STUDENT'S PET

FIRST DINNER

YOLANDA POV

Apparently, the man I thought was drowning wasn't trying to drown at all. He's a swimmer. I got it all wrong.

Currently, the fear that I almost drowned loses to the heat spreading through my core as I take him in properly.

*I thought you came here to relax not fantasize about someone that can die if your ex finds out?*

"Enjoying the view of fine specimen is also relaxing, Lady Moral"

He's in swim briefs and a fitted athletic shirt, both soaked and clinging to every muscle. Water drips from his hair, his skin glistening in the moonlight. His broad chest heaves, probably from the exertion of saving my reckless ass.

He's easily six-foot-two. Even in five-inch heels, he'd still tower over me. I feel my cheeks heat at the thought.

*Lean muscles but fit enough to choke...girl, don't even go there* The imagination is vivid

*Look at those veins in his hands. Those thick fingers,* my lady morals purrs, she's the shameless voice in my head, she shows up at the worst times.

*His thighs look incredible in those shorts. That beard. Girl, we need to—*

"Stop it," I mutter under my breath.

*Don't be a coward. Look at—*

"Thanks, unlady morals," I whisper, my cheeks burning.

*Pleasure is mine, girl.*

"Can you stand?" he asks, offering his hand.

I take it, and he pulls me up with ease.

I glance up at him, and... oh s**t. The cocky smirk coating his chiseled face shows he's read me completely. All my heated thoughts are written across my expression.

That jaw looks like it could cut glass.

A knowing gleam passes through his eyes, the air between us shifts, becoming charged again. This time for both of us, not just me.

My gaze drops involuntarily, and my eyes widen. He's... aroused?. Very aroused. My eyes shoot back up to his face.

Or is that just his natural...

I lick my lips, trying to swallow down the tension crackling in the air. It takes every ounce of self-control, built up from every orgasm Chen denied me, to look away.

"What's your name?" he asks, with an intense smugness.

"Yolanda," I say, realizing something. Perfect. I'm horny for a man whose name I don't even know. Very American of me.

"Ovie," he replies, taking my hand. No, scratch that, enveloping my palm in his. I don't resist, I don't want him to let go.

He leads us in silence, and I love it. His quiet confidence is magnetic. I stare at our tangled hands again. No ring.

Not that rings mean anything in Abuja. If Lagos men are cheats, Abuja men are serial cheaters... very subtle fuckers.

I shove the thought aside.

*Of course you'll push it aside,* my lady morals sing-songs. *I thought you were asleep.*

I'm reveling in this feeling. Raw attraction without being made to feel like meat or a s*x object. I've had enough of that.

I look up. He's gazing down with a small, knowing smile. I don't return it, but the urge to trail my finger along his neck, to feel his pulse against my fingertip overwhelms me.

I reach up. His pulse is fast, primal even. I trail my finger higher, along his jawline.

We've stopped walking.

And I realize: I'm actually touching him. Tracing the line of his jaw like I have every right to.

"I'm sorry, please pardo..." I look down, mortified.

His finger presses against my lips, halting my words. It tastes like salt water. My heart hammers in my chest.

Without thinking, I part my lips slightly.

"Damn, woman," I hear him growl low in his throat. His palm holds mine firmer than before, not painful, but possessive. My heart is in overdrive, and my core aches with want.

Did I really just...?

I'm done for. How am I this attracted to him? I'm not even ovulating.

He cups my face with his free hand, staring straight into my eyes. He's searching for something—consent, maybe. Assurance?. His eyes and his breathing are at war with each other.

Whatever he found there didn't favour me, he lets go, leading us away from the shore.

A tiny part of me flares with fear—where is he taking me?

*Girl, what is there to be afraid of?* my lady morals chirp up. *If he kidnaps you, Chen will save you. Perks of having a psycho stalker as an ex—at least he can be good for something.*

The absurdity of that thought almost makes me laugh.

My fear fades completely when he holds out a chair for me at the beachside restaurant. Soft lights glow overhead, and the sound of the waves provides a soothing backdrop.

"What would you like, ma?" the waiter asks.

I have no idea what I want. I'm hungry but not really hungry. My stomach is in knots.

I look at Ovie, and he understands immediately.

"Nkwobi for me and peppersoup turkey for her. Palm wine, Fayrouz, and water for drinks," Ovie says with the ease that comes from years of commanding people.

After the waiter leaves, Ovie breaks the silence.

"I wasn't trying to drown, Yolanda. I was testing my breath control. I'm a professional swimmer."

His voice is calm, measured. Like he thinks I might shatter at any moment.

I don't quite believe him, though. I remember Charles, my brother's friend, a promising singer, always smiling. I envied his calm approach to living. I never knew he didn't enjoy life as much as I saw through his eyes. He drowned himself after an overdose.

I shake off that dark memory.

"Okay," I reply simply. For some reason, a part of me does think he's telling the truth. He seems at peace with life.

Our food arrives, and we eat in comfortable silence.

Until...

"Are you married, Yolanda?" he asks without shame.

My eyes widen. I take a gulp of water. My throat needs lubrication for this conversation.

*Ha! How can you be married when Chen mutilates every man who looks at you twice? Ovie's only still breathing because your beloved psycho isn't in Nigeria right now.*

My lady morals always has the tea.

"Are you Yoruba?" I counter. Yoruba men are unnecessarily bold. Shameless demons with confidence the size of the Pacific Ocean.

"No, I'm Benin."

"I never knew Benin men were this bold and shameless."

"I am. So?" He leans back, waiting.

"No, I'm not married. I don't really attract men." I neglect to mention the horrible voice in my head.

"I'm attracted to you."

"Is this how you usually approach women?"

I feel my eyes light up despite myself.

"I don't usually approach women like this. But I'm attracted to the woman who claims she doesn't attract men."

"You'll get tired of me," I say, meaning it.

Heaviness settles on my shoulders as I remember my lady morals' earlier words.

Can I really pursue romance? What if Chen finds out? Will he come to Nigeria? Will he continue his psychotic behavior here?

"Maybe it'll be the reverse. Maybe you'll be the one who gets tired of me," he says, his gaze intense. Like he's reading every worry written across my face.

I want to be desired. Wanted.

"I leave in three days. You can court me like a proper lady within those three days, Mr. Ovie," I challenge him.

Security here is tight. No cameras to hack into like in public spaces where every street has CCTV.

"I don't want three days. I want to date you properly. Have you fully to myself. Get to know what makes you go crazy under sheets, know your friends, pets, everyone—except your ex-lovers."

If he says something like that again, I might actually marry him.

"You're so shameless," I say instead, though I mean it as a compliment. Who on earth says something like that?

"I want you for a long time, not just three days. You intrigue me."

*Here we go again. Another possessive dude. But he's cute about it,* my lady morals purr.

"Are you always this possessive, vocal, and shameless about a woman you just met?"

"No. Just you. I can't let you go."

"So you just randomly find a stranger exciting and start planning marriage with them?"

"I don't know. You're the first stranger I've found this interesting. My parents always say: when you find someone or something that excites you, especially at first encounter, make it yours."

It... It?

"I'm not an object, and I'm not up for possession," I say, my voice showing my anger .

Why does he have to ruin it by being Chen Junior?

His expression shifts immediately. The intensity softens into something more thoughtful.

"You're right. I'm sorry. That came out wrong." He runs a hand through his still-damp hair.

"I don't want to possess you. I want to know you. I want the chance to see where this goes. But only if you want that too."

I study his face, looking for red flags, for the warning signs I missed with Chen.

But all I see is sincerity.

And maybe that's the most dangerous thing of all.