The First Time (A Nigerian Love Story)

13. Nerves

I walked out of the bathroom after going to pee for the third time in the past thirty minutes and cleaned my slightly wet hands at the back of my jeans.

Having to go the toilet to pee was now my excuse for not calling her yet and other meaningless things too. I sat down on my bed with a sigh and stared at the phone sitting brightly on the bed.

I had been going back and forth about calling her and I wasn't sure I was going to make up my mind anytime soon and I tried to think of other things to do to keep me from not calling her yet but I ran out of options already.

I couldn't call Sharon again because in the last twenty minutes, I already called her five times just to hear her repeat what she told me.

She said she wasn't going to be coming home tonight and would crash at her friend's place for the after party that was happening in the night. And much to my discomfort, I had to say no. She could thank her stars that I was very distracted or she could bet her ass that I'd track her down wherever she is and force–

Now I am acting like a bloody overprotective freak. Fuck, what's wrong with me.

I shook my head and bit down on my nails nervously which was something I never did. I was bloody nervous. And I was never nervous. Not once.

The sun had already gone down and every where was dark, screaming night time. Reminding me of the way I had leaned into her ear with every restraint I had breaking and whispering into her ear that I was going to call her tonight.

Now, thinking about it made my blood boil in anger and frustration. What was I thinking? When clearly now it was bloody difficult to call her. Why did I always seem to make bad decisions whenever I was around her.

I picked the phone up and was about to press the green button by the side of her number when I flung it onto the bed and stood up from the bed angrily and began pacing the room with my hands on my hip and grumbling under my breath, promising myself that if I get over my nervousness and build up the courage to call her, I would keep our conversations curt and casual and then I would not call her again. That would be it.

I would leave her alone.

Frowning, I almost ignored the pang of hurt that formed suddenly in my chest, when the door to my bedroom jerked open and a grey headed woman peeked her head in.

I turned to meet Mrs Yetunde standing wearing a 'bubu' and scarf on her head that I was already accustomed to and she was leaning by the door with a slightly guilty expression on her face.

'Mama Yeti I already told you several times to knock the door first before opening the door. Ha!' I exclaimed and walked close to her.

'Mama Yeti' was her nickname that I had given to her years back when I felt Mrs Yetunde was quite strenuous to pronounce all the time. And back to the matter of her not always knocking, no matter how I warned her to always do so before barging in, she still did it. I wonder how it would be if I had company with me or even worse, if I was on the bed, touching and ravishing a certain individual. No don't go there. Not now.

Back to me being angry,

She put her chubby hands on her waist and grinned up ear to ear showing off her teeth that were still quite white despite her age.

'What was that dear?– ' She cupped one ear with her hand, feigning deafness. 'I can't hear you well, you know,' She then added with a shrug. 'I'm getting old after all.'

Pursing my lips, I glared down at her sternly with my hands on my hip to appear intimidating  but I only gave up when her grin turned wider.

What is the hell was wrong with the women in this house and them not intimidated by me?