Work Hard, Love Harder

So many people, and Femi’s parents were yet to appear. She was nervous enough about this meeting without all the waiting and anticipation. When Zoe found herself in some kind of gallery, a wall of paintings across from shiny elevator doors, she realized she had no idea where a room with comfortable couches would be located. Further down, there were windows Zoe was pretty sure faced the back of the house, so she had basically walked in a circle, however that was possible.

She sighed and turned to the wall of art. Painted in neoclassicism, a girl dressed like a Grecian goddess with golden cat’s eyes was drinking from what looked like a human skull. “The fu*k,” Zoe muttered into the echoing silence. There was a flutter behind her belly button and Zoe’s hand moved automatically, pressing over the sensation.

“Good call, kid. I think it’s creepy too.”

The sound of footsteps made Zoe turn, expecting one of the staff, but it was Femi. Femi with his shirt collar unbuttoned, his hair a little messed up, his body relaxed, every inch of him looking as good as Zoe has ever seen him.

“Taking a tour?” Femi asked when he got close.

“Was about to fall asleep.”

Femi stopped just behind Zoe’s right shoulder, close enough for Zoe to catch the scent of brandy off his breath.

“Art’s your thing?” Femi’s words blew warm against Zoe’s neck.

“Depends on the art.” On second look, the girl seemed more sad than triumphant, holding her skull-goblet in slender, taloned fingers.

“Come on,” Femi said. “Let’s go put you to bed.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Femi looked at Zoe, his gaze considering, a heavy attention that heated Zoe’s gut with a mix of arousal and jumpy anticipation, not quite sure what was coming but wanting it so goddamn bad. Femi reached up, taking the ends of Zoe’s hair between his fingers, strangely gentle. He stepped in, close enough for their clothes to brush, sliding his palm around to cradle the back of Zoe’s head. The feeling was a flashback to the SUV, Femi’s hands holding Zoe’s head against the seat, the same width and shape, fingers digging into Zoe’s skull, the smell of leather and Femi.

But Femi noticed and he stilled, watching Zoe’s face. Before he could decide to move away, untangle his fingers from Zoe’s hair, leave her in a strange bed, alone, Zoe said, “Will you stay with me?”

Things were never good when you added extra people, but alone, together, it settled into recognizable shapes.

Manageable.

Understandable.

Zoe had a growing list of things she had to bring up, but now it seemed they could wait. For a certain space of time, Zoe knew the rules of the game, and it wasn’t Femi going back downstairs to drink another round with guys in expensive designer suits and women in African attire who made her feel inadequate as fu*k.

Femi pulled Zoe into a slow easy kiss. Just a kiss, lips on lips. He didn’t say anything as he took Zoe’s arm and led her towards the elevator doors. It was like prom night all over again.

Zoe woke up when Femi moved away, letting a wave of cool air under the bed sheets. Zoe moaned and dragged a sluggish arm across the warm space, groping after Femi’s retreating body.

“Where’re you goin’?” Zoe mumbled into his pillow, eyes still too heavy to open.

“Going out for a smoke,” Femi said.

“Comin’ back?”