Song-- Starving by Hailee Steinfeld Grey & Zedd.
Nwanyieze's POV~
He effortlessly grabs my attention, and I wonder how he does it. I go through my days, thinking of him and smiling when I remember his jokes.
Someone actually enjoys my company without sex, I marvel.
When he calls, our conversations are long, and I always ask him if he has a contract with Airtel. It makes him laugh, and then he makes me laugh, too.
You're playing with fire, Nwa, my beloved inner voice tells me a million times. This is just temporary, and when your secret is out, he will hate you so much that you'll probably be forced to disappear. Or jump into the lagoon.
Maduka surprises me by showing up in front of my department one hot afternoon. I have just finished my last lecture for the day, the heat is unbearable, and I am currently having my monthly 'visitor', with the cramps coming and going. I know he hadn't been able to reach me via calls for two days.
At first, I tell myself it has to be someone else, but it's Maduka, leaning against his car and still taller than most. I hide behind a pillar and watch him, feeling pleased despite my surprise. His eyes are on the crowd of students leaving the building before me, narrowed in concentration, trying to pick me out. Girls give him stares, even greet him as they saunter by, and he nods in reply but doesn't take his eyes off his task.
Why wouldn't they stare and approach him? He is dressed in work clothes, but his tie is gone and his shirt is a pale pink colour, it's top buttons undone to let air in, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his hairy forearms. His trousers are dark, still retaining their lines. I look at his feet and hold back my laughter. Maduka has swapped his leather shoes for a pair of trainers but that doesn't affect his looks.
He scratches his head in frustration, pulls out his cell phone, and begins to make a call.
My phone, that Nokia torchlight I had bought to replace my iPhone, had fallen into water two days ago, courtesy of Adanna. She had sniffed and started to cry when I'd heaved a deep sigh of annoyance after picking my phone out of the bucket of water, and my anger had melted away immediately because I couldn't stand the sight of tears falling out of her big, brown eyes. She'd apologised sincerely, and all was forgiven.
I step out from my hiding place and descend the stairs, pretending that I haven't seen him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him push himself off the car and cut through the crowd, and in a few seconds his hand closes around my wrist.
I can't help the grin that spreads itself across my face.
"Why do women like shakara?" he teases me knowingly.
"What if I didn't really see you?" I reply.
He leads me back to his car, laughing.
"I was worried about you," Maduka tells me. "What happened?"
I tell him about Adanna's recent shot at ruining my life and he shakes his head.
"Children are the most angelic little beings, aren't they?"
"Tell me about it," I reply. "Anyway, you've seen me and I'm doing fine." I fold my arms and look up at him, my smile unable to leave my face. "Won't you be going home now with peace of mind?"
He jams his fingers into his pockets and looks up at the sky. Then he rocks back on his heels. "Well, I'm here to take you out, if that's okay with you. Just say the place, and we'll go there. But if you'd rather not..."
I'm sure we look like bashful teenagers, standing in the midst of the crowd but so focused on each other, with my arms folded, his hands in his pockets and both of us sporting Cheshire smiles.
"I'm too tired for an outing," I confess. And too wary that I'll end up falling for you like a zombie.
But Maduka doesn't let it slide easily. "How about dinner at my place, then? Some homemade food by the chef himself?"
"Oh, you're inviting a chef, eh?"
He rolls his eyes, and I must say, he looks so good doing it. The special smile that goes with the act makes me hold my breath. It is one-sided, revealing his white upper canine. He notices my hesitation and raises both palms.
"I'll be completely cool if you don't want to, baby girl."
Did he just have to call me baby girl while saying he doesn't mind if I say no? I wonder.
"I'll think about it."
Maduka's POV~
She likes it.
Baby girl, I muse while driving Nwanyieze towards her place. My hectic day is forgotten with her in the car, singing along to Brenda Fassie's No Señor while I wait for a red light at Maryland junction.
"You know your songs," I tell her, impressed.
"I used to listen to them when I was little. On weekends, my Daddy would- oh, I'd like to buy some guinea eggs."
In a second, she has pushed the button and the glass lowers. She hisses at a hawker selling guinea eggs. The young boy runs towards our car, and Nwanyieze selects two wraps of eggs, pays the boy, and makes the glass go back up, shutting out the noise from the traffic.
I wait for her to continue her story, but instead, she asks, "So what are you cooking for us?"
"It's a surprise," I reply, turning to look at her. Her attention is on one of the eggs which she peels slowly.
"Do you know what they call these in Igbo?"
"Akwa ogazi."
"Ezigbo Nwafor," she congratulates me. True Igbo child.
This is the second time she's stopped a conversation because of her 'daddy'. Curiosity fills my mind, but I know not to push her.
At her place, I wait patiently while she takes a shower and changes her clothes. When she emerges, dressed in a flowing blue and pink silk buba, my breath catches. The silk shimmers with each movement and I imagine the shape of her body underneath it's layers. In fact, I envy the material for being so close to her skin, closer than I am.
"Uncle, red block," Adanna pipes from beside me on the floor, her small hands on my face, trying to take back my attention.
"Of course, princess," I reply before tearing my eyes away from Nwanyieze.
Adanna and I have erected another castle, this one bigger than the last. She insists on placing her dolls on the three minarets and I'm left with the task of balancing them where she wants them to be. When I'm done, she claps her hands in glee, throws her arms around me, and says, "Pretty, beautiful, thank you!" My heart melts instantly.
"She's such a sweetheart," I tell Nwanyieze, who is slipping her feet into a pair of pink fluffy slippers.
"Let her throw your phone into water and you'll feel the full effect," she replies.
Mama Uju enters, looks at Adanna and I, and smiles. "She really likes you, Maduka."
But her smile seems to say, "They both really like you."
"I've always been a charmer, Ma," I joke.
At the door, Adanna reminds us that we didn't get her the ice cream we promised last time, and she strictly warns us to please bring some home this time. Dutifully, I promise to do so.
The interior of my car smells wonderful. Her scent makes me want to pull her close, bury my nose in the crook of her neck and just breathe.
And taste that skin, too. Yes, definitely taste it.
"You still won't tell me what you're preparing for dinner," she tells me in the car, her huge slanted eyes fixed on me.
"Okay, fine. Spaghetti, stew, and grilled chicken. With a side dish of cole slaw and any drink of your choice."
Good thing Spar isn't far from my place.
"You smell so nice."
She laughs, throwing back her head and exposing the column of her neck. I silently pray I don't get distracted enough to slam the back of the car ahead. "Thank you."
"No comment this time?"
"I comment my reserve," she says, and this time we both laugh.
"Nigerians ehn. Always coming up with ways to make things funny."
"That's what keeps us going," Nwanyieze tells me. "Our sense of humour is unmatched."
After leading her into my place, I rush off to the kitchen to bring out the food stuff I'd shopped for the previous day.
Yes, I planned the whole thing all along, just in case. I want to cook for her myself, and I find that thought deeply satisfying.
The chicken is frozen, and so I assemble other ingredients while allowing it to thaw in a bowl of warm water.
"You're in such a hurry, Maduka," she calls from the sitting room. "It's just past six pm."
I want everything to be perfect. I want to impress her.
"It's never too early to start something good, baby girl," I reply.
In ten minutes, I have run into my bathroom, showered, and dressed in grey sweat pants and a Lakers vest. While I'm draining the steamed chicken, Nwanyieze enters the kitchen.
"Smells nice, so far," she says. "The food and the man."
She raises her head, closes her eyes, and breathes deeply. I temporarily forget my hand is near the handle of the saucepan with heated oil. It takes me a few seconds to feel the searing heat from the contact. Quickly, I withdraw, furiously shaking my fingers.
She runs up to me, alarmed. She gently takes my burned hand and sticks it under the tap, letting cold water flow over it.
"It's nothing much," I tell her, slightly ashamed of myself.
"Oh, poor baby. I'll help with the cooking, you hear?"
Meaning I won't do much but stare and drool over you, then.
"I can handle this. I want to do it for you," I protest.
"I really appreciate it, but I won't have you burning more fingers. Just slice the carrots and cucumbers; I'll take over the others."
And in an instant, Nwanyieze takes charge, sprinkling spices on the chicken parts and placing them in the oven, preparing the stew, boiling the spaghetti. In fifteen minutes, the stew is ready and she settles on a kitchen stool to wait for the chicken and spaghetti. I lean on the other side of the island, watching her. The kitchen is drowning in mouthwatering aroma from the food and I feel my stomach rumble.
"I was looking at your photo albums."
"I grew more handsome, don't tell me what I already know."
"So full of yourself, aren't you?" she teases.
"Some people like me that way."
"Where did you hide your baby photos? I went through all the albums and found none."
My heart leaps. "They're all at my parents' place," I lie smoothly. "My mother can't bear to part with them."
She smiles and nods. "I understand. How's your hand, by the way? Does it feel better?"
"Yes." Actually, the burning feeling is still there and a huge blister has formed, but I don't want her to worry over it.
"Let me see." She rises and moves to my side of the island, her bare feet making no sounds on the kitchen floor. She has tied her braids backwards because of the kitchen work, and a thin layer of sweat covers her forehead.
"No," I protest.
She gets her way, and seeing the huge blister, Nwanyieze gasps. "I'm so sorry, Madi! Don't worry, I'll get some ice and-"
"Madi. I like that."
Her brows come together. "That slipped out."
"Please, I hope it slips out more often."
Having her close is really distracting from our purpose in this kitchen, and yet I'm focused on only her.
She shakes her head at me. "Did anyone ever tell you how smooth you are?"
"Yes."
"Oh, good. Glad you know that."
"New knowledge. Ten seconds ago."
For a moment we just stare at each other. Her eyes lower to my lips, which curve into a knowing smile.
Good thing it's mutual, then, I think before giving in to the compulsion. I wrap my arm around her waist, pull her much closer, and fasten my lips to hers. I can tell she's standing on her toes, and without thinking, I lift her up and place her on top of the island, standing between her legs.
This is the highlight of my day, I tell myself when she wraps her arms around my neck. Her mouth, moist and warm and soft, is a drug on its own. Her body arches towards mine, instinctively offering what I know her mind wouldn't dare to consider...yet, I hope.
Oh, goodness. What have I gotten myself into? I need her to give me everything. Her heart, her mind, her soul, her body. None is going to be mine without the other.
My lips withdraw from hers and trail their way to the crook of her neck and she gasps, toes curling against my legs. I'm tempted to flick out my tongue and taste her skin, but I decide against it. She smells heavenly, that coconut oil and black soap...
"Coconut has never smelled so nice to me," I murmur.
"Maduka... I..." she moans.
"Mhmm?" my heart hammers in my chest. What could she want to tell me, in that breathless voice?
"...smell burning spaghetti."
A/N-- Y'all thought.