ZIZI

BLUBAR HEAT

As soon as Imani stepped outside to take a call, BluBar shifted.

Like Abuja had sensed peace and immediately decided to reject it.

I was minding my business when a woman mid-30s, wedding ring shining like torchlight stormed toward a girl two tables away.

“You,” she snapped, pointing.

“You’re the small girl my husband is spending money on, abi?”

The girl blinked.

“Aunty please…”

Please didn’t finish.

The wife grabbed her cocktail and flung it in her face.

BluBar ERUPTED.

A chair fell. Someone screamed, “Yesssss content!”

Girls jumped. Two guys tried to separate them but Abuja babes don’t fight gently.

Next thing, the younger girl grabbed the wife’s wig.

The wig came off like it had been waiting to leave.

Chaos.

Phones up.

Flashlights on.

Security shouting.

Imani was still outside.

I stood, trying to find an exit, but the crowd kept pushing, blocking every path.

I tried the side door… locked.

Tried the back, security sealed it.

Perfect.

Surrounded by madness and rumors waiting to be born.

I swallowed my pride and did the one thing I shouldn’t have done:

I called K.

He picked immediately.

“K?”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a fight, the whole place is blocked, and I can’t leave.”

“I’m coming.”

Click.

No questions.

No lecture.

Just movement.

Five minutes later, BluBar’s doors opened like Moses touched them and K walked in.

Clean. Calm.

Dark tee. Steady energy.

Like someone that danger respects.

People shifted without being asked.

He found me instantly.

“Come.”

He held my wrist…warm, firm and pulled me through the crowd.

My chest did a stupid flip I refused to acknowledge.

Once we stepped outside, the cold Abuja air felt like freedom.

But the peace lasted exactly eight seconds.

A girl at the entrance gasped loudly.

“Wait… is that not Zizi and K?”

Another one clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Ha! So the rumor true? Na this fine boy be the sponsor?”

Someone else added,

“God, see life. Her own sponsor young and fresh. Some of us dey manage ancestors with pot belly.”

Laughter exploded.

Phones came up.

I stood there, blinking.

“SPONSOR?!” I hissed under my breath.

K leaned slightly closer.

“You’ve seen what’s happening online?”

I shrugged, lifting my chin.

“I see plenty things online. I don’t send anybody.”

Actually, I hadn’t seen anything.

I’d been too busy escaping WWE: BluBar Edition.

He stared at me for a second, reading me like he always did.

“Zizi… you’re trending again.”

I rolled my eyes.

“For what now? I didn’t even fight.”

He showed me his phone.

X was on fire.

Tweets everywhere:

“At least Zizi’s sponsor is fine. Other girls dey chop old age for survival.”

“Abuja girls winning again.”

“K is too hot to be a sponsor abeg.”

“Zizi don soft. I tap in.”

“See as they’re holding hands. Omo the gist dey sweet.”

I burst into laughter.

Not panic.

Not fear.

Pure, amused, reckless laughter.

Because this rumor?

This one wasn’t painful.

This one was dangerous in a different way.

K watched me laugh, his eyes softening just slightly.

“You really don’t care, do you?” he asked.

I looked up at him, heartbeat annoying, lips curling.

“K… I’m a bad b***h. I don’t break over gist.”

He stepped closer, his voice low.

“Then why does it feel like you’re smiling… because it’s me they’re pairing you with?”

My breath caught again…useless body.

I looked away before he saw too much.

“Believe what you want,” I said lightly.

He chuckled once, deep and warm.

And that tiny sound?

It betrayed me.

Because it felt good.

Too good.

“Come on,” he said softly.

“I’m taking you out of here.”

And as he walked me to the car, hand warm on my back, people still whispering and snapping pictures…

I felt something shift.

Something slow.

Something hot.

Something I couldn’t deny anymore.

This wasn’t chaos finding me.

This was chemistry catching up with me.

—————

K didn’t take me home.

He didn’t even ask where I wanted to go.

He just opened the car door and said,

“Let’s get out of the noise.”

And my stupid heartbeat said,

“Yes, sir.”

We drove in silence the sweet kind.

The tension kind.

The kind where every streetlight passing through the window felt like slow choreography on his jawline.

He took me to a quiet rooftop spot in Maitama.

Private, dim, soft music lacing the air.

Not a place for noise.

A place for trouble.

We sat.

We ordered drinks.

Then more drinks.

Then “one more” that wasn’t one more.

And for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t Zizi the drama target.

I wasn’t the trending hashtag.

I wasn’t the girl people were trying to drag.

I was just… me.

With K watching me like I was the most interesting thing in Abuja.

He finally spoke.

“You scared me today.”

I raised a brow.

“Me? Scare you? Please.”

He leaned back, eyes on me, not blinking.

“You don’t know how fast things can go left in this city. You don’t take anything seriously.”

I shrugged.

“That’s my charm.”

He smirked.

“That’s your problem.”

I took another sip.

“Then why are you here with me, hmm?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at me.

A long, slow, heavy look that made my stomach flutter like it owed him money.

Then he said,

“Because I wanted to be.”

My brain short-circuited for two seconds.

I looked away, bad mistake.

Because he leaned closer.

Closer.

“So all of Abuja thinks you’re mine,” he said softly, “and you’re not even denying it.”

I swallowed.

My lips felt warm from the alcohol.

My skin felt warm from him.

“I don’t explain myself to people,” I murmured.

“Good,” he whispered.

“Don’t start now.”

We were inches apart.

Breathing the same moment.

Heat humming between us like electricity that finally hit the switch.

And then…

I kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed me.

Or maybe we met in the middle.

All I know is:

It was slow.

Then deep.

Then hungry.

Like two people who pretended for too long.

His hand slid to my waist.

Mine went to the back of his neck.

The city below us blurred.

Time blurred.

Everything blurred except his mouth.

We made out until the sky turned gold.

Until dusk wrapped around us.

Until I forgot rumors, blogs, enemies, and my own name.

I remember laughter.

I remember his hands on my hips.

I remember leaning into him like my body had been waiting.

Then everything went soft.

Then warm.

Then nothing.

And when I opened my eyes again…

I wasn’t on the rooftop.

I wasn’t in his car.

I was in my room.

On my bed.

My robe folded neatly on the chair.

A bottle of water by my side.

Blanket tucked around me like someone cared too much.

And a note on my pillow:

“Sleep. You were safe with me…K”

My heart.

My chest.

My whole existence betrayed me with one silent, undeniable confession:

I was in trouble.

Real, slow-burn, intentional trouble.

And for the first time ever…

I didn’t want to run.