“Clap for yourself,” he grinned as he offered her a glass of red wine. “This is Yaya Toure; that is Eto’o.”
“Oops,” they laughed at her mistake.
They moved on towards the trophy cabinet and she inspected his awards, careful to be suitably impressed without fawning or being too patronizing. By the time she had seen everything, she found herself by the sound system absently sifting through his CD collection. Edem leaned against the bar sipping from his glass. She felt her pulse beating rapidly as he studied her intensely. She knew she should go. Yet she stayed.
“Is this the real ABBA collection?”
“I hope so. I bought it in traffic,” he grinned. She laughed and silently thanked him for lightening the tension. “Do you remember Mamma Mia?”
“Ugh God no,” she covered her face in mock horror
