Clean slate? What does that mean? I try not to think too much about that as the waiter reappears with my order. He gives a curt bow, takes his leave and I am reminded of a time from long ago but with Paul as the waiter. Our eyes meet in that moment, he rubs his hands over mine and I gulp, my lips moving into a small, shy smile when he flashes me a grin. I blink, my eyes lower to the food, I need to get a grip around him.

Seated across me with his hands back to the plastic table, Paul's eyes follow my every move with that same grin plastered on his lips. He seems happy and it makes me happy too. My hands tremble under his intense scrutiny as I make to pick a cutlery, I bring them under the table to rub over my knees. I am happy to be here and I have no idea why I am nervous but I am, my insides are in a knot and my nerves are on edge.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am the only one who made an order. The only thing he requested was a bottle of warm water. I am never one to shy away from eating in public the same way I will if I am in the comfort of my home and the giant chicken in my plate will demand that same enthusiasm. But this date doesn't need me to lose my table manners. It feels like a date with my crush, which is what he is so I have to be on my best behaviour, for now.

Picking up the spoon, I twirl it and wonder if I will have to ask them for a bowl of water to devour the fried goodness in my plate but I don't let the thought bother me for long. If Paul gets uncomfortable seeing me eat chicken like that, he will have to get an absorber because he will be shocked pretty often by my eating habits. I love chicken.

"How did you know we were at the club?"

"Chi," comes his response. I nod as I take a bite from the fried rice, not in the least bit surprised. Our table grows quiet with each bite and my eyes roam the place.

The restaurant is near-empty, bright lights line up in a single row on the ceiling and the television plastered to the wall is the only source of noise. My reflection on the window stares back at me, I freeze and my teeth sink into my lower lip when Paul's gaze doesn't wander from my lips. He sighs, I sigh and hesitate in taking another bite.

"Did you get the ticket?" He stops midway into cutting my chicken into bits. "The one from Chi, for the cooking competition."

It takes less than a second for his eyes to widen in understanding. "Yes, thank you."

His lack of enthusiasm has my appetite going on a downward slide, I take a few more bites of the rice and push the plate aside.

"You shouldn't waste food," Paul comments.

"I'm not." I stab the chicken, insert one of the strips into my mouth with his eyes centred on me. "See, I'm not wasting food."

My statement is met by a chuckle, he gives me a noncommittal nod with his lips pursed and I stick my tongue out. We go quiet again while I resume eating and I make sure to clear every single grain of rice in my plate.

"Have they fixed the venue?" I ask, knowing full well he hasn't agreed to go for the competition. I know he will win, I trust his cooking capabilities will take him far.

A corner of his lips lift. "I don't know. I'm not sure I will go." He takes my hands in his, his fingers slightly grazing my knuckles. "I do appreciate the gesture. Thank you."

The smile I offer him is weak and I don't bother to tell him I had to pull a few strings because I got the ticket days after the sales had closed. I nod, he brings my hand to his mouth and begins peppering kisses all over my knuckles until I relax in my chair.

"Why don't you want to try?" I finally ask and cross my arms. My voice takes on the same tone I use when I am trying to convince an investor to do business with us, "It will be good for you." His face shows he's no longer listening and I lean across the table to cover his hand with mine. "You will get funds to start something of your own."

"What if I don't need the money?" comes his quick reply and it takes me a few seconds to admit to myself that I have no appropriate response to that. I sigh and lean back into my seat. "I don't mind working for you."

"You can't work for me forever," I counter.

Anyone in their right senses will snatch this golden opportunity to show off their skill to the world and get funds to start a business. Anyone but Paul who doesn't seem to share in my excitement and now I feel stupid for getting him a slot without asking first.

The SheilaKing cooking show is the first of its kind in Calabar and there are a lot of benefits for the winner. It's not every day an organisation is willing to fund a business without asking for anything in return except for a private display of your expertise with professional chefs ready to judge and make the final decision.

"Says who?" I point a finger to my chest and his lips curl into a smile. "Some of us are meant to work for people," he mutters. "We can't all be business owners." My eyebrows raise and he continues, "To each his own."

Disappointed is not enough to describe how I feel at hearing him say that. My hands drop to my lap, I rub them against my knees and spare him a glance which I hope hides my disappointment. Maybe I am overly ambitious and trying to project that on him but he's not even willing to try or give it a thought. I sigh and nod, to each his own.

"I'll think about it," he adds. My shoulders sag in relief, I flash him a sincere smile. I had no idea how much I wanted to hear those words until now. "I don't know what to cook." When I look on in confusion, he goes on to say, "At the end of the show, we have to make a special dish. I have to think of something nice, different and simple."

The smile on my lips grow, I'm glad to know he already did some research. "You can do it, I trust you. I'll help as much as I can."

His mouth opens for him to say, "You have a lot of faith in my cooking skills." I nod and he chuckles. "No pressure, right?"

My head bobs, I smile. "Right. No pressure."

For the second or maybe third time today, I catch him staring at my lips. He doesn't care to be subtle, my hands go over my mouth and I clear my throat to call his attention.

"You can kiss me if you want." I realise what I said a second too late and hurriedly cover it up with, "I have been getting your notes." A nervous laugh escapes my lips when he remains quiet. "I enjoy rereading them."

His eyes finally leave my lips to scan my face as if seeing me for the first time. He holds my gaze captive to ask, "What notes?"

"The one about you..." I trail off to calm my nerves, ignoring the feeling in my gut. "The notes with your name signed on it, the gifts and flowers too." He looks on in confusion, I let out a sigh. "The eyeliner, makeup brush." My fingers tentatively reach out to touch my bare face, of all days, we have to see today when my eyes don't pop. "Chi brought them to me on your behalf. I loved them, thanks."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

My fingers brush my lips coated in the red lipstick I was told he sent me. "What about this, the lipstick?" He continues shaking his head. "Paul, stop," I whine. "I'm serious, Chi said it came from you. All the gifts."

"They did not come from me."

I let out a humourless laugh, his expression doesn't crack. "You don't want to kiss me? You don't miss me? You don't like my eyes?"

The chair makes scratchy sounds as I rise in embarrassment to drop the money for my meal. Someone will die tomorrow, a certain fair-skinned female who thinks it okay to lie to me. Did she use her money to get the gift? Is there any truth in the poems? Is that even his handwriting? Why did she do it?

God. I facepalm as I make my way out to my car. Whatever her reason is, it better be good enough to keep our friendship intact. I read those damned notes to myself every night in a voice I pretend belongs to Paul. My hand shakes as I try to open the car, Paul comes from behind and grab the keys, leading me to the passenger's side.

To avoid a conversation that might push me into ruining this beautiful evening, I plug in my earpiece with no music playing and close my eyes. A tap on my arm rouses me from my nap and my eyes fly open. My hand goes over my mouth, I yawn and try to take everything in. My eyes narrow at the building in front of me, I live in a bungalow and the storey building staring at me isn't it.

"Ifunaya." Paul is standing by my door, a tiny frown on his face and one hand in his pocket. "Are you okay? We have reached."

"Yeah," I mutter as I step out of the car. "I'm fine." I see now we are at his place and I am torn between asking why he brought me here or letting things play out. "I'm okay."

The sight of his living room brings my thoughts to an abrupt halt. What happened here? My jaw drops in awe as my eyes scan the expanse of the room. Whoever designed this place did a great job of it. My mouth closes, I walk further into the parlour and let my bag drop to one of the leather seats.

Marble tiles have replaced the rugs, the walls are coated in cream colour and the entire ceiling has a beautiful painting I can't identify. From the last time I was here, I could tell the parlour was big but the new arrangement makes it look bigger. A long, flat screen television fit for a cinema covers part of the wall in front of me and a small table occupies the centre of the parlour.

"This is... This is massive. This is good."

"You think?" I nod, I more than think so. His place is a beauty. "Chi might have helped out," slips from his mouth. We share a look and I can tell he wished he never said it.

I clear my throat and pat the couch, unable to explain its softness and hardness. "I wonder what your room looks like now."

"You can see for yourself," he volunteers.

Without waiting for him to invite me, I stand and start making my way to his room. He chuckles but from the footsteps echoing, I know he is behind me. The door unlocks with one push, I step in and giggle as my bare feet connects with the floor covering. I don't know what to call it but it's soft against my sole, almost as if I am stepping on a piece of fabric made from wool. I like it.

Two portraits of Paul hang on the wall, I bite my lips and try not to swoon over them when I have the real deal beside me. God did take his sweet time to create him.

"I don't think I've seen you in a suit," I say, my eyes never departing from the portrait. It is my first time of seeing him don a suit with a bow tie to match the handkerchief in his breast pocket and he looks good in it, better than anyone I know. I doubt there's anything that won't look good on him. My eyes return to him, he is by the door. "I have never seen you in corporate wear. Why?"

"Cooking does not require fancy clothes."

But it will be nice to see him in an outfit other than jeans and sweatshirts. I smile, for our next date I can ask him to play dress up, I have enough gowns to match a suit.

The second portrait is of him in a fighting stance, his knuckles are wrapped in a white bandage and a deep scowl is etched on his face. A punching bag is in front of him but his attention is everywhere but on it.

"You look like a professional boxer here," I murmur. I mimic his stance in the portrait and it earns me a laugh. "Can you fight?"

His perfume engulfs me as his arms wrap around my waist from behind, I place mine above them and he tucks his head into the crook of my head. This feels too good.

"Do you want me to beat anybody up on your behalf?" he whispers into my ear.

I chuckle, that will be nice. "Not yet."

He spins me to face him. "Not yet?" His look of shock has me laughing, I snort and shrug. I don't think I will ever require such service but it feels good to know I have it at my disposal. "Ify. What have you been up to?"

"Nothing?"

My gaze lowers to his lips, I lick my bottom lip dry and gulp when my eyes meet his. We stay that way for a few seconds, when he makes no move to kiss me, I take a step back to continue inspecting his room.

The makeshift stool is gone, his television now hangs from the wall. His bed no longer rests against the wall, well, only one corner does, neither is it still on the floor. He got a bedstead. An image of me and Paul making out on his bed comes to mind and I push it down, forcing myself to think only neutral thoughts which, by some means, soon lead me to another image of us kissing.

I settle on the bed and moan, I don't know if it is just me but it feels softer than before. My fingers splay on my knees, my eyes raise to meet Paul who is standing with his back against the wall and his arms folded.

"Why would Chi lie to me?" I suddenly ask. "It is not fair and it doesn't make sense." I pout. "Who sent the gifts if it is not you?"

At that, his expression cracks, he burst out laughing and I frown, failing to find the humour in my question. He straightens up, takes another look at me and doubles over in laughter. I shake my head and hiss.

"Are we still on that?" he asks and I direct a glare his way. I was never over it. "Of course I did, I was the one who sent them." I scoff, my frown deepens into a scowl and I offer him a grim smile. "Ifunaya," he starts to say when I stand with that same knowing smile on my lips. "Okay. I'm sorry." He covers the distance between us and my slowly rising anger burns off as the back of his fingers run up and down my face. "Ndo. Forgive me."

Shyness makes an appearance, my eyes dart to his face and I look away. It is my first time hearing him speak Igbo, I like the sound of it even if he spoke only one word: Sorry. Today is a good day, there is no way I can stay angry with him after that.

"Don't do it again," I murmur and he nods.

Paul pulls me by the wrist so we can sit on the edge of the bed, I make to sit beside him but he shakes his head and creates space for me between his legs. A giggle escapes me, I don't understand what is going on but I like it and can't wait to see where it leads.

"Those notes," I start and stand. His hand on my wrist stops me from taking another step forward, I chuckle. "I want to see your face," I explain. He nods, his lips twitch as I make myself comfortable in the middle of the bed. "Those notes, did you mean them?"

"Yes. Every single word." My lips move into a pout and a ghost of a smile flickers across his face. He mimics my position on the bed, his fist clench and unclench. "I like you." My mouth parts open but no words come out. "I like your brown eyes and loudmouth." I feign offence and cover my mouth in fake shock, I am the quietest person I know. I giggle and he chuckles as his fist unclench. "I can't get enough of your sass and wit."

"Are you sure?" I can't help but ask. "I can-"

"Ifunaya," he cuts me off. My eyes lower to the bedsheet, it is a peach colour. I mumble an apology. Okay, maybe I am nervous. I am afraid and excited to hear what he has to say. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

Finally.

My hands come to cover my face, I nod, so fast I feel dizzy. I lower my hands to my laps and say, "Yes, I will be your girlfriend."

His chest deflates and I laugh at the thought of him thinking I will say no. Not when I have waited this long. I crawl into his laps to straddle him, his thumb traces a line on my lips and my breath catches in my throat.

"Now I can kiss you," he whispers and I nod while staring into my boyfriend's eyes. My boyfriend. The words sound like music to my ears, I bop the tip of his nose and giggle.

"Yes, you can. Anytime," I murmur with my forehead pressed against his. I didn't think he would take the no kissing rule seriously.

None of us makes a move to celebrate our new relationship status with a kiss until I palm his cheeks. My head dips and my mind goes blank at the contact of our lips. It is foreign at first, the feel of his lips on mine. My lips part open in response to his tongue seeking entrance and I moan as it touches every corner of my mouth. The butterflies in my stomach go berserk, our breaths mingle as our kiss deepens, the only thing I know is Paul, the taste and feel of his mouth on mine.

Our lips continue moving in sync, my shaky hands move to unbutton his shirt. My hand splay on his rock hard chest and squeeze his nipple, eliciting a moan from him. He tugs on the hem of my shirt, I raise my hands to allow him rid me of it and his eyes widen when my blouse and camisole come off at the same time to reveal my breasts.

"You are never wearing a bra," he murmurs against my breasts and I gasp. I want to say that it depends on the outfit but the words are stuck in my throat. "I like that."

His mouth closes over my nipple, I hiss and throw my head back. My nails dig into his scalp, he switches to the other nipple while kneading my breasts and I nibble on his ear. I grind my hips against him, he moans, I moan as his tongue circles my nipple. His mouth leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down my neck, returning to my lips to swallow my moans as he pinches my taut nipples.

My hands move to the buckle of his trouser, trying to rid him of the barrier between us and he grabs my hand, breaking the kiss. Our chests rise and fall as we try to catch our breath, I glare at him for stopping me.

"Not now."

I nod, he flips us over and separates my legs with his knee. My loud breathing fills the silence of the room and his lips cover mine as he drags the zipper of my trouser down. The trouser comes off in the blink of an eye, I gasp and sink my teeth into my lower lip as his fingers rub my clit through the material of my panties. A sound between a moan and a cry escape my lips, I breathe out his name, begging him to continue.

My hips jerk forward, I arch my back and will him to take off my underwear. I cry out when he holds my hands above my head and the gentle caressing of my nipple turns me into a whimpering mess. His fingers locate my core, my breath comes in rasps as they begin working their way in and out of my vagina with an expertise that has me wriggling and moaning on the bed.

Our ragged breathing punctuates the quiet, his fingers curls inside my wetness, picking up an insane speed that has my lips parting open in a soundless scream at the waves of pleasure that washes over me. Heat begins to build in my lower belly as his mouth and fingers continue their blissful assault on my nipples and vagina. I twist and turn, his hand on my wrists relaxes. My fingernails sink into the sheets, my toes curl in ecstasy.

The urgency with each thrust increases, my body starts jerking and my mind goes blank. For that brief moment, I'm floating in the clouds of intense satisfaction and joy until Paul's fingers bring me back to reality. Our gazes clash, he smirks and I let go.

**********

Picture: Mawuli Gavor.

It's the picture on the portrait hanging on the wall in Paul's room.

There was no smut beyond a kiss in this chapter but I decided to put Tiamiyusassy out of the misery I had kept her in by adding it. 😉😉😉

I was torn in between making him ask her out or not but oh well 💆💆

This is my longest chapter so far (3731), I surprised myself. Thanks for reading.