CHAPTER ONE: MY EX'S BEST FRIEND
The first rule of surviving a breakup was simple.
Don't sleep with your ex's best friend.
The second rule?
Don't break the first rule when you're drunk, lonely, and wearing underwear that cost more than your electricity bill.
Unfortunately, I had never been particularly good at following rules.
Especially not when Jibola was involved.
It was 1:37 a.m. when he walked into my apartment like he belonged there.
Black shirt. Faded jeans. Silver chain resting against his collarbone. That stupidly attractive face that made me question every decision I'd ever made.
a smile.
God, that smile.
"You're staring."
I blinked.
Jibola was leaning against my kitchen counter, holding a glass of water like he hadn't just walked into my apartment looking like somebody's extremely expensive bad decision.
"I'm not."
"You're literally looking at my mouth."
"Maybe there's something on your face."
He smiled wider.
"You want to check?"
I rolled my eyes and turned away, pretending to be interested in the contents of my refrigerator.
This was a terrible idea.
Jibola was my ex-boyfriend's best friend. Not some random guy I'd met at a party. Not a stranger whose number I'd saved after three cocktails and a questionable conversation.
He was Damola's best friend.
The same Damola who had cheated on me with a girl from his gym and then had the audacity to tell me we needed to communicate better.
The same Damola who had watched me cry, apologised, promised to change and somehow made me feel guilty for finally leaving.
And Jibola?
Jibola had known everything.
He had been there when I cried. He had brought me food when I refused to leave my bed. He had listened to me complain about Damola for hours without once telling me I was being dramatic.
He had even helped me move my things out of Damola's apartment.
A good friend.
A very good friend.
An offensively attractive friend.
"Why are you here, anyway?" I asked, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
"Your favourite person invited me."
I turned around.
"My favourite person?"
"Me."
"You're delusional."
"Yet you opened the door."
I hated that he was right.
I'd invited him over earlier because I'd been having one of those nights. The kind where your thoughts become unnecessarily loud, your playlist starts attacking you personally, and every little thing reminds you of someone you are actively trying to forget.
I'd wanted company.
I just hadn't considered that the company would look like Jibola
He watched me struggle with the bottle cap before taking it from my hand.
"You were losing a fight against plastic."
"Go home,Jibola."
"Five minutes ago, you were happy to see me."
"Five minutes ago, I had hope."
He laughed.
And I hated how much I liked the sound.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
I glanced at it.
Then immediately wished I hadn't.
DAMOLA: We need to talk. I miss you.
I stared at the message for a few seconds.
Unbelievable.
Three weeks.
Three whole weeks of silence, and suddenly he missed me.
I let out a dry laugh.
Jibola glanced at the screen.
"Still texting you?"
"Unfortunately."
"Want me to block him?"
"Yet effective."
I picked up my phone and turned it face down.
"I don't understand men."
"That's because you're still entertaining the wrong ones."
I raised an eyebrow.
"And you're different?"
He shrugged.
"I didn't say that."
"At least you're honest."
"Always."
The room went quiet.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes you suddenly aware of everything.
The music playing softly from my television. The ice melting Jibola's glass. The way he stood a little too close to me.
When I looked up, he was watching me.
Not teasing this time.
Something had shifted.
"Don't look at me like that," I whispered.
"Like you want to kiss me."
He put his glass down.
"Maybe I do."
My heartbeat became embarrassingly loud.
I laughed nervously.
"Jibola."
"What?"
"You're Damola's best friend."
"I know who I am."
"And I'm his ex-girlfriend."
"I'm aware of that too."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
He looked at me for a moment before answering.
"Because I've been trying very hard not to have it."
My stomach tightened.
I didn't know what to say.
There were things about Jibola I had noticed before. The way his eyes lingered sometimes. The way he remembered small details about me that even Damola had forgotten. The way he always seemed to find an excuse to check on me.
I'd dismissed all of it.
Because surely, if there was one person I couldn't afford to misunderstand, it was him.
"How long?" I asked quietly.
He tilted his head.
"How long what?"
"How long have you been trying not to have this conversation?"
He gave a small, humourless laugh.
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving you tonight."
He took one slow step closer.
I didn't move.
"Tell me to leave," he said.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips before returning to mine.
"That's what I thought."
And just before he reached me, my phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't a message.
It was a call.
DAMOLA CALLING…
I froze.
Jibola looked at the screen.
Then at me.
"You're not answering that, are you?"
I shook my head.
The call ended.
For one glorious second, I thought that was it.
Then a message appeared.
DAMIEN: I'm outside your apartment. Open the door.
My blood ran cold.
"What?" Jibola asked.
I silently handed him my phone.
He read the message once.
Then again.
The playful expression disappeared from his face.
"How does he know you're here?"
"I don't know."
"Did you tell him you were home?"
"No."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"Jibola, I don't know!"
A loud knock interrupted us.
Three sharp knocks.
Then another.
I looked towards the door.
Jibola looked at me.
And suddenly, the man who had been flirting with me less than a minute ago looked ready to fight somebody.
"Stay here," he said.
"Jibola—"
"Just stay here."
He walked towards the door.
Another knock.
Then Damola's voice came through it.
"Baby? I know you're awake."
I closed my eyes.
Baby?
After everything?
Jibola stopped with his hand hovering over the door handle.
He turned to look at me.
And I could tell from his expression that something had just changed.
"Well," he said quietly. "This just got interesting."
I swallowed.
Because there was one thing I hadn't considered when I invited Jibola over.
What would happen if Damola found out his best friend was the one standing between us?
And why did a small, reckless part of me hope he would?