Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

33- Can't Stay Away

"Is he now my default model?" I think aloud, annoyed.

The last time I saw him, he was looking at me with so much regret in his eyes. I'd stood in the elevator, watching him and wondering what was going through his mind after hearing me bare my mind and show my vulnerability. Maybe it was a bad idea, telling him my thoughts and how I felt. Maybe I had scared him off, maybe I had demanded for much more than he can offer. Maybe he's seen that commitment isn't his forte at the moment. It's been two days now and not a single peep from him; not even on his social media profiles...

I swallow the useless lump in my throat and get on with my sketching. Well, he isn't the first and he won't be the last, I shrug.

While I am filling in the colors of my designs, a series of knocks on my front door distract me. I sigh, rising from my seat on the living room floor.

"You have got to be kidding me," I breathe as I pull the door open.

"Unfortunately, I'm not."

I know he looks good in a suit...but it doesn't reduce the effect he has on me, standing there in a navy-blue suit, a light blue shirt and a slim, navy blue silk tie. No clean shave today; we're serving days-old stubble on a square jaw and very short, unruly curls with a side dish of citrus, cottony cologne that makes me thoughtless for a few seconds.

Don't loose guard, focus.

"What are you doing here?"

"May I come in?"

"Why?"

Saheed looks confused for a moment. "I know you don't want to talk to me...but I promise I'll be quiet and stay out of your way."

"But what are you doing here?" I repeat.

"I...I just want to relax."

"Saheed, you have a whole ass penthouse to relax in."

"But I want to relax here."

"Me I don't get."

"I just need familiar company. But I promise I won't talk to you unless you want me to..."

Ola, don't let him break your walls down, don't do it again.

But I am stepping away from the door, giving him space to step in as I scold myself. Keeping my distance from him, I pack up my coloring pencils and my sketch book. His face passive, Saheed pulls off his tie and sheds his suit jacket, draping the over the couch. Then he takes off his shoes, neatly setting them close to the front door. It seems he knows his boundaries today, because he settles on the same couch, leans backwards, and sighs deeply like it is the most comfortable thing he has ever laid on.

Saying nothing, I make my way to the kitchen for a drink of water. In the pot there is some rice and fried beef, which I grudgingly heat up for him before setting a cold bottle of pineapple juice on the table where he can see it. I know fully well that he will come into the kitchen when I am not there. I walk past him in the living room into my bed room, not paying him even a glance.

Sure enough, in a few minutes I hear his movements from the kitchen: the clinking of cutlery, the sound of the fridge being shut. I can't help the smile that spreads itself across my face. As I entertain myself on my phone, I ask myself if Saheed and I can ever be friends, if we end up not being lovers...

Unable to focus on the Netflix movie I planned to watch over an hour ago, I leave my bed and tiptoe to the door, slowly opening it and peering out. I can hear the sounds of conversation from the television. On tip toe, I step in the direction of the living room. Saheed is deeply asleep on my couch, his body covering the seat, feet sticking out over the edge. Top buttons undone, remote control on the floor where it had fallen out from his hand. I stand and study him, fascinated and touched. As always, sleep wipes away every touch of mischief, of emotion from his face. His breathing is relaxed, slow. The urge to climb onto the couch, curl myself around him and kiss his sleeping face threatens to overwhelm me.