Staying with Jeddah wasn't exactly pleasing.
Not that his lifestyle had anything to do with her—or that she particularly cared—but it was… uncomfortable. Watching him come home almost every day with a new girl. What they did wasn't her business, but still, it felt like too much.
Sure, boys will be boys. Promiscuity wasn't new.
But almost every night? Four times a week, at least? And always with different girls? That baffled her.
Even stranger—she never saw them leave. They'd go into his room, and that was it.
At first, she assumed maybe they stayed the night and left in the morning, while she was already at work.
But then, one night, she heard the sound of an Uber pulling up. She peeked through the window—just in time to see a girl getting in.
It happened again. And again.
She noticed the pattern.
None of them ever spent the night.
They always left that same evening.
Was he that bad in bed? she wondered.
She quickly shook the thought away.
God forbid she actually think about him that way. That guy? Ha!
He wasn't even plaything material.
Unwanted.
Not her type.
So why had the guy from that night crossed her mind again?
She tried to stop the thought—but it persisted.
His hands on her body.
His cold, masculine breath grazing her neck.
His complete submission.
He did everything she asked.
Everything.
She had never been with a man like that before. Someone who made her lose her sanity—who made her remember a night she had locked away for so long.
You don't even know the guy, the voice in her head reminded her.
Would you do the same thing again? it asked.
"I would never look for him," she replied under her breath. "Not just because I want him again."
Then she paused.
Why am I even answering myself?
If only she could meet him again.
But New York City was a big place.
What am I even thinking?
I don't even know the guy. I don't remember him. I don't know what he looks like.
She laughed at herself.
By the time she looked up, she was already nearing the house. She had decided to walk home from work, dragging her steps just enough to tire herself out—maybe skip the thoughts, jump into a cold shower, then crash into bed.
Her eyes caught the familiar glow of the mansion lights—and in front of it, Jeddah's Porsche.
He was either just back with a girl or heading out to party, she figured.
The car looked freshly detailed. Spotless.
Some people really had no worries in life.
She muttered something to herself as she neared her apartment—
Just then, the door swung open.
Jeddah stepped out—bag in one hand, sunglasses in the other.
She instinctively veered off, maneuvering toward the tiled floor in front of the mansion.
Click. Click.
The car blinkers lit up.
"I saw you," Jeddah's voice rang out.
"I dropped my earrings," she replied awkwardly.
"Earrings? That's your excuse?" He stepped closer. "You've got a full set on. And you think I don't know fashion? I know you wear two on each ear—and none is missing."
"Oh please. I don't think you know what women wear," she muttered, rolling her eyes behind his back.
This girl and her sarcasm, he thought. She's really good.
"Just got back from work?" he asked, slipping into his car like it was second nature.
"Yeah," she said, loud enough for him to hear. Then muttered to herself, "And I guess it's one of those nights again."
"You going out?" she asked, this time louder, trying to sound casual.
But why was it starting to feel awkward?
"Not really. I'm not going anywhere," Jeddah replied.
"Just want to have a calm night. A date… with myself."
"Oh. You're expecting someone?" she asked, masking curiosity with indifference—even though the question was ridiculous. The man had girls over all the time.
Jeddah chuckled. "Am I that obvious?"
"I'm not expecting anyone," he added. Then paused.
"Just having a car date. Alone. Good music, maybe a movie. AC on. Lights off."
"What?" she laughed. "People do that?"
"Okay," she said playfully, forming a tiny heart with her fingers. "Enjoy your car date."
She started backing away. "I'm going to my room now."
"What? You running?" he called after her, smirking.
He walked toward her. "I was thinking… maybe we could watch the movie together. Or, you know… just chill. Together."
She stopped. Turned.
"Really?" she muttered to herself. "I don't get it."
"About what?" he asked, confused.
"I don't understand you!" she blurted—and instantly regretted it. She had just shown him her Nigerian self: full volume and unfiltered.
Jeddah burst out laughing. A genuine laugh—eyes lit, body shaking.
"Oh God… You really said that? You looked like my mom!"
"Are you serious?" she asked, feigning shock.
He mimicked her again: "I don't understand you!"
She smiled but didn't respond.
"Come on," he said, gentler now. "I've told you before—I don't bite. It's just a movie. In my car. I'm not dragging you into my house."
"Oh—the center of iniquity," she said, laughing.
"Kemi," his voice softened.
"Hm?"
"Okay, I'm going to freshen up. Eat. I'm tired from work."
"Exactly. That's why you should relax."
"Don't worry about food. I've got plenty—snacks, drinks. Everything's on me tonight. Just… come out. I need company."
She nodded. "In a minute."
"You wish," he teased. "It's never just a minute. Women and preparation."
"Oh, I thought you didn't know anything about women?"
"Oshey! Ha! See this Yoruba girl."
She turned away like it meant nothing—but the smile on her face betrayed her. She gave herself a light pat on the cheek.
Come off it, she whispered, hurrying to her apartment.
Later That Night…
The movie of the night was Through My Window: Part 1—and maybe Part 2 if things went well.
Jeddah knew what he was doing. Normally, he'd go for something action-packed. But this… this was different.
He picked something softer. Romantic. Something that might cool her head—or warm it.
Kemi rolled her eyes at the title but didn't object. Deep down, she was a romantic.
Watching a love movie with Jeddah? Weird.
Nice.
Weird.
She kept it to herself.
She was quiet—like a mouse tiptoeing through a cat's den for cheese.
Jeddah did everything: snacks, drinks, ambiance.
She helped herself. The man knew how to give a good time.
The movie rolled.
They laughed. Argued with the screen.
Reacted the same way at the same time.
But never looked at each other.
Kemi sat like someone who didn't want to be there—but had no better option.
Jeddah was fully in it. It was his space. His plan.
After Part 1, he turned to her.
"So tell me… why are you really in New York?"
"Pass for Chinese, honestly," he added, half-serious. "But you're definitely not from around here."
She chuckled. "I'll ask you the same."
"I asked first."
She sighed. "I don't know. I just didn't want to be home anymore. Didn't want to live with my inherited family. Just wanted something else—my own thing. My own story."
She hesitated, then continued. "Father's abroad. Mom's Nigerian. He didn't want me. So… back to Nigeria with my mom. That's not even the real story, though. It's just… Nigerians, you know? Our reputation sometimes… I didn't want to be part of it."
"I get you," he said softly. "Honestly, I do."
"Look at me now," he added with a grin. "Soft-boy life."
Kemi threw her hands up. "You? Soft boy?"
"Yes o."
"You couldn't even dream of this under your mother's roof!"
"You think I don't know the things I do?"
"What things? Tell me what I do that I can't do around mummy."
"Mr. Jeddah," she said theatrically, like an actress announcing her villain. "I can't believe you."
"You know what you do," she added, rhythm and fire in her voice.
He laughed. She smiled.
Then—silence.
Peace.
Stillness.
The kind that sneaks up on you.
He noticed the scent. Jasmine.
At first, he thought it was a new car freshener. But no—it was her. Her.
He turned slightly, eyes tracing her profile.
She's stunning, he thought. A blessing I wasn't ready for.
She moved slightly to the soft background music. Lost in the moment.
His gaze dropped to her lips… her chest rising and falling gently.
He didn't know if it was the scent, the movie, or something deeper—
But he wanted to kiss her.
He bit his lower lip.
Not now. Let it go.
"You smell good," he said quietly.
The sound pulled her back from wherever her mind had wandered.
She turned to him.
He didn't look away.
His eyes were curious. Soft. Intense.
She stared back. She had never been this close. And now, she really saw him.
The man was hot.
Suddenly, the car felt way too warm. AC on max—but still, not enough.
She felt like peeling off her jacket. Her clothes. Her restraint.
Like she was in his room. On his bed.
"I'm going in," she said abruptly. "I have work tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Sure. I do too," he said, shifting back.
"Thanks. For the night. The entertainment… everything. Goodnight."
He hit the door lock.
She stepped out.
Didn't look back.
Back in her room, she collapsed on the bed and exhaled sharply.
"That boy is trouble."
She tapped her forehead lightly.
Just then, her phone buzzed.
Jeddah.
Text message:
"Rent is due by the weekend. Don't forget. I'll need cash."
She rolled her eyes. "Really? Now?"
Another message dropped.
She looked down—
Her chest tightened.
Fear.
Anxiety.
A creeping sense of doom.
Not again.
She opened the message anyway…