Get well soon

Get well soon my lollipop...missin u so so mch

Omo baby,ur story is something else.thanks for sharing dis kinda story wit us. How are u feeling now?it must be serious. Pls,get well,ok? U are healed IJN,amen! Hopin to hear from u soon.at least tell us how u are

Thank you all so much...
It was serious but I thank God for his mercies..
I will update before Sunday.
Sorry for the delay, really sorry

PHAYOL81: Bn xpectng 2 b silent 4 a long yle bt how do u kip d traditn going with a class of a story like diz. Like sombody rightly observd,urz is d best story yet on NL and nobody's come a close 2nd.If there is any other,then Princessa N Maxi deserve a mention as well.U guys surely got arrestng skills when it comes 2 writng so kip it up. Besides,come N update oooo. U v woken somthng in me N it has refused 2 b quieten down unless satisfied.Pls get we'll soon N update. Am missng somthng already.

Am blushing seriously. . I'm the best? Wooww!!! Thank you soo much dear

Omolola1: Thank you all so much...
It was serious but I thank God for his mercies..
I will update before Sunday.
Sorry for the delay, really sorry

ThankGod you're okay now. I missed you terribly.

algorithm: ThankGod you're okay now. I missed you terribly.

I missed you too hun

Tank God u are alright now cos i hav really missed u.

hope ur ok

Omolola hope u r alright....

Omolola pls what's ur website addy

Lola, hope you're ok. Its been ages, and not even a word from you.

Omolola pls what's ur website address

Fishoy: Omolola hope u r alright....

j-slimz:
Lola, hope you're ok. Its been ages, and not even a word from you.

tijehi: Omolola pls what's ur website address

tijehi: hope ur ok

I don't even know what to say again but I'm really sorry. It's been circumstances beyond my control.
I don't want to make any promises again but I assure you all I'd definitely finish this story.

Omolola, thank God u're okay. Again, what's ur website addy, my friends want to read ur stories on ur website. Abeg, what is it?

Chapter Seventeen

“Thank you and come again,” I said pleasantly as the last of the customers collected their purchases. But under my breath I muttered as they passed through the door, “Get out and stay out.”

It was well after three o’clock. They’d come into the shop twenty minutes ago – just browsing. I knew what they meant. That was just a code word for killing time without intentions of buying.

Even though I’d followed them around the shop, making gift suggestions to hurry them along, nothing had seemed to work. I don’t think they’d taken too kindly to me breathing down their necks. One woman had actually stopped, turned and stared at me until I’d moved aside with a solicitous “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

After that, I’d stayed behind the counter. But I’d made it obvious that I was watching them. Sometimes, a carefully timed glare could give the appearance of stalking a customer without physically invading their space. Aunt Rosa had taught me that little trick from her restaurant business.

When the place was parked and she had stragglers at a table who just wouldn’t leave, all she had to do was position a server just within hearing distance of the table conversation. It didn’t take long for them to get the message. Even if the conversation was innocent, no one liked to feel like they were being eavesdropped on. They settled their tabs and got out – sometimes leaving a generous tip if they thought that their server was being especially attentive.

By four o’clock, Mother had returned from her meeting with the other members of the botanical gardens’ President’s Circle. She paused in the doorway, taking note of how many patrons remained, then mouthed to me, I’ll be right back.

“Wait!” I waved to get her attention, but she ducked out again before I could catch her.

I blew out a frustrated breath, but turned a winning smile to one of the customers who’d made it up to the counter with a stack of glossy postcards.

“Long day?” The elderly gentleman made casual conversation as I slipped the postcards into a plastic sack.

“You might say that.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. As you get older, your days will get shorter. They’ll whiz by and before you know it, you’ll be dead.”

And to think that I’d come out here to the botanical gardens to take my mind off my troubles.

“Yes sir,” I said politely.

He leaned closer, peering at the temporary name tag pinned to my dress. “Priye,” he said, trying out my name.
People came to the botanical gardens to surround themselves with natural beauty. I had dampened the spirit with my sour attitude. Even though it was already closing time, I resolved to do better and make waiting on the last few customers a more pleasant experience.

By 4:30, Mother had returned. And so had my sour mood. So much for pleasant experiences. The last customer had argued over the price of a planter, comparing the sticker price that I’d scanned when I’d rung it up at the register.

She hadn't known that my old eagle eyes had seen her peeling the price tag off the planter and switching it with another, less expensive item. She'd actually argued with me! She must have thought volunteer was a code word for cheap, incompetent help. Not this flower girl. I wasn't going to embarrass my mother by letting the register come up short.

Mother greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

"How was your day, sweetheart?"

"If you'd asked me twenty minutes ago, I'd say on a scale of one to ten, that it was off the charts."

"That good?" Mother said hopefully.

"Nope. That bad. It was so bad, it never even made it to number one on the scale."

"Come on now, Priye. It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"I've got dirt under my fingernails, a rash from handling some fuzzy plant that I've never seen before in my life, blisters on my feet, dust in my eyes, and bugs in my hair. And that was just in the first twenty minutes of my volunteering. You knew I didn't want to come, Mother. Why did you make me?"

"I thought it would help you take your mind off of your troubles. Give you something to think about other than yourself for a change," she said in that motherly, concerned yet disapproving way to let me know that I'd been selfish.

Slowly, I shook my head. She just didn't understand. I wasn't me that I'd been so preoccupied with lately. It was Jack Deneen. I couldn't stop thinking about him. I missed him so much.

And the more I missed him, the madder I got. Why couldn't I stop thinking about him? How could a man I barely knew figure so heavily in my emotional well-being? I must have been crazy. Certifiably insane. Or hopelessly, desperately in love.

I don't know which sucked worse - thinking that I was crazy or being in love. At least there was medication for crazy. A double dose of some drugs would get me off this emotional roller-coaster ride, I was sure. But what about love? There was no magic portion for that. No little pill or injection. I had these feelings and I was stuck with them.

"Can we go now?" I insisted. I felt another crying fit coming on, and I didn't want her to be a witness.

"In a minute. I want to make sure that the shop is properly closed."

"What's there to check? Close and lock the door and it's done," I said testily.

"Did you check the back storeroom? Make sure that everything was prepared for tomorrow's opener? It's every volunteer's responsibility to keep things tidy for the next, you know."

I blew out a huffy breath. "All right, all right. I'll check the back storeroom."

By the time Mother was satisfied that I'd done my volunteering duty, it was five o'clock. I noticed that even though she was so concerned with the gift shop passing some sort of volunteer-readiness test, she did little to help me. She watched over me and kept just as close as an eye on the clock. If I'd been in my right mind, I'd have been suspicious. As it was, I was just tired. Ready to get back to the house, climb on the couch, and prepare for another marathon of mindless television.

"Time to call it quits," I announced.

"Almost," she agreed.

"Mother, what are we still doing here?"

"I told you. To get your mind off of your troubles."

"And exactly how was I supposed to accomplish that?" I blew up at her. "How was I going to feel better watching these way too happy couples parading up and down the gardens in front of me? You tell me how I was supposed to feel!"

I was a little too loud, a little too strident. But I needed to say it. It felt good to say it. After weeks of avoiding how I was feeling, it felt good to dig into the wound, to stir up all the emotional pus and purge it from my body.

"You tell me," Mother said, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. "You haven't said much to me these past few weeks about your feelings."

Her extreme calmness deflated me. I sank back against a counter. "I guess I haven't been much too fun to be around lately."

"No, you haven't. You've been moody, grouchy, sometimes openly nasty to your father and me."

"Why'd you put up with it for so long? You wouldn't have let me talk to you that way when I was a kid."

"You aren't a kid anymore, Priye. You'll always be my baby girl. But you're a grown woman now. I tried to give you the space that you needed to work things out."

"I haven't done a very good job of it. Maybe I'm not as grown as I thought, Mum. I run into my first life-size problem and the first thing I do is run home to my mother."

"It's what you're supposed to do. It's what I'm here for. I want to help you, Priye. That's all I ever wanted to do."

"Mum, I don't know what to do!" My voice cracked as tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. "I feel so stupid."

'"You're not stupid!" Mother said sharply. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, Priye Olisa Cole."

"All right, all right. I'm not stupid. But you have to admit that I've done some pretty flaky things lately."

"Now that you can own up to them. Come here, darling," she said. "Come tell Mummy all about it."

She held her arms out to me, rocking me as if I were a small child. I didn't mind. For the moment, I didn't want to be a grown woman. I wanted my mother to make it all better.

I laughed softly. Mother had been right. Since breaking it off with Jack, I had talked at her, around her, and about her. I'd done everything to keep from talking to her. Maybe because she had the uncanny ability to cut through the bull and help me see the truth. I was ready to hear it now. I wanted to see it.

"I messed things up," I admitted, "between Jack and me. He was offering me a chance of something special, and I totally screwed it up, Mum. I threw it back in his face like it meant nothing."

Mother shook her head, her expression sympathetic. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because I was stup- that is, I stooped to the level of some brainless, no-account hoochies."

"That's a bit harsh, Priye. I taught you better than that."

"Trust me, Mum. I'm holding back and being kind. I can't believe I let them run me off like that. I can't believe that I let them ruin my good thing."

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know." I shrugged helplessly.

"Yes, you do," Mother insisted. "You know what you have to do."

"I can't go running back to him."

"That's foolish pride talking. There's nothing wrong with your legs. What's stopping you?"

"It's too late for me. He's probably found someone else by now."

"Not if what you felt for each other was as special as you say it was."

"I feel like it was, but now I don't know. It all happened so fast. I don't know whether or not to trust my feelings, or my instincts."

"Do you trust mine?"

"That's a silly question. Of course I do."

"Then trust me, it's not too late. Do you care for him, Priye?"

Without hesitation, I said, "Yes." A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Though the Lord only knows why. All I know is that when I'm with him, it all seems so right. Then again, maybe I'm just wishing that it's right. Maybe it isn't really. How do I know that I haven't tricked myself into thinking that it is when it really isn't?"

"Priye, I know you well enough to know that you don't make decisions lightly. You plan, you strategize, you agonize."

"Agonize is right. I think I've had root canals less painful than this, Mum."

"Do you remember when you were in final year in secondary school?"

"Vaguely," I said dryly. "Like it was oh-so-many years ago."

"You sat at the kitchen table, confused about which university to apply to. We prayed over each one. And when the time came, you picked the one that was right for you. When you graduated and had several job offers to select from, what did you do?"

"Nearly pulled my hair out by the roots trying to decide which offer to accept."

"But you picked one. When you did, you told me. 'That one feels right, Mum.'. You debated as much as you could with your head and settled on the one that felt best in your heart. This is no different. Do what feels right in your heart and let the Lord take care of the rest."

"But we've only known each other for a little while."

"Stop looking for ways to kill your joy, Priye! What does love matter if it happens in one day or one year? Adam and Eve had less time than that."

"Yeah, and look how they turned out - consorting with serpents and murderers."

"Jack Deneen doesn't strike me as that kind of man."

"He consorts with worse. Football players." I gave a mock shudder to show her that I still had my sense of humour.

"It's going to be all right, Priye," Mother promised.

"Let me guess. A mother's instinct?"

"You've got it."

"Not yet I don't," I returned as I planted a kiss on her cheek." Because like Grandma says, "I'm a good girl."

I hugged my mother tightly, squeezing her to let her know how grateful I was for her counsel. "You know that I love you, don't you?"

"Of course."

"You're my favourite nummy," I complimented her.

"I'm your only mummy." Her tone was wry, but appreciative.

"That makes it even better."

"Since I'm your favourite..." My mother's voice turned too casual to be natural. "Would you do me a favour?"

"A favour? What kind of favour? My sneaky-mother-trick radar detector went way up like those antennae from TV.

"A small one."

"There are no such things as small favours."

"Do it for me."

"Okay. What do you need?"

"There's one more customer I want you to take care of out there."

"A customer?" I blinked, not quite sure I heard her correctly. "Out there. I thought the shop was closed."

All of this time, I'd been snotting and crying all over her shoulder and there was someone outside.

"It is closed," she said. "But I opened it up again as a special favour. Please, Priye. If you trust me, do this for me."

***********************************************


They'd told me that it couldn't be done. But I wasn't going to listen. Experience had taught me that with the proper motivation, you could accomplish whatever you wanted.

Waving around a platinum credit card seemed to be the proper motivation at the time. So, I whipped mine out, laid it on the glass counter in front of the nice sales assistant, and told her exactly what I wanted, how I wanted it, and by when.

"That doesn't give me very much time, sir," she insisted. I think she added the "sir" after she saw the platinum credit card.

"So, why waste a moment of it talking about why it can't be done?" I said silkily. At least, I hoped that my expression was cordial. It was all I could do to keep it that way. Inside, I rather felt like I'd been tied up in cords. My stomach was tight. My heart felt squeezed. And my fingers tingled as if constantly jolted with electricity.

"Five-foot-four, did you say?" The sales assistant peered at me over the rim of her glasses and double-checked her notes. I'd talked so fast, in a hurry to get my words out, that I wasn't sure if she'd gotten all of my specifications.

"At least." I held up my hand to indicate the height.

"With braids. Must have braids."

"A bear with braids. Very unusual."

"So is the woman it's for," I replied.

"Not just any jersey, this one." I tossed one of mine onto the case. "And this hat."

"Oh, the Steeldogs," she said excitedly. "You must be quite a devoted fan."

"Yeah, something like that." Of the game. Sure, it was my job. A fan of Priye's? Definitely. A fan by choice, not by profession.

"Can you do it? If not, I'll have to take my business somewhere else." I reached for the credit card, but she whisked it out of my grasp.

"No, sir." She read the name and her smile grew bigger. "No, sir, Mr. Deneen. We'll get it done for you. You can count on us."

"I certainly hope so."

I checked my watch. A few more stops to make before my next crucial appointment. I could not be late. I would not be. Especially not after Mrs. Johnson's urging. Her admonition alone was enough to make me break speed laws. But she was not alone. It seemed as if several of the Johnson family had suddenly had a change of heart. Instead of shielding Priye from me, they guided me to her. If Mrs. Johnson's call could make me blow past speed traps, it was Mrs. Cole's encouraging message that made me want to break the sound barrier.

She'd called me, not long after I'd hung up the phone with Mrs. Johnson. The conversation had been short and sweet, direct - sorta like all of the Johnson women.

Out of all the things she could have said to me, out of all the questions she could have asked, she asked only one. Did I or didn't I? That's all she wanted to know. Did I or didn't I?

The question might have been cryptic. I could have chosen to interpret it any way I wanted to. But as the mother of her only daughter, there was only one question she could be concerned about. Did I or didn't I what?

Love Priye, of course. Did I or didn't I want her? Need her? Yes. A thousand times yes. Ask me a thousand times and I'd answer the same. Of course I did.

When she'd asked me, I'd answered: I do.

"Good," she'd replied. And I could hear the smile in her voice. "Now all we have to do is get you two to the altar so that you can say those two words to her in person."

"How are we going to do that? I can't even get her to agree to go to a movie with me anymore, Mrs. Cole. She won't answer my calls and I have no earthly reason why not."

"Something must have scared her off."

"If she was frightened, she didn't tell me why."

"No, she wouldn't. Priye doesn't like appearing weak and vulnerable."

"Yes, I can see that."

I remembered the day that I'd first laid eyes on Priye Cole. I'd watched her struggling with those ridiculous bears, fighting with her contact lenses, holding back her fears of flying. She was not only going to face her fears, she was going to stare them down. Beat them into submission. Everything about her said strength. She was a fighter when she believed she had something - someone - worth fighting for.

I am that someone. I was the one for her.

All I had to do was convince her. To do that, I had to get her attention. To get her attention, I had to get past whatever it was - or whoever it was - that had convinced her I wasn't.

I checked my watch again - 3:45. Not much time left. Not if I was going to make the schedule Priye's relatives had laid out for me. By four o'clock, I'd gotten the call from the eager-to-please sales assistant. Everything was there, ready for me, waiting to be picked up.

Five o'clock, on the dot, I was at the botanical garden gift shop after closing, waiting to be let in. What a conspicuous sight I must have made. A grown man pulling a little red wagon loaded with balloons and two monstrous bears. I didn't care how it looked.

Not really.

Okay, maybe just a little bit. I did care how I looked. Someone from the milling crowd recognized me, called my name. As I looked up, he snapped my photograph.

Something told me that I could expect to see my picture prominently displayed in the news with some ridiculous headline - INTERNATIONAL FOOTBALL HERO BEARS ALL. Or some other such silliness.

I paced in front of the gift shop, dragging my wagon behind me and rehearsing what I'd say once I was face-to-face with Priye again. I tried different approaches each one sounding cornier than the last.

Two bears, dressed like Priye and me, sat in a wagon draped with steamers in my team's colours - a nice addition. I hadn't asked for that. That was something the sales representative had added. She'd certainly earned her commission this afternoon. But with the final touch - the one that I had asked for, had insisted on - she'd followed my instructions to the letter.

The bears were bound, hand in hand, by a single gold chain. Dangling from the chain was a ring. And it was as Aunt Pam had suggested. One carat. Marquise cut. Simple. But effective.

When Mrs. Cole unlocked the gift-shop door and beckoned to me with a single finger pressed to her lips, I complied, though not without some trepidation. She wasn't exactly sticking to the plan. She was supposed to give me a sign - an indication of how receptive Priye would be toward me and my offering.

"Well?" I whispered harshly as I maneuvered the wagon out of the line of sight. When Priye came out, I didn't want her distracted by the rolling toy circus I'd dragged behind me. I wanted me to be the first sight she saw. I wanted to be the one to bring the light to her eyes, not the ring.

"How did it go?"

She smiled softly and said, "I'm going to go and get a cup of coffee. When I come back, you tell me how it went."

I shook my head in confusion; but she stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek. "No matter what happens, Jack Deneen, you're a good man."

"That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, Mrs. Cole."

"Trust me on this one," she insisted. She turned her head over her shoulder and called out, "Priye, can you come out here please? We need your help."

Before she left me, she said, "The ball is in your hands, Steeldog. Don't fumble it."

"Now, that kind of talk I can understand."

As Priye came out of the back storeroom, I watched her facial expression rapidly change from surprise to suspicion. She'd obviously been set up - again! Just as quickly, she lowered her eyes, an admission of shame.

No matter what had happened between us, I didn't deserve to be dumped like that. Not without an explanation. Not without a chance to defend myself, to set things right again.

If I could.

Maybe whatever I'd done to her was indefensible. Maybe there was no fixing it. Call it selfishness or stubborn male pride, but I thought I deserved a chance to understand why she'd gone.

She glanced at the retreating figure of her mother. Her mouth twisted as she rolled her eyes. "Traitor," she whispered.

She'd been set up and abandoned. No family to hide behind. She had to face me now.

"Hi," she said simply, lifting her hand and letting it fall again to her side.

"Hi," I returned, giving a mock salute.

Not exactly the most sparkling conversation. But it was the first time I'd heard her voice in weeks. I'd take it.

"You . . .uh. . .you look. . .that is, you're looking well." I gestured awkwardly at her dress.

"Thanks. It was a present from my grandmother." She flounced the material, fanning it out to expose the full, floral pattern.

"A special occasion?"

"Uh. . .no. . .just because. . . I think she thought the bright colours would cheer me up."

"Did they?" I asked, taking a step closer.

Priye bit her lip, shaking her head. Her eyes glittered.

"No," she whispered. "Lately, I've been inconsolable."

Then she gave a small laugh. "Intolerable, actually."

"Do you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener."

"I'm. . .I'm not sure what to say."

"You can. . .start off by saying how much you missed me," I suggested, moving closer to her.

Pruye balled up her fists and put her hands on her hips, but she didn't back away. "Putting words in my mouth, Steeldog?"

"No, ma'am," I insisted. "Just trying to draw them out."

She nodded her approval. "I did."

"Did what?" I wanted to hear her say it. I had to see it in her face, watch the emotion in her eyes.

"Miss you," she stressed. Then, as if floodgates had been opened, she started talking so quickly that the words tumbled over each other. "I wanted to call you. Wanted to do it a thousand times. But every time I did, I kept hearing the voices in my head, laughing at me, reminding me of all the things I wasn't and all the things you needed and I was so sure that you and I could never work because of the type of person that you are and the..."

"Whoa!" I said sharply. "Time out!" If I'd had a whistle, I would have blown it. I'm sure her running monologue broke some kind of record for speed and incomprehensibility. "You've been hearing voices?" I repeated.

"Not crazy-in-the-head voices," she elaborated. Then she reached up to smooth my cheek. "But I admit, a girl would have to be crazy before walking out on you like I did."

"Priye, just tell me what's wrong. I'll make it right. I promise. I'll fix it."

"You can't fix me, Jack," she insisted. "It's not you, it's me. The problem is all with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you. You're perfect."

"No, I'm not!" She vehemently denied.

"You're perfect for me, then. Try to argue with that."

"Give me enough time. I can argue with anything," she said somberly.

"I'll give you all the time you need," I insisted. "Just don't make me spend it alone. I want. . .I want to spend it with you."

"I couldn't believe that you would," she confessed.
"When those girls at Big Dog's party..."

"What girls?" I reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders, and squeezed. Not hard. Just enough to let her know that I wasn't going to let her slip away from me so easily this time.

"I don't know. Some girls." She shrugged. "I heard them talking about you. And me."

"What did they say?"

"I can't remember exactly. It doesn't matter now."

"Yes, it does, Priye. If they could do this to us, if they have that kind of influence over you. I want to know. I want to know who's been messing with your head."

"It's not so much what they said but what they represented, Jack. Don't you understand?"

"No. I don't. And if it makes you want to leave me, then, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure that I want to."

"I understand now that they were just being vicious and jealous. They were angry because I was with you. And who was I? A nobody. I wasn't some famous actress or model or glamour queen. I was just me. Walking in on your arm in all of my big-hipped, full-lipped, small-breasted glory."

I stood back from her, amazed that this was the image she had of herself. Is that what she thought I saw in her? How could I make her see? How could I make her understand?

Maybe it was her physical features that had originally caught my eye at the airport - the colour of her braids, that cute nose, not to mention that sweet, sculpted bottom!

But it took more than that to make me want to give her a second look. It was more than physical attraction that stopped me from looking at all of the other pretty women. Her poise, her coolness, even her wry understated sense of humour kept my head turned in her direction.

I'm not saying that I would never look at another woman. That was impossible, unreasonable to ask. A man was always going to look. Any man with eyes in his head was going to appreciate the pleasant proportions of a well-built woman.

Bur a man who spent all of this time, his energy just looking was going to be a man looking alone. I'd had enough of that. The whole point of looking at something - for something - was to find. I'd found it in Priye.

Here was a woman I could look at. And when I was done looking, I could talk to her. Unlike so many others who were long on looks and short on everything else, she was quick-witted and knowledgeable, up on current events, and down with her family roots.

Here was a woman I wanted to love. She'd take and she'd give. I'd give and she'd return. Why would I keep looking at others when I'd found it all?"

"Come here, Priye." I held out my hand to her and walked her over to the doors marked for the rest rooms.

I considered which door for a moment. Years of habit and conditioning immediately made me swing toward the one marked for men. But Priye hesitated, so I instead pushed on the door marked for women. A better choice anyway. It had what I needed to get my point across.

With my hands still on her shoulders, I guided her toward the full-length mirror.

"Tell me what you see," with my cheek pressed against hers, I whispered in her ear.

I knew that she was carefully considering her answer because she took what seemed like ages to me to speak. Finally, simply, she whispered back, "I see us."

"That's right. Nobody else here but us. Just you and me."

"Nobody here but us chickens," she remarked.

"Are you afraid of me, Priye?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid of what I've done to you. I'm so sorry, Jack. I never meant to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

I kissed her tenderly on the cheek. "Even when we aren't standing in the bathroom in front of a mirror, Priye, when I'm with you all I see is us. All I want is for us to be together. I thought that's what you wanted, too. But then you ran. And now I'm not so sure. So I want to know. I have to know. Do you want me?"

When she didn't pull away, I kissed her again on the jaw, then lower on the neck and again on the shoulder.

Priye moaned softly, tilting her head away to give me more access as I brushed aside her hair. I slid my arms down her arms and rested them lightly at her waist before pulling her back against me.

"Tell me that you want me, Priye," I insisted, massaging her outer thighs.

"You know that I do." Her voice was husky, thick with emotion.

"I want to hear you say it!"

Priye threw her head back against my chest as my hands slid under her dress, seeking the scrap of fabric that restricted my access. She tried to speak; but her words were unintelligible - mewling sounds of pleasure as my palms found her heated core, resting there while she pulsed against me.

I probed, making her bite her lip against the exquisite torture.

Warmth. Wetness. Willingness.

She reached behind her head, clinging to handfuls of my shirt, as I took my hands away long enough to search for my wallet.

"Just you and me," I echoed. "That's all I ever see, Priye. I don't care what anyone has told you, I don't care what you've heard. When I'm with you, that's all there is. Just you and me."

"You and me," she repeated, as she spun around to face me.

"I mean it, Priye. I want you in my life."

"I'm here, Jack. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are," I contradicted.

She looked at me, puzzled.

"I'll explain later," I promised as I reached for the rear zipper of her dress, hardly paying the pretty fabric any mind as it slid to a salient heap on the floor. I stood for several moments, memorizing every line, every curve.

"I love you, Priye Cole. I want to make love to you."

Priye stepped away from the dress and led me by the hand to the lip of a small, porcelain counter. "No porch light to stop us now," she teased as I grasped her hips and lifted her onto the counter.

Without taking her eyes from my face, she guided me toward her, inside her.

As I shifted, settling between her knees, I insisted, "You and me, Priye. Me and you."

My carefully timed thrusts emphasized my commitment to that soulful, sensuous mantra. She cried out in wondrous rapture as passion claimed her. Tremors made her shudder. Heaving. Clinging. Gasping for precious air. Even as her body signaled the culmination of release, I didn't stop. I couldn't, even if I'd wanted to.

I had not spoken to her in weeks. Had not touched her like this for even longer. Even though propriety and fear of discovery should have cooled me, our surroundings had just the opposite effect. Knowing that any moment someone could walk in, see us, and know that I'd claimed her for my own aroused me to greater passion. Our sighs mingled in the air around us, echoed, and bounced off the walls. The sultry sounds were magnified, as if the small confines of this room could not contain the maelstrom.

Our reflection in the mirror was my ultimate undoing - two bodies, coiled, connected, wanting, writhing. Like fluid from a scared gourd, I spilled my offering into her.

And as I rested, spent both physically and emotionally, against her shoulder, I lamented that for now, for safety's sake, the full expression of my love remained sheathed - trapped within the confines of latex.

I bode my time, anxious for the moment when I could come to her, inside her, with a precious offering of life.

"Jack?" Priye whispered, nestled comfortably in my arms.

"Uh-huh?"

"Can I ask a favour?"

"Anything, Priye."

"Can I get off this countertop now? It's cold and biting into my bottom."

"Lucky counter," I replied, pinching her on her rear end. She gave a mock punch to my arm. "You are so bad!"

"Actually, I've been a very, very good boy." I backed away. "You wait right here and I'll show you."

"Where are you going?"

"Not far. I promise." I kissed the tip of her nose. "Never again."

"But -" she protested.

"Wait right there. I'll be right back. In fact, cover your eyes amd count to. . .oh, thirty should do it."

"Cover my eyes?" She repeated.

I grasped her wrist and raised her hand to her face. "Cover your eyes," I insisted. "And soon you'll see a big surprise."

"I don't like surprises," she warned me.

"Then you're going to absolutely despise this one," I assured her as I ducked out of the bathroom, then hurried around the counter to where the bears were still waiting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Mrs. Cole milling around at the front of the store. She peeked in, shielded her face against the glass, then raised her shoulders in silent question.

Grinning, I gave her the thumbs-up sign. She reached for the door, about to unlock it, but I shook my head.

"No. Not yet." Holding up one hand, I indicated to give me five more minutes alone with Priye. On second thought, another hand went up. I considered taking off my shoes and wiggling my toes, but that would have been greedy.

She nodded in understanding and pointed toward the garden. Ten more minutes.

Carefully, I maneuvered the bears out from behind the counter and tugged the wagon toward the rest room. Okay, so it wasn't the most romantic place in the world to propose to a woman. But it was private, secluded, and smelled pine-forest fresh. A man couldn't ask for more than that.

As I approached the bathroom, I heard water running, so I tapped on the door before going in.

"Priye?"

"Just a minute," she called out. Then, "Okay. You can come in now."

"Do you still have your eyes closed?"

"Oh, I forgot. Okay. They're closed again now."

Slowly, I opened the door just a crack before poking my head in the door. "Priye?"

"I'm not peeking," she promised.

I opened the door a little wider, pulled the bears inside, then maneuvered until I was directly behind her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and squeezed once, before putting my hands on top of hers.

"Umm," she hummed. "Is this my surprise? I like."

"This is only part of it. You can look now," I murmured, pulling her hands down.

She turned her face aside, to stare curiously at me. But I indicated with my eyebrows where she should turn her attention.

"I don't believe it!" She exclaimed. "Look at them. They are so cute! Braids! Jack, where'd you get a bear with braids?"

"They look kinda cute, sitting there together, don't you think?"

"Absolutely adorable! I love them. Wait until Grandma sees these. She collects bears, you know."

"Well, she's not getting her hands on these. Look a little closer. I think she'll be more interested in what the bears are bearing."

"Bears are bearing?" She echoed, stepping a little closer. I guess the steamers and the ribbons and the huge bows were a bit much. She didn't even notice the ring.

Priye walked closer to the wagon, then bent down with her hands resting on her knees. Her finger traced along the chain wrapped around the bears' wrists.

"Kinda kinky there, big fella. I didn't know you were into bear bondage." She looked back at me and grinned.

"A little-known secret from the darker side of my personality. Look closer."

When I heard the sharp intake of her breath, that's when I knew she'd found it. She made a little sound - something between a sigh and a strangled cough - and staggered back.

"Jack?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "What is this?"

"What does it look like?"

"Looks like a hell of a lot of money. I would have accepted a simple kiss-and-make-up teddy bear. Not even giant-sized."

"Not this time, darling. Make no mistakes about it. If I have to tie you up with golden cords, I want you by my side, Priye. I love you and I want to marry you."

Again, the small, shocked gurgle. "Marry me. . .as in proposals and weddings and girls in ugly satin dresses?"

"The whole nine yards."

I unhooked the chain and dropped the ring into my palm.

"I. . .I don't know what to say." She shook her head uncomprehendingly.

"Woman, after all the hoops I jumped through to get here, you'd better say yes." I took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. It looked so right there.

Priye just stared at it, biting her lip.

"Well?" I prompted. "Are you going to stand there or are you going to say something?"

"This is. . .this is. . .this is certainly something, Jack."

"Not quite what I had in mind. Then again, I shouldn't complain. Your grandmother had wanted me to do this over a romantic, candlelight dinner. Do you want me to drop on one knee? Would that make it seem more like a proper proposal?"

"No one gets down on one knee anymore,"she informed me. "Besides, you don't want me to run and tell all of your friends that I brought the great Jack 'The Flash' Deneen on his knees."

"Go ahead. Tell all of my friends. Some of them gave me some pretty interesting suggestions on what I could do down here on my knees."

"Interesting. That's just a polite word for raunchy, isn't it?"

"Marry me and find out."

She looked up toward the ceiling, appearing to give my offer some great thought. "I'll do it on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"That if that heifer Damitra and any of her friends take one step near the wedding ceremony, you won't try to stop me while I pull her hair out by the roots."

"Damitra?" How in the world did she find out about that ancient history. . .unless...oh, yeah, Big Dog's party. If she'd been there, she wouldn't have taken too kindly to seeing me with Priye. Tough. After four years, she should have been over it by now. Moved on.

"Stop you? I'll help find her real roots, if that'll make you happy."

"In that case, the answer is yes. Yes, Jack Deneen. I'll marry you. If that's what you want."

"Yes, that's what I want." I held my arms out to her encircling her, promising myself that there was no way way I'd ever let her out of my arms or out of my heart again.

thankGod ure bak

Omolola is back, oh. *runs to the nairaland market square*
Omolola, this one na overdose of updates, oh. I hope u don't have blisters on your fingers. Is this the end of the story?

Chiamaka01: Omolola is back, oh. *runs to the nairaland market square*
Omolola, this one na overdose of updates, oh. I hope u don't have blisters on your fingers. Is this the end of the story?

Lool...I did oooo, when I posted it
Nah, this isn't even close to the end of the story

*the one and only lola don landoo* chai babe was waitn for to complete de story.whoop!! go babe go babe go babe.

yo! wia in de world hv u been babe? thank God u don land bck.
hope u are all better nw,yeah?

Marytess: yo! wia in de world hv u been babe? thank God u don land bck.
hope u are all better nw,yeah?

I've been to London to see the queen
Yeah, much better

Finally! Thank God you're back. Missed you and the updates.

Well done Lola. Started this yest evening and I'm through. Nice write up dear. More ink 2 ur pen, mb and bis 2 ur fone.

esn1: Well done Lola. Started this yest evening and I'm through. Nice write up dear. More ink 2 ur pen, mb and bis 2 ur fone.

Lol...thanks sweetz

Welcome back miss lola,wooow!feels gud to read this wonderful piece,my jack is back....i'm so happy.more grease to ur elbow.*Whispers*still waiting for more........

sweet heart,I absolutely love this story.Welcome back

Hey,babe,welcome back.I hope u're good now.meanwhile, I likey