I knew my life was finished when I opened my eyes and realized
I was wearing my best friend’s husband’s shirt.
Not my own clothes.
Not even a random hoodie.
HIS shirt.
The one he wore last night.
The one that still smelled like him.
Immediately my spirit left my body.
I sat up too fast.
No bra.
No sense.
No explanation.
Just me
in his oversized shirt
in their guest room
while my best friend was downstairs singing worship songs loudly like the Holy Spirit was giving her backup vocals.
God, what have I entered?
Before I could process anything, the door opened softly.
And there he was.
Leaning on the doorframe.
Arms crossed.
Eyes on me.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just, watching me with that calm, unreadable look that makes a woman forget her home training.
He said,
You finally woke up.
My heart did kpokpo kpokpo kpokpo kpokpo.
Why… why am I wearing your shirt??
He didn’t answer immediately.
He just walked in, slow, steady, dangerous, the kind of movement that makes a woman lose her sense of direction.
You don’t remember?
My soul evaporated.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
He noticed.
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
That smile alone was a scandal.
I REMEMBER NOTHING! I whispered loudly. Please tell me nothing happened!
He raised one eyebrow.
Slow.
Teasing.
Infur!atingly confident.
What exactly is nothing to you?
JESUS.
My breathing scatt£red.
He stepped closer
not touching
but close enough to make the shirt I was wearing feel illegal.
Relax, he murmured.
You fa!nted last night, remember?
I blinked.
I fainted?
He nodded.
Yes. Right after Ada told us you were going to be her maid of honor.
I covered my face with both hands.
Klll me now please.
He laughed.
Low.
Quiet.
Too warm.
You spilled wine on your dress, he continued.
Ada told me to help you change because she didn’t want to leave the guests.
I froze.
She told YOU to help me undr£ss??
He tilted his head.
She trusts me.
That was the problem.
That was the MAIN problem.
He watched me a second too long, eyes dipping unconsciously to the oversized shirt hanging on my thighs.
Then he said the thing that destroyed the remaining oxygen in the room:
Don’t worry, I didn’t look.
Too much.
My jaw dropped.
TOO WHAT?!
He smiled, slow, wicked, soft, the kind of smile that should be illegal in 38 states and all Nigerian local governments.
If I looked too much, you would’ve known.
OH MY GOD.
I was shaking, and he could see it.
He stepped back finally, giving me space, but his voice didn’t lose its heat.
You should change. Ada is coming upstairs.
And if she sees you wearing my shirt, she will ask questions you cannot answer.
My heart STOPPED.
You didn’t tell her?
His eyes met mine, sharp, steady, dark.
Would she believe me if I did?
My breath caught.
Then
Footsteps.
Ada’s voice in the hallway:
Honey? Have you seen her? I want us to take pictures!
My entire spirit c0llapsed.
He looked at me
not with guilt,
not with innocence,
but with a quiet, terr!fying tenderness.
Don’t worry, he whispered.
I’ll cover for you.
Cover?
Me?
Wearing his shirt??
Before I could respond, he gently touched the collar, straightened it like a man adjusting something that belonged to him.
Not a touch-touch.
Just enough for my pulse to lose coordination.
He whispered:
You look better in my shirt than I do.
My knees softened.
Ada knocked.
He stepped away instantly
calm, composed, normal
like he didn’t just play with the foundations of my destiny.
I was still shaking.
Still wearing his shirt.
Still smelling like him.
Still trying to understand how I entered this kind of trouble.
And deep inside me
A small, stupid, dang£rous thought whispered:
Why did it feel so good?
To be continued...
© Chidinma Lynda Abayomi
I was wearing my best friend’s husband’s shirt.
Not my own clothes.
Not even a random hoodie.
HIS shirt.
The one he wore last night.
The one that still smelled like him.
Immediately my spirit left my body.
I sat up too fast.
No bra.
No sense.
No explanation.
Just me
in his oversized shirt
in their guest room
while my best friend was downstairs singing worship songs loudly like the Holy Spirit was giving her backup vocals.
God, what have I entered?
Before I could process anything, the door opened softly.
And there he was.
Leaning on the doorframe.
Arms crossed.
Eyes on me.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just, watching me with that calm, unreadable look that makes a woman forget her home training.
He said,
You finally woke up.
My heart did kpokpo kpokpo kpokpo kpokpo.
Why… why am I wearing your shirt??
He didn’t answer immediately.
He just walked in, slow, steady, dangerous, the kind of movement that makes a woman lose her sense of direction.
You don’t remember?
My soul evaporated.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
He noticed.
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
That smile alone was a scandal.
I REMEMBER NOTHING! I whispered loudly. Please tell me nothing happened!
He raised one eyebrow.
Slow.
Teasing.
Infur!atingly confident.
What exactly is nothing to you?
JESUS.
My breathing scatt£red.
He stepped closer
not touching
but close enough to make the shirt I was wearing feel illegal.
Relax, he murmured.
You fa!nted last night, remember?
I blinked.
I fainted?
He nodded.
Yes. Right after Ada told us you were going to be her maid of honor.
I covered my face with both hands.
Klll me now please.
He laughed.
Low.
Quiet.
Too warm.
You spilled wine on your dress, he continued.
Ada told me to help you change because she didn’t want to leave the guests.
I froze.
She told YOU to help me undr£ss??
He tilted his head.
She trusts me.
That was the problem.
That was the MAIN problem.
He watched me a second too long, eyes dipping unconsciously to the oversized shirt hanging on my thighs.
Then he said the thing that destroyed the remaining oxygen in the room:
Don’t worry, I didn’t look.
Too much.
My jaw dropped.
TOO WHAT?!
He smiled, slow, wicked, soft, the kind of smile that should be illegal in 38 states and all Nigerian local governments.
If I looked too much, you would’ve known.
OH MY GOD.
I was shaking, and he could see it.
He stepped back finally, giving me space, but his voice didn’t lose its heat.
You should change. Ada is coming upstairs.
And if she sees you wearing my shirt, she will ask questions you cannot answer.
My heart STOPPED.
You didn’t tell her?
His eyes met mine, sharp, steady, dark.
Would she believe me if I did?
My breath caught.
Then
Footsteps.
Ada’s voice in the hallway:
Honey? Have you seen her? I want us to take pictures!
My entire spirit c0llapsed.
He looked at me
not with guilt,
not with innocence,
but with a quiet, terr!fying tenderness.
Don’t worry, he whispered.
I’ll cover for you.
Cover?
Me?
Wearing his shirt??
Before I could respond, he gently touched the collar, straightened it like a man adjusting something that belonged to him.
Not a touch-touch.
Just enough for my pulse to lose coordination.
He whispered:
You look better in my shirt than I do.
My knees softened.
Ada knocked.
He stepped away instantly
calm, composed, normal
like he didn’t just play with the foundations of my destiny.
I was still shaking.
Still wearing his shirt.
Still smelling like him.
Still trying to understand how I entered this kind of trouble.
And deep inside me
A small, stupid, dang£rous thought whispered:
Why did it feel so good?
To be continued...
© Chidinma Lynda Abayomi
Topic Live
