Gone Bad (Nigerian Novel) -Editing

Chapter 22: Trouble in Paradise

Of all the strange gifts puberty brought me my hormones topped the list.

"Yep." He says popping the p before his head disappears underwater.

I minute passes and he's still nowhere in sight so I take a few steps near the edge of the pool.

To my surprise, the clear bottom of the water stares back at me.

I'm in the middle of calming the irrational fear building in me when a torrent of water surges forward.

I shriek as my ringlets get soaked and some water gets into my mouth.

Laughing ensues and I sputter before yelling at the top of my lungs.

"What on earth was that for!"

He shrugs and paddles away. "If you can't bring the horse to the water then you bring the water to the horse."

"You're such a di-"

I cough as another wave of water slams against my face.

After wiping the water from my eyes I take a look at the ruined kaftan that now clung awkwardly to my one-piece.

His cackling only infuriates me more and I throw the fabric over my shoulder before I dive into the waters.

This takes him by surprise and he ends up swallowing some water himself.

Using the momentary distraction to my advantage I land a solid punch on his back and tackle him from behind.

Of course I had never gotten in a fistfight before, so my hand throbs in response and I swear out loud.

He snickers and supports my thighs with his arms so I'm in a secure piggyback.

I bend my head to make sure his foot is solid against the pool floor before I resume my attack.

"You're so annoying! Do you know how long it took me to make my hair?" I whine forgetting all about acting more like a woman.

"Girls are so dramatic honestly," he says making jest of me.

My hold around his neck tightens and I try to put him in a semi chokehold.

"Oya sorry... shebi I promised to make your hair," he begs struggling to breathe.

I huff and release his neck though fury still bubbled within me.

"Forget it, boys don't know the next thing about doing hair," I say jumping off his back.

And for the first time in eight years, I use my primary school swimming skills to make my way across from him.

But his legs are much longer and I end up cornered into the pool.

Ignore the effects of his proximity, I look to the stunning view beside us.

"Mimi," he says.

"Mimi"

Still, I give him no response.

"Mimi."

"What?" I say, my hands slapping the water.

The angry splash covers his face and he shields his eyes momentarily.

"I'm sorry for getting your hair wet," Isren says after a moment.

My irritation subsides but the residue makes me continue my silent treatment.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Okay, I'll get you a stylist after this."

"I don't want a stupid stylist." I snap.

Instantly I regret my tone but his gaze hardens.

"I'll give you some space for now," he says diving back under the water.

Irritated with myself and him I hiss, returning to my sky gazing.

..........................

The sky is black and the only lanterns cast an orange glow on the table.

Our stomachs had settled after dinner by the beach but the evening was anything but romantic.

The only time he had spoken to me since noon was to ask for my order.

"Are you ready to go now?" he asks breaking me from my train of thoughts.

I stop fiddling with the unused silverware and soiled napkin.

Staring back at him I want to say more. Apologize. Joke. Talk things out?

Instead, I go with the lamest route. "Yes."

He gets up and the waiters obscured by darkness rush to pack our plates.

Mirroring his action I dust my dress, even though it was perfectly clean, and I rise.

Unsure whether to still walk arm in arm with him, I hover awkwardly beside him as we fall in step with each other.

We're almost off the sand when his fingers slip through the gaps between my fingers and I momentarily lose my footing in my one-inch sandals.

He notices this but refrains from speaking up till we reach the walkway.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" he says.

"I thought you were mad at me," I respond turning to him with furrowed bros.

He chuckles softly before clearing my confusion. "Slightly irritated yes, but you were the one coming at me with fangs."

I gasp, nudging him off the path with my shoulder.

"When you always say things like that why won't someone be angry."

He shakes his head nudging me back so he's on the pathway once more.

"Last I checked my only offense was getting your hair wet," Isren says.

"Technically..." I begin, ready to defend my correctness but come short of an answer.

"Exactly," he says, a wide smirk spreading across his cheeks.

I roll my eyes before I dangle my feet a little below my high horse. "I apologize for being a diva after you said sorry."

He snorts as he leaves my hand empty to unlock our room door.

"That's the best you could do?"

I skin him with my eyes while following inside. "None of this would have happened if you didn't get me wet."

"Small girl my behind -you're as argumentative as my mother," he says slipping off his slides.

"Well, I'm not your mama," I say but don't wait for his reaction as I look at the device that had just buzzed in my hand.

Demilade: I'm available to talk if you are.

"Good thing you aren't," he says bending to kiss my cheek.

I lock my phone screen and reply him. "Ew cooties."

He rolls his eyes and plants more kisses along my face.

The protest dies in my mouth when he touches my lips and I stop him from pulling away.

Subconsciously I push my phone further away so he can cage me with arms as we both forget our argument.

His lips leave earlier than I would have liked but I take some much-needed breath of air.

"For someone with such an angelic face, you've been trouble since you walked through those bar doors," he says getting off me.

I flop on the bed and spread my legs in a feline stretch. "I never claimed to be a good girl."

"No you did not," he says leaving to take an evening shower.

Coincidentally the forgotten screen lights up again and I see my shot had been blown when I message him ten minutes too late.

"Yes, I'm ready now." I text back but his status bar taunts me as more minutes go by.

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