Hot and bothered
704 Words
Ken stared at the empty chair across from him, still feeling the heat of Tinashe’s presence. The scent of rooibos lingered. The curve of her lips still teased his memory. And the interruption from that camera-toting, “friend-zone-but-not-really” Musa had soured his mood like milk in the Harare heat.
He sipped his coffee.
Still hot.
Still bitter.
Just like him right now.
She came back a few minutes later, slipping her phone into her bag with a look that said, Don't ask. But he asked anyway.
“Everything okay?”
Tinashe sat and gave him a tight smile. “Just work. One of our sterilizers is malfunctioning again.”
Ken raised a brow. “Let me help.”
“Nope.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to offer.”
“You were going to offer money or a replacement,” she said. “And then make it sound like I owe you a favor in return.”
He chuckled. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”
“Please don’t. I always win.”
Her confidence was maddening. And hot. And very, very inconvenient. Ken found himself leaning closer again without meaning to, his eyes dragging over her locs, her skin, her mouth.
And those damn silver piercings. They sparkled like they were mocking him. Especially that little hoop in her nose — so delicate, yet bold, like her.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re hard to impress?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said easily. “Usually right before they walk away.”
“But I’m still here.”
She tilted her head. “For now.”
---
Tinashe wasn’t sure how they’d ended up walking through the nearby botanical garden,but the detour had become strangely... comfortable. Or dangerously so.
Ken had removed his sunglasses, finally letting her see his eyes properly — a deep, rich brown, too warm for someone so infuriating.
They stopped near a shaded bench. He sat first, legs wide, arms relaxed over the backrest like he owned the bench, the trees, and possibly half of Harare.
“I’m not used to chasing,” Ken admitted, glancing sideways at her.
“That’s obvious,” she replied, arms folded.
“Most women don’t make me work this hard.”
“Maybe you’ve been chasing the wrong kind of women.”
He looked at her for a long beat. “And what kind are you?”
Tinashe’s heartbeat stuttered. “The kind that doesn’t fall for smooth talk and curated charm.”
He leaned in, voice dropping. “Good. I’m all out of charm anyway.”
There was a beat of silence, heavy and delicious.
Her lips parted slightly. His eyes dropped again, just for a second.
He was close. Closer than he should’ve been. If she leaned forward even a little, their mouths would touch.
Tinashe swallowed. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, not from the sun, but from the tension between them — this taut rope of resistance and something deeper. A pull. A dare.
Her phone buzzed in her bag again, startling them both.
She cursed under her breath, pulling away to check it. “It’s my assistant. I have to head back.”
Ken nodded, but frustration flared in his eyes like a match to dry paper.
“Of course. Duty calls.”
She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her dress. “Thanks for the coffee, Ken.”
He stood too. “You’re welcome. You’ll be thinking about it tonight.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The coffee,” he said, with a slow, teasing grin. “It was strong.”
Tinashe rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but Ken’s voice stopped her.
“Oh — and Tinashe?”
She glanced back.
“I don’t share benches with just anyone. Next time, maybe I’ll get a kiss instead.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re bold.”
“I’m Nigerian,” he said with a wink. “We come that way.”
---
As she walked off, her spine straight and head high, Ken stared after her, muttering to himself.
“This woman is going to ruin me.”
---
- Writer
