Page 25

T imi burst into chuckles at the screenshot Alex attached of Agu speaking to the press and Dame B behind him, looking like he'd murdered her only child. He probably had, since anything Dame B had close to family was Buck.

After Agu's viral press statement as the new face of Buck, Red Tinsel's ratings increased.

As predicted, Agu compared it to major Hollywood and K-drama blockbusters, hinted at Maxwell's involvement and an estimate of what had been spent so far, and the unbelievable surprise he would be unveiling soon.

Graphics designers had begun creating potential posters, some replacing Eketi's face with Uncle Jude's.

Surprisingly, this only made it even more popular.

Many vowed to boycott, but in this business, bad press was still good press.

Charles and D'Yoyo hadn't even needed the elevator pitch with Dame B.

Once they presented the new tweaks to the script and the cost, Agu wasted no time approving.

Excitement was in the air, unfortunately, Dame B's sinuses were blocked.

Buck was finally receiving all the attention she'd craved, but a squat man with his golden cane had the microphone and the people's interest.

He replied to Alex.

Metal landed on ceramic in a loud clatter, and Timi's head snapped up. Opposite him, Eketi tried hard not to scowl in case someone took the wrong picture.

“You do know it's considered rude being on the phone while on a date?” she hissed.

“Sorry.” He dropped his phone beside his plate of semo, glancing around the hall-like restaurant they'd deliberately chosen.

The stares from the splattering of people had reduced, but occasionally, he still caught some.

None seemed hostile, but nobody had approached them for a snapshot.

He chose to believe Nigerians had finally grasped the concept of privacy.

It wasn't his usual practice, buried in his phone 24/7. Not until Alex, and Timi discovering this cool feature where all he needed to do to forget his reality was fly his fingers across his keypad or press his thumb on the dial button.

During the day, he fulfilled pre-shooting requirements like wardrobe fittings, make-up trials, rehearsals, and the demands of his reality, like plotting Agu's downfall, receiving updates concerning Sporax Media, and staying away from social media.

At night, he fulfilled the wishes of his spirit, talking or chatting to Alex till his eyes closed from exhaustion.

He refused analysing the normalcy…or abnormalcy of their interactions, until he'd mistakenly mentioned their night conversations to Nejeere one afternoon as he rested in-between changing outfits, and she'd given him a strange look. “He chats and speaks to you on phone?”

An urgency to deny gripped him even though they weren't doing anything wrong. “Nothing huge,” he chuckled. “Just talking 'bout stuff.”

Nejeere had shaken her head, bewilderment still squeezing her brows. “Alex is a terrible phone user, he barely talks. Everyone who knows him, knows that.”

And he'd sat in the fitting room, remembering the many times he'd told Alex 'shut up', which he never did.

Until Alex, he han't known it was possible to never run out of things to say. Even as they stuck to topics like Alex once taking care of a seventy-five year-old lady who liked peeping at her neighbours, or the crew’s antics, or his preference for Lat Pull-downs to Timi's Smith machines, or his love for caprisonne and cheese balls, or, uh, well, the concept of happiness, the width of their conversations remained so vast, he couldn't see an end to it.

Timihad laughed again. “You know I'm quite talkative. He must be tired of my badgering.”

Nejeere stared at him. “You don't talk either. At least nothing of substance.”

Timi’s brain had immediately shifted to analytical mode. What the fuck were they doing? If Nejeere could be that shocked hearing about Alex doing something mundane as talking, what kind of relationship did they really have?

“Seriously, why even bother?”

Timi blinked to find Eketi staring at the now cold morsel on his fork. He dropped it back into the semo bowl.

“If you weren't hungry, we could have gone somewhere else,” Eketi grumbled. “I believe now when you claim you'd never gone on a date.”

He'd never had the need to. And frankly, if this was it, then he was glad he'd been spared. He glanced at her nearly empty plate. “If you're done, we should leave.”

She shook her head. “It's like you got even more boring. Thank God for your fine face, sha.” She whipped up her phone. “We should take a—oh, fuck.”

“What is it?” Timi asked.

She handed him her phone, scanning the restaurant. “I guess people are paying more attention than they let on.”

Timi stared at an image of himself smiling broadly at his phone, while Eketi stared at him with a pinched expression.

Eketi Wright, fine girl, no dey waste your time. You no get medical gbola .

Yinmu. We know this scope. Dubai girl, make sure you collect your full money for this acting.

You for just die with that your pedo lover make real men feed on real women.

I thought you guys are actors. So fake.

That smile looks sus. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Timi Lawson, your sugar daddy for hellfire go approve this one?

Una fit sha. Gay and ashawo. Red Tinsel loading…

Timi got up, eyes glued to Eketi's apologetic face. “We're leaving.”

Eketi took back her phone and slid an arm through his. “Let's go.”

When they slid to a halt in front of her duplex, Eketi paused with her hand on the door handle, staring at the front seat. “Give us a minute.”

At Timi's nod, Suleiman and Dagger exited the LM.

She turned to Timi. “Come inside.”

Her stunning face held a mix of determination and desire.

She still wanted him, despite everything.

The enthusiastic rolling of her waist and her banging body promised a post-orgasmic bliss powerful enough to wipe off his senses till the weight crushing his lungs lifted.

He hadn't had sex in over two months, his check engine light wouldn't stop flashing, he deserved relief.

The Alex madness could even be cured forever.

Yet he found himself wincing apologetically, his tongue already tasting the intoxicating notes of vanilla and rye and a lingering white pepper spice. Ushering him into perfect oblivion.

“Tired,” he said. “Just wanna crash.”

Her eyes dimmed. “Fine. Kiss me, then.”

“You know I don't—”

“Not as Timi. As Zik. Be Zik and kiss Adena goodnight. I'll upload it if you don't want to.”

A neatly wrapped-up date. Timi Lawson and Eketi Wright share a kiss . An excellent fire extinguisher. He couldn't kiss anyone as himself, but he could close his eyes, channel Zik, and wrap his lips around Eketi's .

He leaned over and opened her car door. The crisp night air whipped across his cheek like a punishing slap. “Good night, Eketi. I'll call you. Thanks for having a late lunch with me.”

Eketi's shoulders dropped in a sigh. “Whoever she is, you should openly acknowledge her. Promotions here don't necessarily need CPs and fan service. Expose your relationship, and the people would see themselves for the idiots they are.”

He swallowed air. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She gave a low snort. “You might want to take a look at your face again in that picture.” She got down and poked her head in. “Lucky her, whoever she is. I didn't even know you knew how to chat. Goodnight, Zikky.”

He didn't look at the picture all the way home, nor did he absorb her words.

But when he got down from the LM, pacing the length of his foyer was the person who had elicited that expression.

Dressed in black sweatpants and a t-shirt, with a messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Alex must have come directly from training the MIB clowns.

Timi stood defenceless against the intensity of his gaze, and for an insane moment, his legs moved towards him, driven by a visceral need to bury his face into that chest, but Suleiman's voice cured him fast of the madness.

“Oga Alex,” he called, beaming. “We think say we no go see you till training.”

Nejeere had given his staff the usual three day's break before combat training started. A tradition he'd established so they could rest ahead of the gruelling filming months, and he could have the required solitude to memorise his lines and embody his character .

So, why was Alex here? And why had it looked for a second like he'd extended his arms to receive him?

“Just picking up something,” Alex said, eyes still on Timi.

“Okay. Goodnight.” Suleiman gave Timi a little bow. “Goodnight, sah.”

Dagger gave his own bow, threw Alex an inscrutable look, and followed Suleiman out of the gate Edet held open.

“What are you doing here?” Timi asked as soon as he got close.

“I–” Alex began with a certainty that deflated almost immediately. He frowned. “I...how are you?”

The pressure in his chest and lungs spread to the back of his eyes and up his throat.

Nigerians could drench him with their vicious hate, but why continue to flog a dead man who'd earned the right of eternal peace? He’d made sadness his own, why embellish it with never-ending grief? Didn't he deserve a break?

Unable to push words out of his mouth, he punched his security code in.

Alex followed as he headed towards the kitchen.

In there, he opened the walk-in refrigerator, and pulled out a half-empty vodka bottle he'd purposely chilled for situations like this.

He opened it, swung it to his mouth, ready to down the whole thing, but the bottle got snatched from him.

He glared at Alex and began storming out. Alex dropped the bottle on the counter running the length of the kitchen, reached for his shoulders and turned him around.

“It's gonna be okay,” Alex murmured, fingers digging in. “Very soon, it'll all be okay.”