Otaare

by Alessandra Ebulu

  And maybe somewhere deep inside, he'd hoped that that would be the case with Blaze. That the man wouldn't look as good as he did on screen.

  He'd been wrong. The first thing that had hit him had been the scent. Blaze smelled of man. Sweaty man, mixed with the musk of cologne. It was the smell of money and prestige. A smell that took him back home.

  And then the smell had been followed by the voice. A voice Ukeme knew was Blaze's and he'd shivered.

  Fucking hell. He'd been so worked up over their call that that voice hadn't made an impression?

  Something told him that when he raised his head and got a good look at that face, it would hit him in the gut.

  "Good. We're all here. Sukanmi. Bola. Allow me to introduce you to Ukeme Collins and…" he heard Tinu's voice trail off, then she whispered. "Sorry, your last name?"

  "Osoka," Eze answered.

  "Ukeme Collins and Eze Osoka. Ukeme, Eze. My cousin, Sukanmi Williams, and my big brother, Bola Johnson. Although, you probably know him as Blaze."

  She tittered.

  Ukeme kept his head lowered. Maybe if he left his head in this state, they would just imagine that he was praying or something. He didn't know where this panic was coming from. This fear that screamed that he had to leave this building without getting into Blaze's face. Without breathing the same air he breathed in.

  "Ukeme," he heard Tinu whisper-call.

  "Maybe he's praying," another voice said. Probably Sukanmi Johnson.

  "Or maybe he's thinking of the best way to get out of here without having to speak to us."

  That snapped his head back up and he glared at Blaze. He'd been right. He'd needed to fortify himself. Blaze was gorgeous. That shaved head that just made everything else about him pop. From the glasses that took up a majority of his face, to that long bridge of nose, to those lips that were, at the moment, curved into a smirk.

  And fuck. Those dimples.

  Thankfully, he'd brought up his head after Blaze had spoken like a jackass, otherwise, he would have just stayed there, gaping at a man that was just too damn good-looking for his own bloody good.

  He alternated between glaring at the jackass and his ass of a cousin; a cousin that was not bad-looking either. If you liked your men fair and slender, that is. Ukeme liked his men short and stocky though, with skin so dark, it glowed. Kind of like Blaze. Which just made him glare some more at the jackass. With the way Tinu was glaring at Blaze, they both agreed. On Blaze being a jackass, that is.

  Not like the short pint of a man—he was likely five-foot-five, and that was Ukeme being generous—was bothered by the glare. He just smirked.

  At Ukeme.

  Asshole.

  "And why would I have to think so hard," Ukeme asked. "If not that I don't want to be rude, I could just as easily walk the fuck away from the table."

  "Says the man who had no qualms about being totally rude to me when I called to apologize," Blaze said.

  "Apologize," Ukeme scoffed. "You call that an apology," Ukeme screeched, and then brought down the volume of his voice when that drew stares. "You offered me money to keep my bloody mouth shut."

  "To be fair, that was me."

  "And you insulted my family and my father," Blaze said, neither of them paying attention to Sukanmi, who was waving his hands around.

  "That's because your father deserves it," Ukeme snapped.

  "Well, I don't see you being pissed at Tinu right now. Or would you like me to point out that she's," Blaze pointed at Tinu, "a Johnson, too."

  "Yeah. But she's a nicer Johnson. You are just an ass," Ukeme said.

  "Well, if I'm an ass, then you're a bigger one," Bola said.

  "If you think I'm an ass, then you need to take off those blinders. Because the only person being one right now is you," Ukeme said. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he noticed that Tinu, Sukanmi, and Eze—the betrayer—had all left them and moved to a table some distance away from them. He also noticed that they were drawing stares from everyone at the restaurant; not like Blaze looked like he noticed. Matter of fact, the idiot merely stared right back at him, with those damn shades in place, not willing to budge an inch. Stubborn, idiotic Blaze.

  What kind of name was Blaze, anyway? Especially when the man had been named Bolarinwa? Blaze seemed like a nickname. Like the kind of name someone used in primary school, through senior class, and dropped the minute they got to the University.

  Serious-minded adults didn't choose 'Blaze' as a nickname. And then out of the blue, he had a vision of Adegoke Johnson possibly saying the exact same words to his son and Ukeme grimaced.

  "What's with the name?" Ukeme said, when silence held. He was okay with them trading insults, but silence gave his mind the time to run away with exactly how gorgeous Bola looked, and he had no interest in letting that thought take hold.

  Except, the idiot he was talking to didn't answer him.

  "Hey," he snapped and turned to look at Bola. The shades threw him off, but he glared. Sure, the glare might come off tinged with black, but at least Bola would see some sort of glare thrown his way.

  "What?" Bola snapped back.

  "What's with the name? How does anyone go from being born Bolarinwa to being called Blaze?"

  Those full lips curved into a smile. Not a smirk. A smile. And Ukeme didn't want to examine the reason why his stomach did cartwheels at the change.

  Cartwheels. Ha!

  "Is that your definition of small talk? Because trust me, your conversation skills need a lot of work," Bola said.

  "Better than sitting in a corner brooding," Ukeme snapped back. "Oooh. Look at me. I'm not eating anything or drinking. But I'm one of the shortest guys here and I'm wearing shades that look too big for my place. Sure, none of you are curious about who I might be."

  Ukeme heard someone suck in a breath just as he made the height dig, and the minute he said it, he wanted to take it back. He didn't mind that Bola was short. Matter of fact, he liked that Bola would barely reach his shoulders. It meant that snuggling would have Bola's head resting perfectly on his shoulder.

  What the fuck?

  Ukeme was just about to apologize when Bola slid the glasses off his face, folded it away with deliberate movements and raised an eyebrow.

  Fuck. Those eyes. A rich golden brown that went flawlessly well with the dark skin. He was so stunning, Ukeme licked his lips, suddenly filled with an ache to taste him.

  Even if you paid me to, I wouldn't fuck you.

  Nothing to kill a growing erection than to remember that the object of your desire had said he would even refuse the offer to fuck you if you paid him to.

  "Do you really think anyone cares?" he heard Bola ask.

  Bola gestured at the room. "Look around. Nobody is paying us any attention."

  And he was right. In typical Naija fashion, they'd stopped, stunned to see a celebrity eating with them. But it had lasted only a couple of minutes before they'd gone back to what they were doing. It was their way of saying that they didn't care. Plus the implied, "and so what if you're a celeb? Man no go chop?"

  "Well, now that that's settled…" Sukanmi started to say.

  "So, why were you sitting and brooding?" Ukeme interrupted.

  Bola gave a long, drawn-out sigh. Ukeme recognized that sound. It was the long-suffering sigh. His mother had sighed it so many times when he was a kid. It was the Nigerian parent's failsafe to not wanting to deal with their kid's idiocy.

  In other words, Bola thought he was being idiotic.

  "What were you doing?" Ukeme pressed.

  "Thinking. A lot of us do that, you know. Think. Not all of us are writers brooding about a particular slight from their past. Or accusing us of stealing their work."

  Ukeme squeezed his hands so tightly that he felt the prick of his nails digging into soft flesh. He pressed harder, fighting the urge to rise, toss that glass of water Bola still hadn't touched ever since his pompous ass had taken his seat, in that smug face.

  Usually, he woul
d have done so and damned the consequences, but he was still hung up on the fact that he had a book to write. A book that came with a very generous seven-figure offer from Elizabeth who desperately wanted that expose. Sure, he had already started plotting it out, and had started with interviews, and amassing all the sources he needed to make the book legit, but nothing would grant his book as much legitimacy as him taking this chance, this chance to dig beneath Bola's surface, and running with it.

  He needed to know. Just who was Bolarinwa Johnson? Who was he, beyond being Adegoke Johnson's son? What made the man tick? And why had he taken off those glasses to prove his point that Nigerians didn't give a fuck whether or not you were a celebrity, only to push those glasses back onto his face?

  Was he doing it because his eyes hurt, or because he knew that seeing him there, with that laidback air and those shades, did things to Ukeme's blood level and made his cock twitch?

  He pushed away the thought that pointed out that that was the reason why Ukeme was so intent on raveling the mystery of Bolarinwa. It wasn't about the book, but that the something in him wanted Ukeme to take the time and sink into the very essence of Bola. Find out what made him tick. What made him happy? What would darken those eyes with arousal? What would make that tongue flick out to wet those lips? And why that tongue did that at that very moment.

  "Are you just going to sit there staring, or are you going to say something?" Bola drawled.

  And just like that, Ukeme bristled. All thoughts of how gorgeous Bola looked, gone as he knuckled back down on what had started this all: The Johnson's arrogance, and their belief that everything worked out for them and was theirs to take. A trait they got from their father, the king of lies and shady deals. Of course, he mentally conceded that Tinu wasn't that bad, but even with that, he still had every intention of revealing Adegoke Johnson for the scam he was. Who knows? Maybe if he successfully pulled it off, he might force the government's hand to dig deeper into the source of the man's wealth.

  "Well, forgive me for having nothing to say to a man who stole my words and then offered to pay me to keep my mouth shut," Ukeme hissed.

  Bola gave a drawn-out sigh and then leaned forward, and so his nose was almost bumping against Ukeme's. Their faces were so close together that they felt each other's breath, and Ukeme's heart rate quickened.

  Fuck.

  And now, he really wished Bola hadn't put those glasses back on, because he desperately wished he could see those brown eyes up-close.

  "Firstly, I didn't steal your words. They are not yours," Bola said.

  It took a while for Ukeme to place the words, especially with how he distracted he was by the sight of Bola's full lips and his scent.

  But then, the words hit, and Ukeme made to speak, but Bola kept right on. "Secondly, I didn't talk him into doing anything. The idiot made you the offer all on his own. It's his usual MO for getting out of a difficult situation. Thirdly, you are the one who was insulting my family when they had nothing to do with it."

  "Hold up," Ukeme said and pointed across the room at Sukanmi. "It was his idea?!"

  Even before Bola confirmed it, he could see the truth in the way Sukanmi hung his head and stared at everything but Ukeme.

  "And then I called to apologize, and you just blindsided me and accused me of shit I was totally innocent of," Bola continued.

  Ukeme cringed. Damn. "Well, you should have said you didn't know anything about what I was saying," he said.

  Off went the shades and then Bola was in his face. Bringing him so close to those golden brown eyes, those long eyelashes, and that mouth. His mouth looked good. Even more so now that it was just inches away. So close that if Ukeme just leaned forward, he would finally know how Bola tasted.

  At the thought, Ukeme jerked back slightly. It was one thing thirsting after a man he should absolutely not be falling for. It's another thing for him to be thirsting after a straight man. Like his life wasn't complicated enough as it was.

  "I would have," Bola picked up from where he'd let off, totally unaware of the fact that Ukeme couldn't keep away from staring at his lips. How like a straight man not to notice. "But you never gave me the bloody chance to even say that. Just went right on with what you thought," Bola said.

  "I didn't know," Ukeme murmured. He watched Bola run shaking fingers over his shaved head, the only thing that gave away his agitation. Seeing the always-proud Bolarinwa Johnson look that miserable caused a pang in his heart. The fact that he'd jumped down Bola's throat and had accused him publicly without giving him the chance to defend himself twisted the knife in some more.

  Bola accepted Ukeme's words. "Okay, can we now move on to squashing this beef, so Stella can finally stop writing about us?"

  And right there in front of his face was the same article that Elizabeth had shown him two days ago. Seeing the headline again just made him pissed.

  "I wonder if she would just stop her poke-nosing if I sent her a mail. She has a contact me page, doesn't she?" Ukeme muttered.

  "Then you're even more stupid than you give yourself credit for," Bola sneered. Ukeme's head jerked up at the insult, but Bola just kept talking. "Send her a mail and you will just be fanning the flames. Then she would start asking why you're so concerned, and spend the next three months writing about you. The girl's vicious."

  "But," and Bola paused a moment, and out came that tongue to wet his lips. Ukeme couldn't help it. His eyes tracked the moment, and he caught a sharp inhalation that had his eyes swinging up to see if Bola had caught him staring. Thankfully, Bola didn't look pissed or like he was about to call everyone's attention to the gay man ogling him—although Ukeme admitted to himself that Bola most likely didn't know he was gay. It wasn't something he made a thing of broadcasting to everyone who knew him, after all—instead, he looked breathless, licked his lips again, and then continued talking. "Hopefully, she would have nothing to write about us, if we can reach an agreement right now,"

  Wait? Was that what he wanted? For a gossip blogger not to write about him anymore? Yes, he didn't want her writing about him; if she continued writing about him, then Adegoke Johnson would have his eyes on him and might be able to catch a whiff of his story and squash it before it gets out. Or one of the numerous people on his payroll might find out. Either way, the minute Adegoke Johnson caught a whiff of his story, he could very well kiss it goodbye.

  "How do you suggest we do that?" Ukeme asked.

  The breathless expression shifted. Became more nervous. And then Bola shifted in his seat. Something about the way he was had the alarm bells ringing, and Ukeme realized that whatever Bola came up with would be something he would not like. Not one bit.

  "It's simple, really. For the next eight weeks, we," Bola pointed at himself and Ukeme, "would be the best of friends. We would do everything together. Parties. Events. Vacation. The works. You would do it so consistently and for so long that Stella will have to find something else to report. Nothing says squashed beef than suddenly becoming paddies of life."

  Bola's grinned widened.

  Fuck his life.

  chapter seven

  Levi's? Check. And in the dark, almost blackish-blue that he loved his jeans to come in. Plus…

  Bola turned so he could check out himself out from behind. Yup. His ass looked amazing.

  He smiled.

  That, with his dark grey Polo shirt, and he looked casually put-together. Sure, it might have cost more than some people made in a month, but it was worth it. He looked good.

  And who knows. Maybe Ukeme would…

  He squashed the thought before it could take root. He was not concerned with whatever Ukeme thought. Thinking about it would just lead him down a rabbit hole.

  Especially because catching the man staring at his lips, did not a gay Ukeme make.

  "Focus. Today's about fixing things, not making it more complicated," Bola told himself.

  "And how would you complicate things?" Sukanmi said as he popped into the room. As always, h
e hadn't bothered to knock before entering.

  "None of your business," Bola said and went back to checking himself out.

  Maybe the shades he'd popped on top of his head was an overkill?

  "Lose the glasses," Sukanmi said after giving him an appraising look.

  Bola pursed his lips about to tell Sukanmi he could wear whatever he damn well wanted. "It's a party with other celebs and Lagos big boys. Plus, it's inside a building and we're leaving at nine PM. No sun. No press. No reason to wear the shades. Unless, it's because you want everyone to know they're…" Sukanmi trailed off and snagged the glasses. "Ray-Bans? Seriously?" He flung the glasses and they bounced off Bola's bed and clattered to the floor. "Abeg e. They're not that special." He hissed. "When you're done primping, let's go."

  Bola picked up his bottle of Clive Christian cologne and was just about to spray it on his pulse points when Sukanmi whistled. "What is it now?" Bola snapped.

  Sukanmi didn't say anything. Even after Bola had finished spraying it on.

  He corked the bottle, ran his finger over the gold neck, and turned around to meet Sukanmi's eyes.

  Sukanmi gaped at him. All open-mouthed and wide-eyed exaggeration.

  "What?" Bola asked.

  Sukanmi shook his head from side to side, the motion just as exaggerated as the others.

  "Sukanmi," Bola growled.

  Sukanmi put both hands high up. "Oh, nothing. Don't mind me. I'm just catching a whiff of the almost one-million naira perfume and my brain's gone into auto-reset."

  Bola reached for his jacket.

  "Joor, are we still going to the same party," Sukanmi asked. He gave himself a pointed toe-to-the-sky look and then looked at Bola.

  Bola ignored the question and shrugged into the jacket.

  Black against grey on dark blue. He looked good.

  "I started the question with a please, na," Sukanmi said, now laughing when Bola huffed. "Why aren't you answering?"

  "Because it's a stupid question. You came in here, asking that we leave for on time, and now you're asking stupid questions. Aburo, abeg, let's go."