Chapter Two - Midnight Conversations
874 Words
Laila woke to the faint buzz of her phone, sunlight leaking through the blinds of her Sandton apartment. She squinted at the screen, expecting the usual flood of work group chats. Instead, there was only one notification.
CJ: Good morning. Hope you slept well.
Her stomach fluttered before she could stop it. She shouldn't feel this way about a man she barely knew. But there it was - undeniable.
She typed quickly, then paused, deleting the first two responses before settling on the safest one.
Morning. I did, thanks.
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
I want to see you today.
Her breath caught. No hesitation. No drawn-out flirting games. Straightforward.
She bit her lip. She should say no. She barely knew him, and she wasn't the type to hand her free time to strangers. But curiosity was louder than reason.
"I'm off today," she typed back, then quickly added, "but I have plans."
Cancel them.
Her eyebrows shot up. Bold. Too bold. She smirked despite herself.
And why would I do that?
Because I'll make it worth your while.
Her laugh echoed softly in her apartment. This man had no shame. And yet... her fingers were already typing, Fine. But only for coffee.
Coffee. Midnight. Your place.
She stared at the message. Midnight? Who even asked for coffee at midnight? Before she could reply, another text popped up.
Send me your address.
Her better judgment screamed at her to stop. To slow down. But her fingers betrayed her. Within minutes, her address was sent.
By the time night fell, Laila had changed outfits three times.
Not that it mattered. He was just a man. Just a bold stranger she'd met less than twenty-four hours ago.
Still, when the knock finally came, her pulse raced so hard she had to steady herself against the wall.
She opened the door - and there he was.
CJ.
Sharp dark jeans, a fitted shirt that clung to his chest, and that same quiet confidence that made the air heavier just by existing. He smelled of leather and cedarwood, the kind of scent that wrapped itself around her without permission.
"Hi," she managed, her voice softer than intended.
"Hi," he echoed, lips curling into that slow, dangerous smile. His gaze swept over her briefly, not leering, just... seeing.
"Coffee," she said quickly, stepping aside to let him in.
"Coffee," he repeated with a chuckle, walking past her as if he belonged there already.
He settled onto her couch like he'd done it a hundred times before, his arm draping casually over the backrest. "You always let strangers into your apartment at midnight?"
She crossed her arms, standing just far enough away to pretend she wasn't affected. "Only the persistent ones."
He tilted his head, eyes locking with hers.
"Persistent works for me"
There it was again - the pull. The way he spoke, like every word was intentional, meant for her alone.
She turned toward the kitchen, needing the space.
"So, CJ. What's your story? Businessman? Politician? Professional stalker?"
His laugh rumbled low, warm. "Businessman. But you already knew that."
"Did I?" she asked, setting mugs on the counter.
"You felt it," he said simply, as though it was fact.
Her hand stilled on the kettle. He was infuriating. Confident to the point of arrogance. And yet, she couldn't deny the way his presence filled the room.
They talked for hours. About everything and nothing. Childhood memories, the chaos of Joburg traffic, favorite travel spots. She found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, the exhaustion of last night long forgotten.
By the time the clock blinked 1:47 a.m., the coffee had gone cold, untouched.
He leaned forward, his gaze burning into hers.
"You know I didn't come here for coffee."
Her heart thudded so hard she was sure he could hear it. "And what did you come here for?"
He stood slowly, closing the distance until he was inches away. His hand brushed her jaw, fingers grazing her cheek with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity in his eyes.
"You," he whispered.
And at that moment, Laila stopped pretending she didn't want the same thing.
She never remembered who kissed who first. Only that the world tilted when his lips touched hers, soft at first, then urgent, demanding. She melted against him, her body betraying every defense she'd tried to hold.
By the time they stumbled toward her bedroom, laughter and whispered confessions tangled in the air, there was no turning back.
The night blurred into heat and skin and reckless passion - the kind that burned too brightly to question.
When dawn crept through the curtains, Laila stirred against the sheets, aching instinctively for him.
Empty.
Her chest tightened. Fear twisted in her stomach. Had he really-?
Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
CJ: Sorry, had to leave early. My girls were alone. You were sleeping so peacefully. I didn't want to wake you up. Will call you later
Relief flooded her, though a silver of unease remained. Girls? Plural?
She set the phone down slowly, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be a wild detour, not a beginning. And yet, something told her she'd already crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
- Writer
