kissed me like I’d never been kissed before, like I never imagined he would! Jesus. How could he look decent and untouched, yet kiss like a damn romantic gangster? At first, he was gentle, a little unsure. His lips merely grazed mine in a soft, feathery touch. Arousing me, firing my body with his fingertips brushing over my skin while he wet my face with his tongue, igniting me.

I had suspected that he was sensual. That day inside the Sianna, his breath washed over me, enflaming me. Everything about him was stimulating, and the most exciting thing about him was that he had no idea how much fire he had… none. Today, when I turned and noticed him standing there, his stare was undressing me, sending blood rushing down my core. His lust was glaring. Like the ‘I want you… so bad’ kind.

I didn’t plan this from the beginning. I’d only come here to hustle for a ring and a promise because I felt it was long overdue, and because I saw the way sisters were looking at him today in church. But then this happened: the dance, the stare. The ache, a hard, nearly painful ache. And he kissed me. It was as if he knew this day would come somehow, and he had been waiting, and planning, and waiting. His moves were deliberate and calculated. His lips knew the right places to graze, his tongue the right part to wet, his teeth the perfect time to grate before he sucked, fanning the tension between us, thickening the air with unspoken desire. His breath was hot against my skin, his touch searing into my memory. I wanted him, needed him, in a way that was almost unbearable. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the future, only the intoxicating present where we were lost in each other.

What he was doing was more than igniting me; it was a declaration, a claim. He wasn’t just arousing me; he was branding me with his passion, leaving an indelible mark on my soul. And I wanted to be his, completely and utterly, to give myself to him without reservation. Because in his arms, I felt like the most beautiful, desired woman in the world. And I never wanted this moment to end.

The excellence in the way his lips moved around my face, like a practiced art, like his brain was working while he seduced me with ease, noting each of my responses, made me conclude he must be grinning inwardly.

I imagine him thinking, ‘Yes, baby. Take that. You want this part of me? You have it. Now let me see you handle that.’

And when he was sure I was about to disappear like steam from a teacup, his hand slid down to grip my upper thigh, the lower part of my bum resting on his arm. The awareness of his touch down there, the sound of his desire evident in his strangled groan sent gasps after gasps rolling out of me. When his tongue sought entrance to my mouth, I didn’t hesitate. His kiss became intense, filled with the urgency of his hunger for me, which was there in way he coursed us away from the kitchen cabinet. The force at which he slammed my back against the wall added to the wildness of this moment.

Soon he was aggressively demanding, driving me, pushing me, possessing me with his hands, his tongue. Crushing me totally until I was nothing but his damaged car while he fiddled me like he did the vehicle engines at his workshop. He was kissing me senseless, adoring me with his words, commanding me with his moans. His lips moved with precision and passion, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

He explored every inch of my mouth, his tongue dancing with mine, tasting and teasing, each movement igniting a fire within me. His hands roamed my body, one sliding up to cup my breast, the other gripping my thigh, lifting me slightly so I could feel the full length of him pressed against me. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and desire that had me clinging to him, lost in the throes of our passion.

Every touch, every kiss was a balance of sensations and desire that built and built until I thought I might explode. His lips left mine to travel down my neck, sucking and nibbling, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hand moved from my thigh to my waist, pulling me closer, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

He whispered my name, his voice rough with need, and it sent a shiver in waves all over me. I was his, completely and utterly, and he knew it. He took his time, savoring every moment, every gasp and moan that escaped my lips. It was as if he wanted to memorize every inch of me, to brand me with his touch, his kiss.

And I let him. I let him take me apart piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the two of us, lost in the heat of our passion. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way he made me feel. Alive. Wanted. Loved.

I wrapped my leg around his waist, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against me. He responded with a growl, his lips finding mine again in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. It was a kiss that spoke of promises, of a love that was as deep as it was wild.

His hands were everywhere; my cheeks, my neck, under my clothes, stroking and searing my flesh with his touch, marking me as his. I was begging, willingly offering all of myself to him.

Then he couldn’t take it anymore. His passionate kiss changed. It gentled, soothed, and entreated, giving me the chance to switch roles with him. I became the aggressor; he became the recipient. I was kissing him like my life depended on it, like I wanted to preserve this moment, this slice of time when the day was heated with our passion and the possibility of more sinful acts. Every event in my life after this would be different because Oghene had kissed me so passionately, so fiercely. I was unbuttoning his shirt with no idea of what I would do or say next. But when his perfectly sculpted torso came into view and my hand touched the beauty, I knew instantly that I must have the pleasure of running my tongue down his body or I would starve.

I loved the way he groaned at my touch, the rapidity at which he was losing control to me. I loved it that it was me bringing him to his knees. But when I came up to cover my mouth around his nipple, he let out a hissed gibberish and jolted back to reality.

Gently, he pulled away from me, unlocking my hands from around his neck and stepping back, still staring at me. His lips were parted, his eyes wide.

“Ife, you are something else,” he murmured, panting. There was a ghost of a smirk on his lips he just ran his tongue over. I giggled. He chuckled. “Shuu? You chop winsh?” He lowered his head for a moment and looked up again. This time, his lips held a full smile.

I took that as a cue, walked closer to him, and placed my hand on his chest. He liked it. God, he loved what had just happened between us. And it seemed he hadn’t had enough. I hadn’t either. His hand covered mine that was on his body, the other slid across my neck, his touch feathery soft, sending a fresh shiver down my spine into my legs, which were having a hard time keeping me upright. I felt his heart slamming against my palm.

“Ife...please.”

Whether it was for me to stop or not to, I loved that he was begging. So, I touched his face, feeling the stubble on his chin, a sandpapery contrast to the softness of his lips, and he was looking at me, and I was looking back at him. Then I leaned forward, briefly noticing his closed eyes, and kissed him. It was a shadow of a kiss, cool and insubstantial. But then his eyes opened, and he smiled at me with such innocent happiness that my ridiculous heart gave a leap.

He grabbed the back of my neck, leaned forward, and crushed my lips with his, kissing me long and hard, and then gave my bottom lip a bite before letting me go.

“Ouch!” I touched the spot. “What did you do that for?”

“This is not going to happen again until we are married,” he said, his voice a mix of resolve and desire. The words hung between us, a promise and a challenge.

M-married? Wait. Was this a proposal? Did Oghene just throw a marriage proposal at me like he would a bunch of keys, expecting me to catch it? Well...I’d just pretend like I didn’t get it. “But we can kiss, right?” I asked. “Nothing is wrong with kissing...just kissing. No touching...”

“No be me you go lead into eternal damnation. God forbid,” he muttered with amusement, and I burst out laughing. “You know how many days fasting with serious cabashing I go do to cleanse my mind? Abeg, dish out the walensh make we chop,” he added, walking towards the door, shaking his head. Halfway out, he turned;

“Ife?”

“Ehn?”

“I’ve never kissed lips like yours.”

“How many lips have you kissed?”

“Not so much. Three.” The way he said it, like he found it embarrassing yet wanted me to know. “You are so sweet. I was gone and almost...you understand why we must not allow this temptation again, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sugar. I do.”

He grinned. “I may start getting used to you calling me ‘Sugar.’”

“You should, Sugar.”

“It’s better than ‘Daddy.’”

“Hmm.”

“And, Ife?”

“Ehn?”

“I love you so much.”
“I love you too, my Warri boy.” And I loved the stillness, the pressure, the rhythm, and the breathing of this love.

Twenty-Nine
Oghene

I came home to the sweet aroma of food and the sight of a woman in a man's shirt—my shirt. The fabric just skimmed the tops of her smooth, soft, full dark thighs. Her body swayed gently, in rhythm with the soft tune she was humming. I had been standing there for a while, leaning against the doorframe, watching her. She didn't notice; she didn’t even hear my entrance because of the earpieces nestled in both ears. Not that I wanted her to, as this—this moment, as absurd as it seemed... Me finding immense satisfaction in observing her move around my kitchen, my gaze lingering on every part of her, the beautiful curve of her hips in my shirt that rode up whenever she lifted her arms or rested them on her equally beautiful waist, perfect for my arm to slide across and settle on, was pleasurable.

I had half-expected to find her still in my house upon my return. Half-expected, because I never truly believed she had forgotten anything here. She was not a good liar, and no matter how much she tried, I could always see through her. When she demanded the key to my house, my first thought was that she had something planned for me—a gift, perhaps. But that didn’t quite add up, especially since she didn’t know I would be at church today. Yet, I sensed she was up to something and had spent the day trying to decipher her intentions.

While I met with the rector and his wife, listening to them express their gratitude for my decision to forgive and return to church, urging me to rejoin my department because "our service is unto God and not unto man," and while I made a quick stop at the supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine I would share with her if she was still around at my place, waiting for me to return; and also while I rode home, my mind had raced with a thousand and one reasons why she would want to be in my house while I was away.

But nothing prepared me for this... this sight of her looking like an innocent dark heaven; saintly, simple, beautiful, right, sinful, wrong, ensnaring, and then some. It was as if she had come here, bathed herself in a pool of allure, and oiled her skin with sweet-smelling sexiness, the kind that made my belly tie in knots just having my eyes rake over her, igniting a fire within and spreading out with just one movement of her hips as she strolled from the sink to the cooker.

I lowered my gaze and scratched my head. I was doomed, fated to be utterly undone by this woman. It started in church, the holiest of places where one mustn't harbor any immoral thoughts. I walked in and saw her almost immediately, standing in a daze as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back in meditation. She was breathtaking. Even when she opened her eyes and began fumbling in her purse, her hair cascading over her shoulder, I couldn't look away.
Something wild took over when she pulled out her phone and lowered herself to speak into it. That part of me that wanted to claim her, to show everyone she was mine, flared up. I grabbed her phone just to make her see me, and when she did, it was the best feeling in the world. Her eyes met mine, and her smile left me weak.

Now, here she was, turning off the cookers while humming louder. She opened one of the pots, dipped a spoon inside, tapped it on her palm, and then licked it. She tilted her head, savoring the taste, and sighed with satisfaction, nodding repeatedly. She began to move her body to the rhythm of a song that was definitely not gospel. Her movements were fluid and sensual, her legs widening as she tilted to the side. Oh Jesus... Lord.

Was this what ladies did when they thought no one was watching?

The way she moved her waist and hips, the way she... She changed her posture, bending her knees slightly, arching her back as she leaned forward. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, and she began to move again. Her hips swayed rhythmically, each movement precise, making the provocative dance seem effortless. This wasn't the woman I saw in church earlier today. With each bounce, her lower body popped and rolled with a grace that left me spellbound.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t want to watch a woman do this—it was defiling and dirty, capable of luring a simple man into immorality. But this was Ifenkili, my woman. It felt
right watching her, felt right letting her drive me wild. The most maddening thing about this moment was that she didn’t know I was there. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

Or did she know? Was she putting on a show to test my limits?

My hand drifted down to stroke my throbbing groin, and for a brief moment, I wondered what it would feel like to have that perfect backside of hers pressing against me as she danced.

Yes, that was it. It was time to do the right thing before the 'son of man' fell into temptation. I needed to either walk away and return when it felt safer or announce my presence so she would stop this seduction. But I loved it here. I loved what I was seeing—the sweet panic it was arousing alongside the lust, the excitement, everything. Even though I was becoming someone else in this moment, someone driven by desire, I was entranced by what I might do to her... to us. Most of all, I was terrified of walking out of this room and never feeling the way I did when I was with her.

I wasn't sure what made her stop dancing, unplug her earpiece, and turn around. When she did, she froze, her lips slightly parted, eyes widening in surprise. The blush that rose to her cheeks made my heart race.

“I-I—”

“Just kill me so you can rest in Jesus’ name,” I breathed, instantly regretting my comment as guilt and embarrassment flickered in her eyes. “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to change the subject for the good of both of us because I wasn’t sure I would be able to innocently dwell on the topic of that dance without losing control of my already awoken boner.
What I had just witnessed... even the embarrassed look on her face was affecting me in ways I didn't want to analyze. And Jesus Christ, one more gaze at her slightly parted lips and I would kiss her. I needed to kiss her—today, here, now—or I would die of longing.

She didn’t answer my question, and I didn’t expect her to. Moving deeper into the kitchen, I carefully avoided brushing against her as I opened the pots she’d set down.

“You cooked for me,” I said, turning with a grin.

She nodded. “I thought... since you loved that combo rice I brought to the workshop the other day, it would be good if I made it for you again.”

Why was she talking so fast, as if she wasn’t sure her effort was impressive enough? She was never this unsure. I knew I had food in the fridge—I always did. But this was different. Having her here, so comfortable in my shirt and cooking for me, was an amazing gift.
She was an amazing gift.

“Doh oh. Thank you,” I said, itching to grab her and pull her into a hug.

Maybe I should do that.

Maybe I shouldn’t.

She smiled shyly, and ah... Oghene eh! Ifenkili, what is this thing you are doing to me?

Before I could stop myself, I reached for her arm and pulled her in so she rested her body against mine.

“Thank you.” I was sure the words came out rusty and strangled. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you in church today,” I added, trying to block the image of her provocative backside bouncing up and down and side to side a while ago from my head. Shuu? E be like say I go need to use bleach wash my eyes and brain before that image go comot. Even now, it was so difficult to concentrate on anything except her giggling bum-bum. What song was she dancing to anyway? “Your dress. It was beautiful. Where is it?”

"Ehn?"

"Your dress."

"Oh, I pulled it off so I could change into something more comfortable. It’s in the bedroom..."

‘Pulled off... bedroom.’ Was it me, or did one spirit like that just crank up the temperature of the world as soon as my ears picked up those words? And why did they suddenly sound so suggestive? Bedroom... pulled off... 'Breathe,' I mentally commanded myself. ‘O’boy, relax.’ My throat dipped, and I let out a sigh. I was definitely going crazy. That was the perfect explanation for what was going on with me. How could my brain suddenly become so messed up that it had started interpreting innocent words as something sexual?

"And you picked my new shirt to cook in. I just got it a week ago and had only worn it once," I murmured, stroking her back.

"Hmm," she cooed, snuggling into me like a baby. "Do you want me to go pull it off?"

I let out another breath, adjusting my stance and clearing my throat to ease the tension. Holy hell, why was she doing and saying all the wrong things since I walked in here? Or rather, why had my brain chosen this moment to become a vagabond, putting me under immense pressure that was making me hot and tight beneath my trousers? Squeezing me hard? Jesus Christ!

She lifted her face to look at me, our lips almost touching.

"Sugar?”

"Hm?" Before now, I would have argued about her calling me this. But at this moment, I didn’t mind if she called me sugar, salt, bitters... anything at all.

"Is it just my dress you found beautiful today when you saw me in church?" she asked in a very disarming voice.

"No. You. All of you." I stepped back to lean against the kitchen cabinet and reached for her, pulling her into my arms. "Lord, I've been wanting to hold you all day," I whispered close to her face. I should kiss her. Now. Now! But I was scared of what would come next. I wanted her like a man who just returned from a spirit-filled church service shouldn’t.

She touched my face. She’d gotten used to doing that, and I loved it. "Me, too. You don’t know how much I wanted to be alone with you so I can lean into you like this.”

“That’s why you came up with this plot? Cooking for me?”

She smiled.

“You really didn’t forget anything here. It was just an excuse to come here and wait for me.”

“And cook for you,” she corrected. “I really wanted an opportunity to do something for you, Oghene. And when you told me you are not going home immediately, I saw my chance. I only had to go to the market fast, come here, and get the food ready before you returned. I just wanted to make you happy in any little way I can.”

“You have always made me happy, sunshine.” There was something about strong women in the arms of the men they love. Something that made them look vulnerable, stripped of all toughness. I’d seen it in Ezioma whenever she was around Shukudi, and in my maleh when paleh was still alive. Now, I was seeing it in Ife. With me, she seemed to voluntarily shed herself of any form of gra-gra. With me, she was a baby.

“But why... why is it hard for you to just kiss me?” She lifted her face again and asked, pouting her lips. “My lips. Are they not attractive enough to make you... crave for them?”

No girl, you wouldn’t want to get us into a situation we both knew would be the end of us. “Ife? Shuu? Why would you ever think that?” Didn’t she know? Hadn’t she noticed how close I’d come to kissing her on several occasions? How I desired, even now, to explore her beautiful, supple lips. Learn them and memorize them. That way, I'd know what to miss when she was gone. Oghene eh! Her lips were heartbreakingly, hauntingly sexy. They made my heart ache.

“But, I’ve been begging you. Not like I’m asking you to have sex with me. Oghene, people in love do kiss.”

"Sunshine, God know say I want you bad. I dey feel you wela. I crave for your body in such a way that makes me sick, but we really shouldn't. It's not fair to you."

She hissed, pulled herself away from me, and folded her hands across her chest. "I'll tell you what's not fair. It's that damn touch-and-run routine! It is not fair to get me so... so... worked up and needy!"

She was angry and embarrassed and hated it that she had to ask me this again. Instantly, I felt like an idiot. What was wrong with what she was asking?

Everything. Every damn thing!

But I still had control over whatever might come out of it. She'd only asked for a kiss, right? Just an act of touching her lips with mine, and that would be all.

“I should... go and set the table and—” She was avoiding my eyes. Jesus, what have I done? “You may want to go... ehm... change into something else.”

I caught her hand before she could slip away. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. God, how I wished I could tell her how much I loved her and how much I hated to see a frown on her beautiful face. I settled for folding her in my arms and showing her instead.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. Really, Oghene. I understand. I think I’m being stupid...”

“You are not stupid, baby.” I kissed her head. Oh God, was it wrong that all I wanted to do was to lick every part of her? I smiled, she flushed. Oh God. So cute. I knew then, I’d give this girl anything she asked me for. I’d probably beg her to take it. “I am the stupid one, Ife.” I kissed her forehead, this time with a bit more urgency. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmured. “Maybe I am scared like you said the other time.”

“Of me?”

“No, baby.” My lips found her cheek, her chin, her neck, and with every nibble I was reminded of how I had no right to touch her more than this, crave her like life. But I wasn’t eager to pull away because the way she was fitted so perfectly in my arms, the taste of her skin...like she’d been made just for me, and the way she was losing her balance and breath, was disintegrating me completely. I was sure her legs would have given way if I didn’t have a firm grip on her. “Ife my love...” This wasn’t going the way I thought. I wasn’t supposed to melt long for more, my strength failing me under her sweet tender onslaught. My desire soared with the heat of her body and her breath, destroying me completely. And just when I felt I had to put an end to this as gently as I could, I realized she might crumple to the floor if I let go of her. My hand grazed down the curve of her backside to settle under her, steadying her.

The shallow hum that came from within her ignited something in me, like a million sparks of burning desire in my groin, stomach, and head, and every part of me.

“Ifenkili?” My voice came out in a squeak. “What are you doing to me?”

"I don’t know," she breathed against my cheek. “Maybe... we should... stop...”

"No. Destroy me,” I managed, a moment before I caught her face and drew her in, our lips dangerously close. My heart was beating like the steady kick of a car ignition. Hers too. “Ife, I want to kiss you now.” That was so stupid. The most stupid thing a man would say in the heat of passion. Her lips stretched in a suppressed laugh while the tension in my body stretched, the effort of holding back, of wanting to take this one chance, however dangerous and stupid and unwise, and kissing her the way I had thought I would never, in my life, be able to kiss any woman. “It’s just a kiss,” I said, and heard the roughness in my voice, and wondered if she heard it, too.

Not that it mattered—there was no way to hide it. It was too much. I had never wanted like this before... and she understood, laughed when I laughed, saw through the defenses I put up to what was underneath.

“You innocent baby,” she murmured before I tilted my head and shut her smart mouth up with mine.

And that was it. All the self-control I’d employed over for long left me in a poof. Jesus! Her lips were everything I had ever fantasized and more; soft, round, and demanding. I could taste her - hot and sweet with the spice from the food she just made and her total yielding. My stomach trembled, and a warm drop of pleasure spread beneath my skin. More. I wanted more, so I drew her even deeper, blocking out all the notions that this was wrong, that she was off-limits until we legalized this, that tomorrow I might regret this. I didn't care.

The strength of my desire, the speed with which it flowered, shocked me. Suddenly, I flinched and startled back from her. I had a moment, only a moment, to see her face framed in the afternoon light, her lips slightly parted, still half-forming a kiss. Her eyes were wide with surprise and wild desire. That undid me. Even though, deep down, I knew that right at this moment, she was the embodiment of a bad decision. The twin of danger and desire. The fine line between deadly and divine. The ocean pulling me into an endless drowning. I wanted this her. Hungry. Wild and ready to be ruined by me. I wanted to ravish her lips so badly that she’d never remember any other kiss but mine.

I wove my hands into her hair, grabbed a fistful, and gave a gentle tug. She whimpered. Then I moved closer. This was the man she wanted, the beast she had been trying to unleash. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I traced the valley between her lips with my tongue. Parting her lips, I deepened the kiss. It was like taking a joy ride together, first moving slow and rhythmic, and then, when we were both panting, the kiss turned into a hot, fast race I never wanted to end. I had kissed a few women before, but none were like this; sensual and extremely addictive.

We were still in the kitchen, leaning against the cabinet. Before I knew it, I was coursing us through the floor and slamming her back against the wall. Still not ideal, but I hardly noticed. Jesus, how could she be so sweet that I could hardly think? Only feel... her warm breath, her tongue licking every part of my face, my neck, and my ear. She was good. So good that I didn’t know if she was kissing me or I was kissing her. All I knew was that I was whispering something to her, drawing out from her moans and pleas. I wasn’t going to push her too far, or both of us would crash. The guilt that came after sexual immorality wasn’t what I wanted to deal with. But without thinking, my hand slowly moved up her bare thigh.

"Don’t... stop. So good," she said breathlessly.

Why would she say that? Why would she encourage my hand to explore her warm and damp skin while my lips caressed the hollow of her neck? I slipped my hand inside the loose shirt from under. Her breath hitched. She lifted her leg and wrapped it around my hip, giving me the nudge to keep stroking up to the tight shorts she had inside, grabbing the band while holding her firm against the wall with my weight and my other hand on her back. She let out another whimper and began to unbutton my shirt. In less than no time, her fingers were roaming over my chest and shoulders, searing my skin.

"You're... perfect," she panted.

Me perfect? Far from that. But right now, I was not going to argue with her. Moving lower, my tongue followed a path down to the silky skin of her neck again while she grabbed the back of my hair, urging me on. She tasted of sweat and spices and so damn good. Too good. Oghene meh!

“Sugar... Oh God, you are so perfect,” she murmured, kissing my chest. She brought down her leg, then lowered her head to kiss my stomach and came up again to run her tongue over my nipple.

Throwing my head back, “OhJesusohgodgodgoodness,” was all I was capable of saying as my already hardened erection pulsated in response. She had a wicked smile on her face when I looked down at her. I wanted to tell her not to do that again, or she’d get us into deeper trouble than we already were, but when I captured her gaze with mine, those shining orbs glowing with desire... Oh, talk about perfect.

“Ife... baby...” I groaned, breathing heavily. She didn’t need to utter a word for me to know that the feeling was mutual. I knew how long she'd wanted this. But I wondered how long I'd wanted it.

Twenty-Eight

Ife

I was comfortably at that age where I wanted to buy a tambourine and take it to church every Sunday. Funny how I used to laugh at my mother each time I traveled home and followed her to church, watching her shake her tambourine over her head and move her body from side to side during praise.

Fast forward to today, and there I was, doing the same thing. I didn’t know what spirit had propelled me to order the musical instrument from Jumia. Maybe it was because it was the first week of June—a pretty romantic month. Cold, cloudy, cuddly. Even the name Juneeeee had an effortless display of romance. Or perhaps it was because last week, I was so bloated that I feared I was finally getting the big tummy that ran in my family. But this week, I started eating a lot of fiber foods, as Oghene suggested, and having amazing bowel movements. My stomach had gone back to being as flat as a board, and my waist was super snatched. Oh, this feeling of giving thanks to the Lord with a tambourine could have come from a deeper place of gratefulness for deliverance from Preye, the kidnapper. Life and death had stood face to face, and darkness had wanted to take my life away, but mercy said no. Even though Preye was still on the run, I remained grateful to the Lord, praying that he would be caught or meet a terrible end.

I was also grateful for the love I was receiving—the love God gave me in the form of a man, Oghene. It had taught me how to feel safe because it radiated certainty and belonging, making everything feel okay for us. In the short time I had given myself to it, it had made each moment our own in small ways, like loving the same music, choosing particular colors, enjoying similar scents, and having almost identical favorite Bible scriptures. It had taught me how to talk about my life in a way that left no space for questioning.

“Is this seat occupied?” I asked the lone lady on the pew in the second row at the third church's nave.

“No,” she replied, moving her bag from the empty space at the pew’s end.

I sat down. “Thank you,” I said, placing my bag and water bottle in the holder attached to the pew in front. I loved sitting at the end of the pew because of the armrest and how easy it was to quickly exit the church if needed. Settling in, I leaned back and let my ears enjoy the soft worship music coming from the band’s stand. Today was a non-liturgical service, meaning there would be more praise and worship from the gospel band and fewer choir renditions. Even the procession would be accompanied by the band’s choruses. I was almost lost in the worship when my phone vibrated, pulling me back to reality.

It was a message from an elderly client who had been making my life miserable since Friday. Why was it so difficult for these clients to be patient? I’d told this man I was working on his form and that he would get his pension soon, but he had kept buzzing my line. Last night alone, I had eight missed calls from him. Eight! I almost pulled my hair out.

Now he was calling. I stared at the phone for a while, glanced around, and then picked up the call, lowering my head so I could whisper a dismissive word to the old man. I had barely spoken a word when a hand snatched the phone from me, shoving my head back so that my back landed on the pew with a thud. I was about to snap at this person for acting so foolishly when I whipped my head back, but the retort dried up immediately upon seeing the tall, masculine figure in black chinos and a plain blue shirt walking down the nave.

I recognized that walk... a slight bounce in each step, and hands subtly hanging, not entirely resting at his sides.

“Oghene,” I murmured. My pulse jumped, as if it had a mind of its own.

He stopped by a pew several rows away from mine to greet some elderly ladies who got up to hug him. He shook hands with their husbands, turning around to respond to a tap on his back—another woman wanted his attention. There was another one waiting for her turn. There was yet another. The number of people wanting a piece of him seemed endless, and I began to wonder when he’d be left alone so he could notice me.

The third alert bell had gone off, and soon the choir and pastoral team would begin to process in. He was about to continue walking down when he caught the gesture of a much older woman. He took a few steps back, leaned forward into the woman’s hug. That was when he turned his head towards me, caught me staring, and winked. Words burst like stardust in my heart:

"I love you," I murmured. "I love you so much, I’m stupid about it."

My eyes stayed on him as he gently pulled away from the woman, waved at a few others, and resumed walking down the aisle. When he was almost at the last pew, he turned again, as if he knew I would keep staring at him until he disappeared. He waved my phone at me, knowing I wouldn’t come after him to get it back since the procession had started, and that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else happening in church today because I would be thinking of him, my eyes seeking him among the many worshippers. He stuck his tongue out at me and grinned when I put on a fake frown, then walked out.

After the second reading, during the Nicene Creed, I saw him again. He walked by me to climb up to the gallery directly adjacent to where I sat. He leaned on the handrail, his face forward, his gaze fixed on the chancel for a while, then he looked down—at me, with a half-grin on his face. I didn’t look away, even though I wanted to, because I felt like we would be giving our emotions away, making people notice what was going on between us. There was also another reason why I didn’t look away, and that was because, in those few seconds, gazing into his eyes reminded me again what it felt like to be the center of someone’s world. He broke the gaze to run his tongue over his lips and glanced at the chancel, giving me time to lower my head and breathe. By the time I looked up again, his attention had returned to me. This time it felt like I was being touched without him actually being close. He was mapping every part of me in his mind, and from the periodic changes in his expression, I knew he was having a series of thoughts about this moment.

The Nicene Creed was over, and Sister Nwamaka was preparing the atmosphere for the praise and worship section while the band’s instrumentalists set the tone. I willed myself to pull my attention away and concentrate when the worship section began, but by the time Sister Nwamaka raised the second song, I had gone back to throwing glances up, hoping he was still looking at me. I sang a little too loud, moving my body and shaking my tambourine over my head so dramatically that if I were out of my body watching myself, I would lower my face in embarrassment.

He was singing along too, doing the gentle men's dance to the rhythm of the music. Once in a while, he would look down and our gazes would lock. He would grin. I would grin. He would look away, and I would look away.

It was a game we were playing—a game of who would stay for a longer period without glancing at the other. And when we caught each other, we would laugh at our silliness.

Even during the sermon, we were stealing glances. I noticed when two of the boys he used to work with in the communications department came to whisper something to him and left, and when he brought out my phone to check it. A call must have come through, or a message. He got up, walked to the rail, and looked down with the phone in his hand

“Your phone,” he mouthed, shaking it for me to understand. “Should I bring it to you?”

I shook my head.

“You have a call,” he mouthed again.

And again, I shook my head. “Keep it,” I mouthed back, lowering my head to my Bible. I’d check the caller later and probably return the call if I must. For now, the device was with whom I was comfortable leaving it with.

It was during the thanksgiving section that we got the chance to be close to each other again, though briefly. He had come down to cast his offering, and I was lost in the intense music, dancing with the upper part of my body lowered. I smelled him before his hand rested on my back. When I straightened up, he leaned so close that his breath grazed my cheek as he whispered in my ear,

“You just dey show yourself since today.”

I giggled, gripping and holding his hand in place on my back as I didn’t want to miss that feeling yet.

“You look beautiful in that dress, by the way,” he added, shifting closer to allow someone to dance past.

I blushed. “This old dress?” I asked awkwardly. “It’s been a long time since I wore it.”

“It’s beautiful. I like it.”

“I even want to give it out.”

“Don’t, please. I like it.” Then he gently withdrew his hand, slipped it inside his pocket, and came out with my phone. He took my hand and placed it in my palm. “Take it before you cry. I heard women don’t joke with their phones.”

Not this woman. And not when it’s you holding it. Boy, you can as well take my life.

I met him among some people after the church service and waited for him to look in my direction. He did, and I signaled for him to come.

“Are you ready to go now?” I was breathing fast. What I had in mind was crazy and reeked of a lack of home training. God, the sisterhood would not be proud if they knew the idea I was about to act out.

“You want to drive me home?” he said with humor.

“O o o o, talk now.”

“Not yet. The rector asked me to wait. He wants to see me.”

Nodding, I lowered my head a bit, summoning all the courage in me for the next thing I wanted to say.

“I—do you... can I...”

“Ife, be calming down,” he said, and we both burst out laughing. “Watin you want?”

“Your house key.”

The words came out in a rush. God, why was it difficult to put myself and my thoughts together here? I’d gone past being nervous before him now. Besides, he’d been the nervous one in this relationship not me. When did we switch roles? “I-I think I left something... my... one of my things behind that day we... I helped you move into your new place.”

“You forgot something? Why didn’t you come for it earlier?” he asked in a very low, suggestive tone, staring at me in that strange, hungry way that unraveled me. He stroked his bottom lip with a finger. For a flash of a second, I thought... there was a... Just my imagination in overdrive. I was probably projecting missing him—everything about the last time we were together—onto him.

“I only remembered it last night, silly.”

He glanced over his shoulder, probably at the people he was chatting with before I beckoned him. “Hmm. Is it a woman’s thing—an underwear? That’s why you’re embarrassed to come for it all this while.” He smiled a crooked grin and lifted a brow at me.

Laughter spilled from me, rusty and hoarse, not because of what he said and how innocently he said it, but because his grin made me feel good. He brought the keys out from his pocket and jiggled them in front of my face.

“I would like to meet you when I come back. Wait for me. But if you can’t, lock up and keep the keys under the doormat for me.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I said and took the keys.

I tried writing while I was at Enugu but I was always fagged out each time I return from the fest to my hotel. I came back last Sunday, had to clear my work table Monday and Tuesday. How is everyone doing? Glad to be back here again.

****
Oghene

It was better to shut up and be assumed ignorant than to open your mouth and prove that even cold rocks were smarter than you. Seriously, what kind of talk was this? How could any sensible man plan to host a nonsense party where he would pop bottles of ‘costly wine’ and empty them on twerking bum-bum, all over betting money? Who raised these men, abeg?

“Agu, is your head even on your neck?” How could someone win seven million naira from betting, and the first thing that came to his mind was to organize a party, invite ladies, and order bottles of wine for dorime, when he didn’t even have a house, not even a parcel of land in his village? Wasn’t he the same person who said he had to sell the only land his father left for them to send his younger brother to Ukraine? And he’d been hustling since then, taking care of his mother and other siblings, while hoping that his brother, whom they hadn’t heard from in years, would miraculously return home with plenty of money. It was this same desperation to hit it big so he could pull his family out of penury that drove him to naira-betting. A bad habit that added to his pennilessness. But two days ago, he got lucky, won some money, bought drinks and pepper soup for us at the workshop, and now he was thinking of organizing a party. Oghene eh. Some people dey get sense until money enter their hand, I swear.

“Oghene, leave me, make I celebrate. When was the last time I touched that kind of money? Don’t give me that ‘spend wisely’ advice.”

“Oya, no wahala. Don’t spend wisely. Enjoy to the fullest. Another one will come, Ogbori.” We were in a taxi heading to the police station. I didn’t want any of the guys to tag along because of the nature of this visit.

But Agu insisted. It was the early hours of the morning, the mechanic workshop was in a state of calm and quiet. A few cars that were still under servicing, and some that their owners had given up on were the only ones parked in the area. Tools hung in front of stores, while a couple of mechanics lounged around eating hot breakfast and chatting. Phones rang occasionally, but for the most part, the atmosphere was relaxed and unhurried. And Agu complained that he was getting bored and sleepy. Why wouldn’t he when he now had an extra 7 million added to his account—that was if the money still reached that amount. The kpo-kpo head had been spending like a crude oil thief since he won that money.

He didn’t know about the call I made, first to Shukudi, then to Akanelu last night, telling them that I wanted this case closed, the argument that ensued between Akanelu and me over the matter, and how I insisted that I wasn’t letting Sarima go because I was weak, but because I felt I had had my hands around her throat for so long that I was beginning to feel the heaviness in my arms. And since the bitterness in my heart against her and everyone who added to my pain in this case had eased, thanks to the beautiful thing I had going on with Ife, there was a need to let go.

It didn’t mean I would totally forget what was done to me. I was human, with a heart as Ife said. This decision to release Sarima also didn’t come with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night. That night, after my reverend and his members visited and Ife spoke to me later.

Akanelu asked, for the umpteenth time, why I wanted Sarima to go free when I had already gotten a lawyer who had filed the case to court, and I replied that I had to. Three weeks in police detention might not be enough punishment, but I was ready to move on. As for my pastor and his council members, I would also forgive all of them. I might not be able to relate with them like before, might not be able to look at any of them the same way, would definitely not be sending any of them goodwill messages on special occasions, but I had to forgive them, to overlook. Because if I didn’t, I would be tying rocks to my feet, too much for my body to carry.

“But, Oghene o, if na you win this money, what will you do with it?” Agu asked.

I hesitated. We were almost at the State CID, and I wondered if this was really what I wanted. Would letting Sarima go bring me peace? The answer came in the form of images and sweet memories. Ife. She was my comfort and the peace I sought, the calm eye of the storm, the whisper in my ears during those maddening moments. I thought of our conversation this morning before I left for work, the last thing she said that made me call her ‘crazy,’ and I chuckled mentally. Ife was sweet madness personified—a rare mix of a dirty mind, exquisite beauty, curves that made my hands ache, a deep heart, and mischief that I wanted for myself. She was peace in the shape of a woman.

“Ol’boy, answer me nau,” Agu said, pulling me back to the moment.

“I don’t gamble.”

“I know. But assuming it’s you. What will you do?”

I paused again, tilted my head to the side, and stared at him intently. “Why don’t you come and take a space at my new site? Use part of that money to build a shade where you can sell motor parts while you woo your old customers to get their cars fixed. I’ll do the same, and Shukudi too—”

As I spoke, his lips widened in a grin, his eyes shining with realization. Before I could finish, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a bear hug.

“I talk am say na sense full this your head.”

“Na ororo...groundnut oil full your own,” I hissed, pulling away. “The space is not for free o.”

“Eh?”

“Before? You think say na free? Oji. You go pay rent nau.”

“Ony’oshi. Thief. What will happen to the structure I put up?”

“The cost of the structure can cover three-to four-years’ rent. After that, you’ll start paying me.”

“Just tell me you are looking for people that will build shops for you,” he hissed. “Besides, how are you sure customers will like to come there?”

“You can never tell unless you try.”

We didn’t discuss it again until we came out of the police station, after my lawyer, who was already waiting for me, closed the case—to Agu’s displeasure—and I spoke with Sarima, whose weeks in detention had left her weary, her hair in disarray, dark circles shadowing her eyes, her clothes hanging loosely from the weight she had lost.

“I like your idea sha. I’ll think about it,” Agu said.

“Be fast before others rush the offer, and the next thing you’ll hear when you finally make up your mind is that every space has been taken.”

“Come on get out dia. Na because I just wan help your life and you are forming big man for me. I will decide not to consider your offer o.”

“Oya, leave am nau. Ogbori.”

When we got back to the workshop by lunchtime, the morning scene of laxity had shifted; phones rang more frequently, and the sound of engines revving and tools clinking became a constant background noise. Agu brought up what happened at the police station, bewildered that Shukudi already knew about my decision before I set off.

“But, o’boy, I don’t understand you. True,” Agu said. “So, you are allowing her to go like that? It can never be me. So, like this now, you have forgotten about what she did to you.”

I replied that forgiveness had nothing to do with forgetting what an offender did to you. Rather, it was about relieving oneself of the burden of remaining a victim. By choosing to let go, I not only released myself from the pain of what Sarima did but also the torment from Eserovwe’s mama’s accusation. I dialed Ife’s number during a short break, but she didn’t pick up. After finishing my mid-lunch of fried yam and a bottle of malt drink, I called her again. She still didn’t answer, but shortly, her WhatsApp message came through:
‘Hey daddy...’

If I still had the malt drink in my mouth, I was sure it would have burst out with the laughter that erupted from my throat. Earlier today, I was her ‘Sugar,’ and now I was d-daddy? Shuu? Ifenkili dey ment.

‘I’m busy right now. The workload on my table is crazy. I’ll call you later. Love you,’ her message read.

I quickly typed a reply, sent it, and was about to put my phone away and get back to work when another message popped up. It was from my sister. E get the kain billing way your sister go bill you like this ehn, you go first burst laugh. This non-rent paying, non-bills settling lady was asking for a new phone. An iPhone, precisely. There was nothing wrong with the Redmi 13C I bought for her not long ago; she simply wanted an upgrade because two of her friends, whose big brothers were staying in Lagos, got them iPhones, so she wanted one too. I shook my head and pocketed the phone.

The workshop had become very busy. I had four customers waiting for me while I worked on Oga Ema’s Sienna, and my phone kept ringing. By the time the sun began to set and the rush gradually subsided, I was wrapping up my final task for the day. Soon, I was heading home.

I had just walked out of the toilet when I heard my phone ringing. By the time I got to it, it had rung out. Ife. She’d given me two missed calls. In an internal excitement, I picked up the phone and hurriedly redialed. It rang for a while before she picked up, and her voice came on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Oh,” I replied. “Hello?”

“Hey, you,” she said. I could almost hear the curve of her lips and the light in her eyes. She was smiling.

“Crazy girl,” I muttered.

“What did I do?”

“Why you go call me daddy?”

“Swear you don’t like it.”

Three seconds into the phone call, she had already taken hold. She had this thing she did with her voice...this thing that weakened my knees, destroyed my focus, ruined my resolve. I felt it was deliberate. She wasn’t doing it when we were getting to know each other, or maybe I didn’t notice. Then we became this close, and I started hearing it...this subtle seduction in her voice when she spoke to me. Whenever she did that, I could think of nothing but wanting to see her again, for her to be in my presence, to drink her in, to have her melt in my arms.

“What’re you up to?” she continued. I could hear something, like the sound of a blender, in the background.

“Nothing. Just got out of the toilet,” I said. “To poo-poo.”

“Ewww, why will you tell me that? Now I can’t get the nastiness out of my head,” she said with a chuckle, halfway joking.

I laughed, rolling over in my bed. “No be you ask?” I replied. “You, what are you doing?”

“Cooking.”

“What?”

“Soup. Okro. You want some?”

“If I say yes, how will you get it to me?”

“You’ll see me at your doorstep with a food flask in a little bit,” she said.

I loved it when she showed this eagerness to care for me. It made my heart skip a beat, made me feel flushed, excited, and thrilled. After many years of taking care of myself in every possible way, she was making me realize that being the guy who did practically everything for and by himself was no longer something I wanted to be.

“Will you really come?” I asked.

“I’ll be at your place in less than ten minutes if you want me to.”

I allowed a moment of silence while I thought; ‘Yes, baby. I want you. Not just the food but you. You, baby. I’ll be here waiting for you. Because you’ve ruined me so much that I’m obsessed with you.’

“So, what is it going to be? You want the soup?” she asked.

“Eh, I want it. But the only problem now is that I want you more.”

“Oghene...”

The way she said my name, accusingly, made me let out a soft chuckle. “Okay. Okay. I guess that was too forward. Sorry. But I am serious. I want you in ways that I know you would find shocking. Even God must be ashamed of me for wanting you this way.” That was why I was afraid to kiss her all this while. I might not be satisfied with just that. I wanted everything. “And I don’t think you coming here this evening is a good idea. I may keep you longer than I should.”

“But...”

“No. Keep my portion of the soup in the fridge, and I’ll either come to have it or have you bring it to me when I think it’s safe and we have the time. But tonight is not that time, sunshine. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for what would happen.”

She understood and quickly changed the discussion to how my visit to the police station went. Then we spoke about the church. I hadn’t been there in a long while, since my issue with the Sarima incident. She’d told me before that a lot of people were talking about me. She was in church last Sunday, and the reverend had made a public announcement declaring me innocent. That had aroused an uproar—angry and disapproving voices blaming the church for being too quick to judge when they should have done better by me.

“I think you should come back to church,” she said.

“Ife...” I had started attending another church now. It was quite small, but I was good with it. “I can’t. At least, not now.”

“Please...Sugar...”

“Sugar, Ifenkili?”

“Daddy...”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You, daddy.”

“Ife, will you just stop?”

“No, daddy. Come back to our church, and I’ll consider giving you another name. One you’ll like.”

“Call me Oghene. That’s all.”

“You are such a local man.”

"I know."

"Sugar, please nau. Come back. I missed you last Sunday. I told you before."

“I am not returning to your church.”

“Oghene please nau.”

“Ifenkili, no.”

Twenty-seven
Ife

Relationship Rule 101: Never make the love of your life your photographer even if he was a world class professional photographer. The snapshots on my phone were a testament to this rule.

Of all the things I loved about my man, Oghene, taking my pictures wasn’t one of them. Because browsing through my phone, looking at the pictures I took of him versus the ones he took of me...why was I looking like a not fully downloaded AI generated human in some of the pictures he took of me and an inflatable air dancer balloon man on the others, while all the ones I took of him were clean, cute and social media worthy?

What made it even more frustrating was the fact that Oghene was a professional cameraman. I'd seen the stunning videos and photos he'd taken at church programs and members' functions, which only heightened my dissatisfaction. I wanted to make excuses for him, thinking maybe the pictures were taken while we were both drunk with laughter, goofing around. But even then, my photos were leagues better. While the ones he took were all dancing in italics, mine captured his vintage soul, brilliant mind, and that incomparable face with a glorious smile.

I kept scrolling through the pictures until I stopped at the very first one I took of him when he was unaware. I was in the second bedroom with the girls when it hit me—I couldn't keep this beautiful feeling to myself. I'd soon want to talk about him to my friends and colleagues, and they would want to see what he looked like. But I didn't have a single picture of him. So, I left the girls, walked into the master bedroom where he was checking the functionality of the new AC, and called his name. The moment he turned to me—click, click—I captured him.

"What... what did you do that for?" he asked, momentarily confused.

"Bragging rights," I replied, checking the photos and grinning with satisfaction.

He laughed, muttering, "Women sef." Then he pulled out his own phone and started snapping pictures of me from awkward angles without even asking me to pose. He had the audacity to send them to me with the caption 'cute,' followed by laughing emojis.

He knew those photos were terrible and expected my reaction. When I called him a few minutes after receiving them, he started laughing the moment he picked up.

"So, babe, you're saying this guy is a 10?" Ale asked, shifting closer with a plate of noodles.

I had gone over to her salon to wash my hair and get my nails done, and she had followed me home because, according to her, there was some juicy gossip to be shared, and she had been seeing too little of me these days.

"If there's anything more than a 10, I'd give it to him," I replied, my eyes locked on the first photo I took of Oghene. He was looking back at me as if he could see my soul, and as if he liked what he saw. "He's so... so... everything," I whispered, utterly lost in the memory. No, not lost in a bad way, but in a way that felt like being found.

A snap of fingers in front of my face brought me back to the present. I looked up to see Ale, her mouth full, a strand of noodle hanging from her lips, gazing at me in awe.

"Wait..." she gestured, sucking in the noodle, chewing quickly, and swallowing. "My friend!" She giggled, standing up dramatically with her arms crossed over her chest, making me burst into laughter.

"What is it?" I asked, glancing at her plate. "Jesus! How many packs of noodles did you cook for just yourself?"

"Three," she replied with a shrug.

"Three? Like, three super packs?" As friends, Ale and I needed to have a conversation about food portions. Why was she always eating like her ancestors died of starvation? It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford whatever she wanted—her kitchen storeroom was packed. She just loved eating large portions. It wouldn’t have mattered if she didn’t always complain about her habit of overfilling her plate. It was so bad that even when food was meant for a group, she'd heap her plate until there was barely anything left for the rest.

Imagine having to shout, "Other people haven't eaten yet!" every time your friend entered the kitchen.
"Ale, three is too much. Will you even be able to finish it?" I asked with concern.

"Yes, I’m so hungry, abeg."

"But this is too much. Three super packs? Babe, how do you even eat this much? On which stomach?"
She dismissed me with a wave and returned to her food, twirling a forkful of noodles and shoving it into her mouth. "Leave me alone, abeg," she said with her mouth full. "I don't eat like you, picking at food like a bird." She took another forkful. "I don’t even eat that much. Wait until you meet my village people. I'm always confused when I see them eat in the village. They even wonder how I survive on so little food..."

"Little food? You?"

"Yes, nau. Oh, you think I eat too much?" She hissed, dropped her fork, and walked back to stand in front of me. "Abeg, let’s continue our gist."

"Which gist?"

"The one about your new lover."

"Which lover?"

"Idiot. Don't vex me now. Tell me about your new guy," she said, reaching for her plate and resuming her meal.

"Which new guy?" I asked.

She gave me a playful stink-eye. "Abeg, talk.

"Ehm..." I started, savoring the suspense as Ale fidgeted impatiently, her foot tapping the floor. Asiligbakaute. Aproko republic—I’d picked that up too from Ese, Oghene’s sister. "Ehm..."

"O, babes, stop! I want to hear everything about this guy. You said he's a 10, yeah?"

"He’s more." I gave her a knowing glance, and she shrieked, wiggling with excitement.

"I never knew I could find everything in one man. Ale, that guy... that guy..."

"Awww." She moved my legs and sat beside me with her plate. "I am so happy for you, girlfriend." She quickly shoveled a few forkfuls of noodles into her mouth. "The guy's a bit fine, sha."

"Coming from someone who’s always dated men that look like second-hand projects the angels on internship made? Girl, don’t give me mouth now."

"You dey craze, idiot. Abeg, gist me. Okay, the guy is fine."

"You say? Oghene is handsome. Morning vitamin pills for girls. Sugarcane umu nwa." Something was wrong with me. No, not me. With this thing called love. Now I understood why it was called a bug, a parasite that eats the brain and makes you notice all the little things. Months ago, I never imagined calling Oghene ‘handsome,’ but now, here I was. Not only was I drooling at the thought of him, but I was also lost in my desire. Oghene could do anything to me, and I’d be glad. I was at his mercy.

"But he doesn’t have money," Ale said, rolling her eyes.

"Who money help? Abeg, abeg." I’d dated supposedly wealthy men who lavished gifts and cash on me but treated me like an afterthought, like a woman who must be grateful for being chosen. Oghene respected and honored me, made me laugh, and comforted me when I cried. He treated me like a queen, his queen, as if I was his moon, his stars. Because, to him, I was. He didn’t owe me anything after how we started, yet he gave me everything.

And he wasn’t broke. A man who could comfortably provide for himself, his family, and his woman—me—wasn’t broke. I even heard he bought land somewhere, overheard it from his sister and Juochi. Even if he was broke, I wouldn’t mind sharing my earnings with him. He was a good man.

"But doesn’t it bother you that with this man, you won’t be quitting your job anytime soon?"

"And why would I want to quit my job?"

"Wasn’t that the dream? To get a man who’ll take care of you. A heavy provider who’ll give you the soft life. You won't have to lift a finger to work. Just chopping life."

“Ale I am not forbidden to make my own money. No woman is.” Landing a kind of man who would provide everything for me used to be the dream. In fact, I used to admit that was my greatest love language, having a man provide all the frivolities I’d ever dreamed of...crusing on a yacht, flying a private jet, eating in Sevenstar hotels, driving the latest cars...all sponsored by my man. We’d talked about it a lot of times, prayed about it. But now all those had changed. Oghene was enough. His love, his act of service, his care, how he always made life easier and worth living for me.
“Besides Oghene takes care of me perfectly,” I added. He recharged my phone and my Netflix subscription every now and then. Some days ago, I carelessly mentioned to him that my haircare products were finished and he’d wanted to give me money to get fresh ones. I had refused vehemently. We fought over it and ended up splitting the bill.

Ale looked me over with her lips downturned, then she let off a chuckling and shrugged. “Nawa o. Ife, na you be this? You...high budget babe—”

“High budget babe in the mud.” I laughed. “Old things are passed away Biko.”

“What do you mean? Jesus. What happened to you? What did this man give you chop?”

Love. Love happened to me. It was the kind of love that sat me down, gave me a cup of water, talked sense into me. Then it set me ablaze, cut me loose, cast me to the wind where I ignited the night. It was Oghene’s kind of love, and it was making me question every choice, every action. It made me hesitate for fear that he would not approve of some decisions. It was bringing the best out of me, and my weakness too.

We talked about Oghene for a while then we moved to other gist; My brother was here yesterday with a girl who he told me he wanted to get married to. I felt pity for the naive innocent girl, eziokwum, because my brother didn’t have the means to take care of himself not to talk of somebody's daughter.

“Ehen, did I tell you about Gloria?” Ale asked, shifting closer and pushing her hands between her thighs.

“Your own Gloria?” I asked.

“Yes o. My worker.”

“Ehen, what about her?”

“She is pregnant!”

“Ehn!”

“The stupid girl didn’t even know she was pregnant until I put it to her.” Ale had forced the poor girl into having a pregnancy test and it came out positive. “It wouldn’t have bothered me o. I would have just asked her to stop work as I’m not ready to accommodate a pregnant girl in my salon. But the way she was crying ehn. She was begging me. She said she has nobody. And she is the one taking care of her three younger ones.”

“Eiyaaa. But, did she know who she did it with?”

“My sister...it was her landlord o.”

“Jesus!”

“Her rent was due since last year, and she hadn’t been able to pay. The idiot threatened to throw her and her siblings out, unless she sleeps with him.”

Our gist moved to my next-door neighbor who sent his wife packing because he found out she had been sleeping with their pastor. Her pastor...a supposed man of God, general overseer of a church! Truely, if Apostle Paul was to write to this day’s church, especially Nigerian church, it would read like this; ‘dear Nigerian church, I hope this message gets to you before I do, and you better catch what I’m trying to say to you here or you’ll be catching my slaps...’

“Women!” Ale shouted, leaned to gather the remaining noodled in her plate with her fork and ate. “Nawa o. All those special prayer meetings, vigils...madam dey go receive some anointing from the man of God’s gbola.”

“Ale, you be fool o. what is gbola again?”

“If you know you know. If not, forgerabourrit.”

We talked about friends who was getting married and to who, family dramas and wahalas, and soon we were back to the men we’d dated, those foolish he-goats we wished it was possible to be taken back to the day we met them so we could ghost them.

“Any news about Preye?” Ale asked

“Nothing o. The car dealer said he didn’t know anything about Preye. He only leased him the car which he was supposed to returned in two weeks' time. We’d gone to his house. The place he took me to. It was locked. There was no single soul there.”

“That guy done run o.”

“Just like that?”

“That’s how they do. This kind of people. They would relocate to another state now and continue their atrocious business.”

“Ah, God. You know I still have trauma from that experience. I keep thinking about the many female cloths and wigs and accessories I saw there. They must have kidnapped a lot of girls and... and...” I had never stopped thinking about what happened to me, where Preye might be at the moment, if he would ever come back for me. Even though the nightmares had reduced and the shuddering each time I thought of that experience had almost disappeared. And thanks to Oghene, I had returned to normalcy. But that wasn’t healing. Rather, it was me surviving. People never became whole again after traumatized experiences, they only survived.

“What if he returns?” I asked Ale.

“He won’t. He knows you would talk and the police would be after him. He is gone for good, Ife.”

I really hope he had. And I prayed he wasn’t hurting someone else.

I thought of this and feel like letting you all know. I'll be at Enugu from the 1st to the 3rd, for a bookfest.

And you know what is more amazing? My books would be sampled and sold at discounted prices.

So, if you are in Enugu, or will be in Enugu in any of those days, let's meet.

Romance fiction lovers, let's do this.

****
Ife

A man mustn't court a woman, take her on dates, use phone calls and WhatsApp messages to wound her, disorganize her with sexual tension, only to start acting like a tough guy when he had completely turned her into a meowing kitten.

Oghene, may Ogun chop your eye.

"I love you, Ifenkili," he softly muttered, as if he read my thoughts and needed to assure me of his feelings. "Oya, go back to what you were doing before I change my mind and rip off your clothes so I can show you just how much I want you right now.”

It was supposed to be a joke, what he said, but it wasn’t. He knew as much as I did that it wasn’t. That was why he paused, letting the tension mount. His gaze was fixed on my face.

"How long are you going to make me wait?" I whispered.

He considered my question. Then, "I don't know," he said, still staring at me. In his eyes, I saw the wheels turning, weighing the options and eventualities. Finally, he breathed out through his nose, as if expelling bad energy. "Well, I guess until it is safe and right.”

I nodded and moved away to get myself busy. I stood in the middle of the sitting room, trying to recall what I was supposed to be doing. On impulse, I turned and found him inches away. The way he was looking at me...like he had something in his chest he wanted to let out, but didn’t know how, and the weight of it was slowing time, stirring arousal afresh. I squinted at him, and he grinned shyly. Even though he didn’t move closer, I felt him wrap around me, shifting into me, embracing me without actually touching me.

Once again, untried sensations swelled inside me. I wasn’t sure I’d felt anything like it. No man had ever stirred me like Oghene did. His solidness and strength stroked me physically. His softness and fragility excited me.

“What?” I asked.

“Wetin be ‘what?’”

“What do you mean ‘wetin is what?’ You are the one staring.” I snapped, a little irritated. Briefly, I thought of that moment he spun me around, and I became dizzy and held on to him to steady myself. My fingers had scraped down his side and sank inside his jeans. The force of my grip had drawn down the waistband of his jeans by several inches. I had touched the muscular curve of his hip, and his body heat had stroked between my fingers, crept over my hand, and skittered up my arm. My breasts had tingled. When I shamelessly asked him to kiss me, and he, for the second time, refused me, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me.

“You dey vex? Wetin make you dey vex now?” he asked, his voice a deep-husky sound. "What did I do?”

Everything. From filling the air with his enticingly male scent of musk and hard work, to allowing himself to become a weapon fashioned against me...an engulfing, modest heart-stopper. In just a pair of jeans and a body-hugging vest, he looked so alpha and carnal. Yet, in his face, there was this sweetness and softness that melted my heart all the time.

The sound of footsteps and laughter cut into the moment, drawing my attention to the girls who had just re-entered the sitting room with black nylon bags.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Juochi said, bursting into fresh bouts of laughter.

“Shuu?” Esosa exclaimed, looking from her to Oghene and back to me. “Una still dey here?”

“I told you that leaving the two of them alone was a bad idea. See, they’ve not done a single thing since we left.” Juochi said. “Abeg, when are you guys getting married?” she asked, accepting the plate Esosa offered.
The strong smell of bole and peppered sauce filled the air immediately she emptied the contents of one of the bags into the plate.

I looked at Oghene with confusion. He, too, was looking at me.

“Who is getting married?” he asked.

“The two of you, of course,” Juochi replied, handing the filled plate to me and accepting a second plate from Esosa to repeat the same process with the second nylon bag. She settled on the floor, pulling Esosa down with her, and they started eating without sparing us a glance.

Without asking, we understood that the plate handed to me was meant to be shared by myself and Oghene. So, I turned to him. He must be hungry, too, because he took the plate from me, grabbed my arm, and we walked to the kitchen.

Soon we settled on the floor like the girls and started eating. As we ate, we talked about the car dealer and how far I’d gone with him. The man wanted his car back as Preye didn’t buy it outright, but Oghene’s friend said the car must remain with the police he contacted to look into the case until the investigation was over. We also spoke about Sarima. She had been granted bail, but Oghene was still suing her in court. He wanted her to go through that stress at least once before he would consider settling. He asked if I thought he was a bad guy for choosing to push the matter to court despite all the pleas.

“I have forgiven her,” he said. “But I think I mustn’t let it slide just like that. Someone else might try it on someone else, knowing that she would easily be let off the hook.”

“I don’t judge you,” I replied, waiting for him to choose from the two pieces of fish remaining on the plate so I could pick the other. “What matters is that you have forgiven her. Whatever decision you take concerning this issue...I stand by you.”

He picked the last bole on the plate, ate it, and got up. “Thank you,” he said, walking towards the sink to wash his hands.

“You are done? What of the fish...you no wan chop fish?”

“Eat,” he replied, dabbing his wet palms on his jeans.

“It’s two here.”

“I know. Eat both of them.” He walked back to where I was and grabbed and shook my head. “That’s my payment for making you vexed today,” he said and walked away.

As I watched him disappear through the door that would lead him back to the sitting room, my body began to get damp with my longing for him while I kept a smile on my face, I thought: ‘Sexual tension is like a ruthless pigeon. Feed it once and it will follow you around forever. It never tires or goes on vacation. It just lingers.’

But what I have for Oghene wasn’t only some hardcore, animalistic, lick his body all over, sexual tension. I loved him. I also know now that he didn’t just love me. We might have a future together.
As for the kiss? It would happen eventually. And wwhen it did, it would be worth it, that, I was sure.

My breath caught in my throat immediately as she let out those words. She was in love with me. Deeply in love. I knew she was, although I wasn’t sure how deep. But hearing her say it finally...those words echoed inside my skull, and I began to feel strange. Tingly. Oddly warm. My hands tightened around her as my heart picked up pace and my skin burned like a soft fire. A tiny voice in the back of my head craved to hear her say again that she loved me.

I leaned forward, leaving no space between us. We stood there for a while, so close that all it would take was for her to tilt her chin up for our lips to touch. I prayed she wouldn’t do that because I didn’t trust my resistance at this moment.

"How deep?" I asked in a very low tone. For once, since we started this playful banter, I thought of Juoshi and Esosa. I prayed they wouldn’t choose this moment to walk in. I wouldn’t want them to spoil things for me...for us. “Tell me, sunshine. How deep?”

"Too deep," she mumbled, mesmerizing me with the warmth coming off her body.

“Too deep,” I repeated, feeling overwhelmed. I didn’t expect her first love confession to be so…life-altering. In a few brief moments, the rule book of my universe had been rewritten. Suddenly I was a brand-new person, with so much to hold on to, so much to live for. This love she had for me, this love I had for her that had turned both of us into fragile beings, that would get deeper the more we allowed the relationship to progress, had renewed me.

"You know what your problem is?" she asked without looking at me.

"What?" I rasped.

"You're too soft and too scared."

"I am not scared,” I denied, though I felt she was right somehow. To prove to her that I wasn’t scared of my feelings for her, I lifted her face. “What's wrong with being soft?" My lips whispered against hers. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but something close to it. I was sure she felt my breath against her cheeks as I spoke, the tips of our noses bumping lightly against each other.

“Kiss me,” she breathed, her eyes slightly closed. “I dare you. If you are not scared.”

“No.” God, I wouldn’t be just kissing her. I would make love to her. Didn’t she understand that? Or was that what she wanted?

“You see? You are scared of me.”

I laughed, feeling better and lighter than I had in ages. “I am only being careful."

Kissing Ife would be the best thing in the world right now, and refusing to do so made me seem weak and overdramatic. But I feared losing my composure. Everything about Ife excited and aroused me to no end. Ife seemed to know this, and right now, she was deliberately rocking her hips against me, sending pleasure flooding through my body.

“Stop,” I said, halfheartedly.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Just a kiss and I’ll stop.”

“Not when I’m feeling like this,” I groaned. I desperately wanted her out of her clothes, and that was a very wrong thing. But I briefly touched my lips to her nose and pressed soft kisses along her hairline and neck. Then, I gathered her into my arms. After several moments, I sighed, kissed her cheek, and pushed her away.

“We have work to do.”

Her face fell into a frown. “You are such a... such a... what is wrong with you sef?” she shot at me and walked away to start picking up the clutter on the floor.

I stood at the spot she left me, fighting the urge to go to her, spin her around, and crush her lips with mine so she’d know that the only thing wrong with me was her. But again, I felt this wasn’t the right time or place. I would kiss Ife. God knew I would. And when I finally did, I would make sure she never forgot the taste of my mouth and the feel of my hands.

“I love you too,” I said, strolling across the sitting room to pick up the hammer I had dropped earlier. I glanced over my shoulder, and she was watching me. “Deeply.”

“How deep?” she asked.

“So deep.”

A grin spread across her face. “Get out abeg,” she murmured, trying to hide her excitement. “You are such a big head.”

“I was a handsome man a while ago.”

“Who told you? Come on, get away.”

“Cry harder,” I teased her, sticking out my tongue.

I turned back to resume my work. Just as I swung the hammer, it glanced off the nail that was halfway driven into the wall and struck my thumb instead. A sharp, stinging pain shot through my hand, and I let out a loud grunt.

“What?” Ife panicked and rushed to my side. Her eyes widened with concern as she looked at me. "You..." she began, lowering her gaze to my throbbing thumb, which I was now stroking and wincing at. "I... sorry."

Without hesitation, she took my hand and began to massage my thumb gently, her fingers working with tenderness. Her genuine concern and the gentle pressure of her fingers against my skin brought back that pleasant sensation I couldn’t ignore.

“There, just..."

She looked up, the rest of my sentence fading into nothing. She licked her lips, watching me with intense intrigue as she applied pressure while massaging my thumb. It wasn’t hurting much, but I allowed a wince.

“Sorry,” she said, drawing me in again with her voice like a helpless fool.

I wanted her again. I just might break my own rules, just for her.

“You shouldn’t...” she whispered.

"What?" I interrupted, just as softly.

"What, um..." She swallowed, breathless. "Sorry," she mumbled again, now looking at my face.

“It’s not your fault,” I replied. “But you can keep stroking it. I love it.”

“You no well,” she hissed, dropping my hand, but she didn’t move.

“I tell you say I well? I am sick. And you are responsible.”

She scoffed but she was quite shaken; I could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her shirt.

Twenty-six
Oghene

During the seemingly never-ending move-in process, my sister had sworn by 'Ogun' more times than I could count. She was busy in the new flat with Juoshi and Ife, fixing window blinds, arranging and rearranging sofas, connecting the gas cylinder to the cooker, unpacking utensils, and organizing the kitchen. They also moved mattresses into the rooms, positioning them just right.

Thankfully, there was no need for washing and cleaning since I had hired professional cleaners two days ago. They did an excellent job, though the smell of fresh paint and new wood from my first visit still lingered, now mixed with the stench of bleach and soap. A few strategically placed air fresheners would solve that in a day or two. Yesterday, my friends and I handled the electrical fittings and testing. Today was all about moving in my belongings and taking care of the remaining minor tasks.

“Ogun dey kill their mama,” my sister hissed. “Them think say them go use me play. I no dey gree for anybody o,” she said again, collapsing on the sofa.

I looked at her. "Esosa, you go dey take am easy. Everything is not fight. Shuu?” She was recounting a story of a fight she had with a friend she fell out with. It was on a Sunday, and the ex-friend had insulted her on her way back from church. Not wanting to lose the blessings from the day’s service, she swallowed the insult, ignored the girl, and continued her walk home. She'd rushed her prayers when she reached home—a ritual to claim the blessing of the day’s service—and then returned to her ex-friend to pick a fight. “I don’t even know when you change like this. You were calm before o. And if you talk that ‘Ogun kill your papa kill your mama’ one more time, I go pursue you comot for here so you can go look for that Ogun.”

Ife burst into laughter.

Juoshi chose that moment to walk in, and hearing my last remark, she burst out laughing like a raving lunatic. I looked at her and started laughing too.
“What happened? Why are you looking like this?” I asked. She looked ridiculous, her wig drenched and hanging down like a mop.

“Brother no ask me abeg. Just know you owe me a new wig.” she hissed, pulling off the wet wig. “Ese, abeg what happened after? Did you beat the girl? That’s the part I want to hear.” she asked Esosa, who lifted a brow and chuckled.

“Aproko,” Esosa said to Juoshi. “So you were listening?”

“Ehen? Before I went to the backyard where your running overhead tank baptized me unannounced.” Juoshi hissed. “Let's go back to the backyard nau. I was going to hang the laundry line. Come and help me.”

“With all pleasure,” Ese said, getting up. “These adults dey dull abeg.”

The two girls left in a hurry as if they were waiting for the opportunity to escape and left me with Ife and the tension passing between us.

I looked at Ife and noticed she was grinning—directly at me. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I saw her. She knew I saw her too, the part of her she’d been holding back since joining us in the truck. The tension between us had grown with each passing moment, our bodies brushing against each other as we acknowledged each other’s work and shared jokes. I saw her wish that I’d bring up the last conversation we had some nights ago when I asked what kind of man she’d love to date if she ever considered dating again.
We hadn't revisited that talk since then, but I knew she wanted to, even though she was deliberately avoiding being the one to raise it. Now, with the other girls gone, leaving us alone, I felt the opportunity to address the subtle indications she had been giving.

She looked away, adjusting the hand towel in her pocket. “Your sister is the direct opposite of you,” she said, tying the ends of her button placket.

I fought back the sudden urge to walk towards her and confess that I loved her, that I wanted forever with her. The idea of getting a bigger place became urgent after she’d spent those weeks with me when I realized how much nothing else mattered but having her in a space meant for just the two of us. This place, with its spacious rooms and ample kitchen, was perfect. I wanted her here, with all her disorganization and carefree spirit. But I wasn’t sure how long she would want to go with me.

I wanted forever. Was that what she wanted too?

“Don’t mind Esosa,” I replied, taking a deep breath. Smiling, I turned back to nailing a board to the wall for my books. It was something I hadn’t thought of yesterday when I was here with the guys.

“She’s sweet,” Ife said, still standing there, not moving a foot. “I like her.”

“She likes you too.” Esosa had never liked any girl around me before. They either tried too hard to impress, which she saw as a red flag, or they didn’t try enough, showing, in her judgment, that they didn’t love me enough. But with Ife, it was different. Esosa had taken a liking to Ife almost immediately, possibly because Ife bonded with her right away. With Juoshi already accepting Ife as family, it was easy for Esosa to fall head over heels for her.

“She’s a handful, I must warn you,” I said to Ife.

“A handful? Then she’s my kind of girl. She no send anybody mama.” Ife laughed. “Ogun go kill anybody that messes with her...”

I paused, hammer in hand, and turned to her with my hand on my waist, head cocked to the side, and a raised brow. “Why do I feel I’ll be hearing a lot of these Ogun curses from you now?”

Laughing harder, she splayed her arms. “Is it my fault? Your sister taught me. Ogun kill your...”

“Ife!”

She continued laughing.

“One more ‘Ogun...’ from your lips, and I’ll not be responsible for what I’ll do to you,” I warned, trying to maintain a straight face, but she saw through me and intensified her laughter.

“I’d like to see you do something to me,” she said. Her eyes lit up with anticipation, sending an unholy message to my brain and groin. Her words—‘I’d like to see you do something to me’—set off a burning longing to be set free.

“Really?” I challenged. “You really want to see me do something to you?”

“Yes,” her laughter had reduced to childish giggles.

“Oya, talk am again. Try am and see...”

“Ogun kill...”

Dropping the hammer, I picked up a throw pillow from the sofa and threw it at her. It hit her hip and fell to the floor. She screamed, picked the pillow up, and threw it back at me, missing. Unsatisfied, she picked up another one and missed again. The third one hit my chest, and I let out a fake groan, clenching the spot as if it hurt. She jumped in triumph, throwing a fist in the air. Not ready to let her win, I picked up the pillow at my feet and threw it at her, then ran after her before she could retaliate. She escaped my grasp by a hair's breadth, and soon, we were running around the flat like kids, throwing things at each other, laughing, catching, and releasing each other.

Finally, back in the sitting room, I grabbed her by the waist, spun her to face me, and crushed her against my chest, cuffing her arms behind her back with one hand and smiling victoriously. She struggled to break free, but I wouldn’t let her. It was fun having her there, against my body, so vulnerable, fighting to loosen my grip while laughing.

“Let me go,” she commanded with a giggle.

“No.”

“Let me go now, or...”

“Or what?” I asked, loving the threat in her voice and what it was doing to me.

“Or I’m going to bite you on the lips.” The words slipped out before her brain could catch up to the implication of what she had just said.

My face grew hot. The burning need to talk her into making good on her threat scorched my tongue. “Would you, really?” I asked quietly.

The mood shifted, the light, playful air between us dissolving.

A sigh escaped her throat, low and throaty, as I released her hands and began to run mine up and down her arm. She sagged against me, a dead giveaway that she liked what I was doing. She liked that I had gotten bolder with her. She whimpered when I pulled away, but her face soon brightened with an enthusiastic smile as I scooped her up and spun her around the room, laughing. When I felt she was getting dizzy, I sobered and set her down. She lost balance, staggered, and grabbed my jeans to steady herself, her fingers brushing the skin of my waist. I held her tightly and touched my forehead to hers. She reached out to touch my face, stroking my cheeks and lips with her fingertips.

“You are a handsome man, Oghene,” she said.

“Stop. Don’t say that.” I couldn’t remember the last time anyone called me handsome, but I liked that it was her saying it after such a long while.

“I mean it.”

“No, you don’t.” I leaned into her touch, chuckling softly while she ran her hands up into my disheveled hair, brushing it back with her fingers.

“I guess you’ll not believe me if I also told you that I’m deeply in love with you.”

...

Switinthemiddle:
hey ma'am i didnt even knw you were the author of "his neighbours wife" bout Akwaugo and Morgan until i checked your profile. I swear i kept saying in my mind while reading that the writing style was almost same. The way u take ur time to desrcibe and make ur readers feel every fibre of feeling ur characters go through,added with that subtle touch of clean erotica(if there's any thing like that). I love it and i love u for being such a good writer, ur type is rare madame. If nt that u were married, i would have wanted to have someone like u as my gf or wife...me that loves stories like this.. You would just read to me everytime without me having to open a book ever again.

Ps: anytime i see ur name it reminds me of the flower and its scent.

Now come on. You guys should stop making me blush

Yes, I wrote "His Neighbor's Wife," which has now been rewritten, edited and published under a new Title, Akwaugo. The physical copies are being sold on Nigerian bookstores and Amàzon print.

But I am glad that you guys saw and read it first. You read it in it's raw form, before editors put knives on it for marketing purposes

I dont even know you all names, but I am grateful that you all are here, and have been here. Thank you all.

Xavier5:
I'm guessing Ife works at one of those banks at Mothercat...

Omoh, as a PH nïgga that schools at the University of Uyo (just finished my final year exams), seeing relatable areas in my city, especially the Trans Amadi axis, being mentioned is nostalgic. One of the things I love about the story is the deviation from the conventional story setting of Lagos.

Ife and Oghene, make una do stop this una erotic mind games abeg, make una do the "I love you", "You love me", and the muah muah, make person body rest jare... cos which kind play be this 😶😠😂

Rosemary, I love the way you blend eroticness with clean romance. No vulgar words, no sexual content, but every fibre of the story reeks of sensuality. How can a story be so clean but yet arousing? The words, the narrations, the thoughts of the character, the sensual tension between the lead characters, all contribute to the steamy essence of the literary piece. The objective testament to literary dexterity 🙃



#Xavier

Oshe! Thank you so much my brother. You have also been amazing

Ann2012:
Thanks for the update ma’am

Ann!!!

Long time, sis. How have you been?

You have been with me since day one, when I was still trying to find my feet in the writing community. You and a lot of people here. Thank you for always being around.

Dirdamed:
What a story!!!This is a masterpiece!!!Make i go warm eba chop.Thanks a lot for this update aunty Rosy

Na Oghene dey do shakara now. He I think he deserves it abeg, dont you think so?

He loves her to pieces, but he want to be sure she will not leave him again 😂😂😂

hotswagg12:
Thanks for the update and please don't rush to conclude this story. There are so many areas to explore.

See set up

This story is already 76k words o. But I understand you sha. Let's see how it goes.

Ife

I heard it in his voice—his pain. Not because he wanted me to feel it; I wasn’t sure he even wanted me to feel it. He just needed to talk to me, a comfort we had fallen into every evening and every morning. But as he spoke, it felt like someone was tearing my heart out, crumbling it like a flimsy piece of loose-leaf paper, and shoving it back into my chest. I didn’t know how it kept beating, how I kept listening, as I wondered where the warm man I knew had gone. The man I saw at the workshop yesterday who looked at me as if he would destroy the world to keep me safe. My heart cracked all over again, remembering how much I had missed him.

When he finished talking, we both breathed in at the same time. I couldn’t tell if we were breathing each other in or just trying not to cry.

I was angry on his behalf. I wanted those who hurt him to be punished. But more than that, I feared he was losing himself to sadness and pain. I didn’t want that for him.

“What do you want?” I asked, running my fingers along the thick fabric wallpaper of my sitting room to steady myself. The frustration in Oghene’s voice made him seem so fragile like he was falling apart.

“Ife, I’m pained. Nobody is seeing it. They didn’t even talk about how they all doubted my innocence.”

I inhaled deeply and held it. I seemed to do that a lot since he started telling me about this case. Each time, I felt like I needed to see how long I could hold it, to see if I could share a little of Oghene’s pain. But nothing could lift even a fragment of his burden, his fear. I could only feel it, not share it.

All I could do was be there for him, ready and willing to listen and speak when I felt he needed it.

It worked like it always did. In a short time, we were laughing again, teasing each other, and dreaming out loud. He wanted to know if I’d ever desire to be in a serious relationship again after what happened to me.

“With a good man, yes,” I replied.

Then he asked what my definition of a good man was, and I described him; as a man with an incomparable charm, a beautiful heart that overflowed with love, a magical sensitivity. A man who made me laugh when we were together, and made me miss him like the sky missed its moon when we were apart. A man who sent my heart into a cha-cha dance each time we spoke on the phone, like now.

“A man like you, Oghene,” I said, my heart lodged in my throat.

That was a green light, wasn’t it? I wished he would get the message and ask me again to be his girl. I wanted to be more to him, but I’d settle for that first, and we would go from there.

He laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Silly girl. You no well,” he murmured in that low, rumbling tone that reverberated through my core.
“Abeg go warm Eba chop.”

“It’s late, I can’t eat Eba by this time of the night.”

“Then go sleep.”

...
Maleh wouldn’t also support that I let Sarima go just like that. E sure me say that if I told her about this, she would advise that I drag everybody involved by the last strand of hair until I got satisfying justice. That was my mother’s policy: take the entire head off if an eye was taken from you, raze down a village if your barn was burnt. I doubt if she ever forgave my father for not allowing her to deal with Eserovwe’s mama and papa, even though she beat Eserovwe’s mama black and blue some days later and set her husband’s bike on fire the night before we were to move to a new neighborhood.

Maleh wasn’t as forgiving as Paleh. And she hated it that Paleh didn’t possess half her strength and guts. None of us did. At times, she would refer to my father as an Aye—a woman. But she never said it to his face. Regardless of her gra-gra, she still respected him.

Growing up, I feared I was more like my father than I was like my mother. I was slow to take offense, shied away from confrontations and arguments, and left my belongings for those struggling for them. I’d rather not be in school than engage in a planned fight. But then, there was a part of my mother’s trait inherent in me: her sharp, witty retorts to most comments and how badly I felt the wound of hurt when the offence cut too deep. The last part had always bothered me, the fact that even though I hardly took offense, I also felt the burden of hurt the most. But the relieving thing was that, unlike my mother, I wasn’t hard-hearted.

Or so I thought. Because, at this moment, as I stood up to go about my night routine, I felt that trait screaming louder, growing bigger and bigger, like a nasty, stinking underground hole that got wider as flood passed through it.

As time crawled past, I began to fear this feeling. It was like a shadow of estrangement, wearing a black hoodie as a disguise and inhabiting the darkest corners of my heart and the furthest caverns of my mind. It was there while I bathed, lay down, and got up. It followed me out for a walk and returned with me like an unwelcome stalker that never really left one alone. As I lay back down, it became visible on the walls, by the door, up the ceiling—everywhere I turned, there was an ugly presence of anger, despair, and grief. And I was in the middle, spiraling lower and lower.

I got up again and walked to the sitting room to get the Bible I usually left on the television stand. I gave up after reading three scriptures because nothing changed. I still had anger and bitterness that only satisfying justice would solve.

I wanted that justice, no matter what anybody said. But I also needed peace and uninterrupted rest tonight. However, right now, I was feeling restless, like I just passed myself in a mirror, and my heart leapt—'Ah! There I am!' But it happened too fast that I feared I would spend the rest of this night looking for myself again.

I blamed these church members’ visit for this restlessness. Maybe I could distract myself with something. Praying? I’d done that the day I returned from the police station and wanted to spend some solemn time alone. It hadn’t ended the way I planned, but it ended much better regardless.

I had prayed for Ife, and she returned to me. That was something.

At the thought of Ife, something shifted in my heart. The hardened, cemented surface melted just enough to allow a smile to spread across my face. That seemed to be the distraction I needed tonight, the peace that would eventually send me to sleep. I let my thoughts dwell on the phone conversation we had this morning about her surprise visit to the workshop the previous day and how my guys wouldn’t stop talking about her.

“Fresh babe,” they had called her.

I too couldn’t stop reminiscing about that visit and how my heart had swelled with pride when they called her
‘mine.’

‘Oghene’s fine babe.’

She was truly beautiful in her knee-length body-skimming dress, her hair lying loose and wild around her shoulders. This morning, while we spoke, I had told her how I couldn’t stop looking at her while we ate and talked and laughed.

She said she noticed and didn’t mind at all.

I didn’t tell her how I had again wanted her with a ferocity that took my breath away, and before Shukudi lowered his head to whisper, “O’boy no dey look woman like say you wan chop am,” my heart had already left me to strut towards her. Or how I trembled when she placed her hand on my thigh, in a way that made me feel like I might fall apart any second because I loved the warmth of her touch and wished she never took her hands away.

With those thoughts and the smile that accompanied them, I walked back into the room, picked up my phone, and called her.

She answered as if she had been waiting.

“Hey, you,” she said in a sweet, sleepy voice.

Hey, you. That was the first thing she said to me that day she visited the workshop. It sounded so... American. The kind of thing actors would say in American romance movies. I liked it, especially the way she said it. “Hey, you,” with that look on her face. Was that a new form of greeting she learned? Because she used it again this morning, and now.

“Hey, you too,” I replied.

The sound of her soft laughter hit me, went through me, stripped me bare, and formed a knot in my stomach like it always did. And I chuckled. How could just speaking to a woman on the phone do this to me? She wasn’t just any kind of woman. She was so much more.

She asked me about my day, and I told her; the fight that broke out between Agu and a customer, the extra money I made from home service, the call I got from Pabod breweries based on a referral. Then I asked about her day, and she told me about the girls in her office and the men too, who wouldn’t stop talking about how beautiful she looked after her leave. She said she’d contacted the car dealer that sold the car Preye gifted her.

We had spoken about it before she left my house, and we agreed she would check the documents of the car for any contact address or number so we could find out if the guy knew something about what happened to her. Akanelu would be glad to help.

I later told her about the church members’ visit to my house since I couldn’t honor their summons the previous evening. I told her about their inconsiderate pleas to forgive and let go, the disappointment on the faces of the members when I couldn’t assure them of my forgiveness. Once I started speaking about it, I couldn’t stop myself from pouring every emotion out like I had been waiting for this moment.

She listened.

When I stopped and it became obvious that I wanted to hear her thoughts, she inhaled deeply and asked,

“What do you want?”

“Ife, I’m pained. Nobody is seeing it. They didn’t even talk about how they all doubted my innocence.”

As expected, she didn’t plead that I let go. Not literally.

“Your actions will always be what the world sees, but people who choose to see beyond their sentiments will always have the compassion to understand why you are feeling this way,” she said. She agreed that unforgiveness had a bad reputation, though. However, the next thing she said struck me like a beam of light in a dark space.

“I read somewhere that the deeper the depths of the heart, the deeper goes the wound, the harder it is to forgive,” she said. “A heartless person can forgive you overnight; there is no real pain there. But you have a heart, Oghene. It is expected that you hurt so deeply because you are so fragile and pure. You are a baby. But I don’t want you to allow the offenses of people to occupy your amazing heart, or you’ll lose yourself. I’d love for you to get the justice you desire. But I’d love more for you to be happy and fulfilled, to be your own self, to free your mind.”

I didn’t know where she got those words from. I didn’t even care that they might not make sense by some standard. But they resurrected me into brightness. Instantly, I knew what I wanted and how to get it.

Twenty-five
Oghene

Kill a cockroach, you be hero,
Kill a butterfly, you be villain.

No be me go talk am, I read it from somewhere. But what was happening before my very eyes made me remember that saying, and made me realize that gender had become the standard for morality. When Sarima accused me of rape, every one of these people gathered in my house this evening had called for my head. None offered me a listening ear or the chance to hear my truth. Now it was me, Oghene, the one wrongly accused, calling for her to do the time, and suddenly every one of these people had remembered what the Bible said about forgiveness.

“What do you think Jesus would have done if he was in your shoes?”

“Don’t forget our Lord’s prayer; ‘forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sinned against us.’”

“Jesus, our role model, was accused and crucified for your sin. He was an innocent man. We were the sinners, yet he died for us...”

Well, my maleh no name me Jesus. Na Oghenevowede be my name, and I would seek justice. Contrary to what I agreed with Ife about honoring the Church's summons last evening, I decided not to after considering that I wasn’t ready to face them yet. Today, they chose to come to my place instead. I walked back home after the day’s work and met them in front of my flat. No pre-information. Nothing.

And who be this fowl wein dey add me back to a WhatsApp group I removed myself from immediately I was added to it? Hissing, I gave the church members, three women, and five men, a passing glance and lowered my gaze to my phone screen that just beamed with a notification:

‘Magnus Iheatu added you to this group.’

Magnus! That okpolo eye church member who added me to his wedding financial support group four years ago, the time when I never baff and my teeth never shine. When I offered to support him with 5k, Oga was vexed and removed me from the group. At a normal level, we were not friends, so I didn’t bother. But I felt pained when someone, another guy in the group, told me that he said he removed me from the group because I wasn’t happy that he was getting married. Me wein never chop?

I never confronted him all these years. We saw each other in church and exchanged pleasantries. He even told me about his father’s burial two months ago and wanted me to cover the event. I had sent him a quotation for the job—450k in total. He had cried that it was on the high side, pleading that I lower the charge. Eventually, I did, even though I knew he settled for me because he couldn’t get anybody else to do it for even 500k.

Yet he had complained that 400k was a lot.

Was that why he added me to this WhatsApp group? To make sure I also contribute to the burial even though he would be paying for my services?

I stared at the group page tagged “In support of Mr. Iheatu’s Father’s Burial.” He had added fifty people already, but nobody had commented.

“Hmm,” I hissed.

“So, bro Oghene,” my reverend started again, pulling my attention away from my phone and back to them. “I want you to reconsider your decision. Show mercy...”

“If not because of Christ or because of us, please consider her poor mother,” my reverend’s wife cut in. “The woman has been crying. She wanted to come with us to this place, but we told her it’s not necessary.”

I looked at her and wanted to ask if she was familiar with the Eba warming concept. Abeg, she should go warm cold Eba and chop because if there was anyone I’d give a listening ear, it wouldn’t be her.

“Please, brother, never let ugly situations like this harden your heart. This could be a life lesson that the Lord allowed to make you better, not bitter,” one of the women said. She then began recounting a disgusting story of how her husband tore her international passport a week before she was supposed to travel to London for an official duty because she was disrespectful. And how the Holy Spirit asked her to apologize to her husband because she didn’t allow him to lead the home, even when she had caught the man cheating several times.

I wished she had never told that story. I was disgusted and hurt on her behalf. Oghene meh! Abeg, whatever Spirit she said spoke to her mustn't near my sister and other good women in my life because...shuuu? Na watin be this?

“Please, when you hear the voice of God, do not harden your heart, Oghene,” my reverend started again. “What does it mean to harden your heart? It means to see clear evidence of the hand of God at work and still refuse to accept His Word and submit to His will. It means to resist Him by showing ingratitude and disobedience and not having any fear of the Lord or His judgments. Hardhearted people say with Pharaoh, ‘Who is the Lord that I should obey His voice?’”

Every word they spoke seemed to scrape the walls of my chest like wheels on steel tracks, accelerating. With every rotation, my heart hardened, like a radiator under extreme temperature, waiting to explode.

They wanted me to show mercy. Didn’t they realize that my heart started hardening that night they unanimously convicted me without a fair hearing?

They made me this way. A man with a heart so hardened it felt like a bullet. And I was determined to use that bullet.

With nothing left to be said, they stood up and announced their departure. Their faces deepened with disappointment.

“What do you want us to tell her mother?” my reverend said, turning to me when he got to the door. The rest of the members were already out. “Please don’t take this matter to court, brother. For God’s sake. Please.”

I didn’t say a word to him. I couldn’t trust my tongue to say the right thing when my heart was this bitter. Even when he left, I sat in the loud silence they left behind, battling the anger their visit had aroused. My father’s voice, out of nowhere, began to resound in my head like a broken audio tape, playing over and over, refusing to fade.

“My son, be mindful. Some deliberate offenses will take you to the point where you grow cold to all pleas and advice to show mercy. You’ll get angry at the gentle whisper of the Lord, and will, out of your pain, repeatedly grieve the Spirit. Your anger will also make any desire to seek the Father’s Home to be gone. So, beware. Watch your steps when such offenses come.”

Those were Paleh’s words when Eserovwe’s mama molested me and Maleh refused to let go. He was the church’s prayer coordinator, so I understood why he didn’t want to take Maleh's advice and report the case to Oniovo Tega, my mother’s elder brother who was a lawyer. “Leave everything to God,” he kept saying. “Vengeance is not of us but of the Lord.”

The same thing everyone was saying now.

But it was easy to preach forgiveness when your name wasn’t on the confession paper.

Thank God my guys weren’t singing this letting-go song to my ears. They wanted me to teach Sarima a lesson...

Omoh, see comments o. I love you all abeg

Nwiboko26:
You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when times are mmmmhm 😆😆😆😆😆😆. Chai love sweet oo. Na the only skin care routine wey go fit make person glow without cream and make up. Thank you aunty Rosy.

You no well, I swear

...I was still trying to help Mr. Different-dates-of-birth when the first guy returned.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pushing his way to my desk and leaning forward. “Excuse me, miss.”

“Mm-hm?” I replied, without lifting my face from my computer screen.

“Can I... can I talk to you for a second?”

“Any more issues? Is Mama alright?” I asked, finally lifting my face to look at him.

“No... I just...”

He fumbled inside his pocket for something. Shortly, he slapped his palm on my desk and pushed his arm forward before withdrawing, leaving behind some five-hundred-naira notes.

“No o o...” he began as I shook my head. “Just to say thank you.”

“It was my job, sir. You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But it’s just a tip. For lunch.”

A tip, eh? Okay. What could go wrong with accepting an innocent tip? “Thank you," I said, giving him a smile. "And thank Mama for me.” I took the money and slipped it inside my drawer. Then I went back to work, hoping that he’d be gone. But when I heard another
“Excuse me,” I knew this wasn’t an innocent tip. I’d just taken the devil’s gift.

“I was thinking if you can...we can go out sometime. I like you,” he said, and continued immediately without giving me a chance to respond. “You are such a humble person. The way you attended to me and my mom. I see you will be very submissive. The quality I want in a woman. It is difficult to find a working-class woman like you who is also humble and submissive.”

Cocking my head to the side, I lifted a brow to give him that look.

He wasn’t bad-looking, had a good dress sense. But he was definitely a traditional man. One problem with traditional men was that they wanted their women to be subservient but would hardly fall in love with such women. Rather, they would get attracted to independent women. And like some exotic bird collectors, they only wanted women who were free because their dream was to put these women in cages.

So, no. I no do. Besides, “I have a man, sir. I’m in a relationship,” I said with a forced smile.

Was that true? Of course, it was. With Oghene. He loved me even though he’d not used the word since the day he found me and took me to his house. But he had kept treating me specially with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. The unspent heat between us, each time we spoke on the phone since I left his house, was palpable, a magnetic pull that always left me breathless.

Yet, despite all this, he had refused to use the words ‘I love you,’ or ask me out again. Was that deliberate? Was he being careful with me...maybe unsure of my feelings for him? Or was he waiting for me to make the first move—say the words this time?

I bit my lip, a mix of frustration and longing washing over me. Several times, while we were together in his house, and while we spoke on the phone when I finally left, I had wanted to ask him, to confront him, but I was afraid. Afraid of the answer, afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of losing him. The uncertainty gnawed at me, leaving me in a state of limbo, unsure of where I stood.

I knew that after how I treated him earlier, he’d want to take his time with me, to be sure I would not reject him again. But hadn’t I proven to him that I was now into him?

“So, this man of yours, is he serious with you?” the man standing before me asked with a grin. “Is he ready to marry you?”

“Sir, I told you I have a man. Please, I have work to do here, can you shift so I can attend to that man beside you?”

His expression shifted from hopeful anticipation to stunned disbelief. His eyes, which had sparkled with confidence just moments before, now darkened with a mixture of hurt and anger. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching as he clenched his teeth, trying to mask the sting of my words. I half-expected that he would ask me to return the tip he gave me, and I was ready to do that.

“See, if the man has not done something on your head, I advise you give another person a chance. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. You may never know,” he tried again amidst murmurs and grumbles from the waiting customers.

“Oga. I’ll put all my eggs in one basket. If e break, my chicken go lay another one. Please shift for my customers.”

His smile vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped frown that betrayed his anger. He muttered something I didn’t quite catch and walked off.

It was another three hours before I had time for myself to order lunch and call Oghene. He was busy, under a car fixing a customer’s bottom plate, but he was glad I called. He asked if I had eaten, and I told him I just ordered food. I asked if he had eaten, and he said he took a bottle of Coke and some groundnuts.

I told him I’d order food for him and asked for his workshop’s address. He said I shouldn’t do that. I insisted. He laughed and gave the address but said I shouldn’t bother.

As I dropped the call, I made to call the restaurant that took my order to make it two and send a delivery man to deliver one to Elekahia mechanic workshop. Then something occurred to me. I could do this myself. I only had to beg Emmanuela to cover for me so I could go pursue my man.

I did that for her sometimes when her fiancé came to visit.

It worked. Half an hour later, when the food arrived, I spoke with Emmanuela and left. Parking my car at the walkway, I approached the workshop with a spring in my step, two carefully packaged takeaway meals in my hands. My heart fluttered with excitement, a smile playing on my lips as I imagined the look on his face.
The smell of oil and metal grew stronger as I walked deeper, the sounds of clanging tools and revving engines filling the air. I slowed my gait while my eyes roamed. I didn’t want to let him know I was here. I wanted it to be a surprise. That meant I had to ask someone about him and where I could find him.

I approached a man in front of a spare parts store, and he pointed at a blue car some feet away. “See am there nau,” he said, giving me a look over.

I spotted Oghene under the hood of the car, his coveralls half-worn, the sleeves tied to his waist while his torso was covered with a grease-smeared inner vest. The muscles of his chest were so tight that I went dry in the mouth as I remembered what it felt like watching him walk around topless those times I was in his house. For a moment, I paused, taking in the sight of him completely absorbed in his task. He was certainly a very good-looking man. Maybe not too flashy and put together, but... God... I looked away in embarrassment, worried I might say or do something inappropriate.

He must have sensed someone standing a little distance away watching him because I heard him call my name. When I looked at him again, his expression had shifted from concentration to surprise and then to sheer delight. He wiped his hands on a rag, a broad grin spreading across his face, his eyes asking me what I was doing at the workshop.

The answer? To see him after missing him for two whole days.

Smiling, I walked up to him quietly, standing a few feet away.

"Hey, you," he said.

"Hey yourself," I replied, holding up the packed foods. "I brought us food. You and I... will eat here, together." Why was I nervous?

He laughed and ran his hand over his hair. "You didn't have to do that." He looked around, as if he felt watchful eyes. Definitly, there were guys watching, some were grinning like they knew I was someone special to him. “I thought...why did you leave your office to come here?"

Because I loved him, and I knew he loved me even though he was careful about saying it. I had spent time with him and knew that his desire for me wasn’t one that would fade with my youth. My skin would wrinkle, my hair would go gray, my body would bend with age—and Oghene would still love me. In this life and in the next. He would love me. Because he was that kind of man, and I was ready to prove to him that I would love him that way too.

“Can’t someone take care of you again?” I joked, handing him the food. My fingers grazed his slightly, sending sparks through me. "I know you’ve been working hard, and I wanted to do something special for you," I said.

Grinning, he nodded. Then, “Come.”

He took a seat on a nearby stool, motioning for me to join him.

“Which one is mine, and which one is yours?” he asked.

“Just take any of the two. It’s the same combo rice and chicken.”

He did as I said and handed me the other plate. I watched him take the first spoonful, his eyes closed in bliss. “I have not eaten this kind of rice before,” he said like a kid having his first ice cream. "Thank you. This means a lot. You being here with me. I love it."

He loved it. Not ‘he loved me.’ Fair enough though. "Anything for you," I replied.

We chatted and laughed as we ate. He told me he would finally be moving to his new place by the weekend. His sister would be coming from the village to help him.

“Can I help too?” I asked.

“Ife, but...”

“Oghene, I want to help, please. Or you don’t want me to meet your sister?”

He paused from eating and stared at me for a while. “Ife, I go wan make you meet my entire ancestors. I only didn’t want to bother you.”

But I wanted to be bothered. For Oghene, I was ready to cook and clean and do everything they said women shouldn’t do for men they weren't married to.

“Then, allow me to help out.”

“Okay.”

That was settled.

He told me about his summons to the pastor’s office and his determination not to honor it. I told him he had to, at least to look them in the face and tell them what he thought about them all.

Two of his friends came around—one he introduced as Juochi’s father, the other he introduced as Agu, an unapologetic bachelor, teasing us. If he knew how I felt when he blushed, the warmth that filled every void inside me, he might want to tune his blushing down.

By the time I was ready to leave, he walked me to my car and leaned forward to whisper, “You don’t know how happy you coming here made me, sunshine.”

Sunshine? Me, sunshine?

Twenty-four
Ife

Ever been kissed on the forehead by an Agbero before?

It happened to me this morning as I was stuck in the slaughter roundabout’s traffic jam. It was my first day back at work after a month of unplanned leave, and I was determined not to be late. Unfortunately, I gave in to the second wave of sleep after waking up too early the first time. So, guess who woke up to the ringing of her phone some minutes past eight a.m.?

Yours truly.

Cursing Oghene under my breath... what? He caused it! It was him who called me at four-thirty in the morning with the "I woke up thinking about you and I no fit go back to sleep" excuse, keeping me awake, giggling and kicking my feet while he made jokes about everything and everyone, including me. His laughter always had a way of getting into me and soaking me until I couldn’t help myself. But it felt good. Light. Refreshing.

When his airtime got exhausted, I called him back, and we talked until my airtime drained too. Then we moved to WhatsApp chats. I didn’t remember the exact time we ended, or when I surrendered to the second wave of sleep, but it was a very wrong decision—going back to sleep, that is.

Half an hour after I’d jerked up from bed, I was racing like a madwoman down the Oginigba-Trans Amadi Road in my old car, muttering curses and prayers, only to meet a hold-up at that roundabout. It was as if somebody somewhere was blowing a white substance in the air and swearing for me.

I was supposed to be part of an administrative meeting scheduled for 8 a.m., and it was already something to nine o’clock! I sat behind the wheel, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel, eyes darting from the unmoving cars ahead to the clock on the dashboard. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly, each one heightening my frustration.

A buzz from my phone made me glance at it, hoping for an update about the meeting—any rescheduling would be highly appreciated. It was only Ale reminding me she’d be coming over to my place this evening to see me. I adjusted the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, catching a glimpse of my furrowed brows and the tightness around my eyes. Another curse escaped my lips as I leaned forward, peering out the window in a futile attempt to see what was causing the holdup.

That was when it happened. An Agbero hanging by the door of the keke-bus beside my car leaned in and kissed me on the forehead! I didn’t even notice when he came down and drew near. I only felt rough lips on my forehead followed by the words, "See as your face fresh like today bread." Before I could recover from the shock, the line had started moving, and his keke-bus had taken off.

At first, I felt disgusted. Then, I burst out in laughter. What in early-morning weirdness was this? Sixteen years in Port Harcourt, and this was how I was being repaid?

Sitting behind my desk some hours later, filling out forms for clients—luckily, the meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow—I remembered the morning’s incident and felt laughter bubbling inside me. Emmanuela, my colleague, said that I mustn’t blame the Agbero. My face was indeed smooth and glowing as if I had been bathing in a pool filled with glitter.

“You changed your skincare routine?” she asked.

I just shook my head, smiling. How could I tell her and the others who kept saying I didn’t look like someone who was sick or had an accident that I had spent the entire weeks recuperating in a man’s house, receiving the greatest love, care, tenderness, and so much sensual heat? And even though I returned to my place last Saturday, I still basked in the euphoria of those moments spent together because that man hadn’t stopped stoking my flames with his calls and messages.

Oghene.

I thought I knew happiness until I became this close to Oghene. He made me happy and beautiful even when I felt my nose seemed a bit too flat. He made me feel special, and God knew I'd longed to feel this way for a very long time. He made me want to fall in love with him over and over again. Every day. Every minute. While sleeping and while awake. And that could be the greatest thing my heart was ever fit to do.

Loving Oghene.

“Sir, you can go now. The form has been filled in and forwarded. Her money will be paid into her account,” I said to the man who’d come with his aged mother, a retired civil servant, to claim her pension.

“Thank you, my daughter,” the woman said, giving me a toothy grin.

“Thank you so much. We are grateful,” her son echoed.

I paused from the next form I’d already pulled out, looked up, and nodded. I watched him walk off with his mother, then ushered the next customer, a man in his late fifties whose date of birth—the one he presented for the payment of his pension—didn’t correspond with the one in his employer’s biodata.

Ophixialtohny:
ife nd dis oghene d mad o dem just d do make something d hungry person for those church menbers hell fire d call them bunch of hypocrites! Yinmush.

. Oya no vex