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I was the one who suggested Truth or Dare.
Because, well… I was bored. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to watch Jogo squirm a little.
We'd just gotten back from church earlier that day. I wore something decent, played the part. But honestly? My mind had been on him the entire sermon. Sitting beside him, so close our knees touched. Breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne. Hearing him say "Amen" in that deep, low voice...
God forgive me—I was not paying attention to the Word.
So, after service and after lunch, a few friends came over. Old friends. Chill crowd. Dami, Lydia, Kunle… people who had known us from school. Harmless.
Then someone brought a bottle.
Then I brought the idea.
"Let's play," I said. "Truth or Dare. Old-school rules."
They all whooped and agreed. Dami spun the bottle first. A few silly dares. Some kisses. Some truths. The usual chaos.
But everything shifted when the bottle landed on Jogo.
And Dami leaned forward with a devil's grin.
"Alright, big guy," he said. "Truth or Dare?"
Jogo shrugged lazily. "Dare."
I should've stopped it there. I didn't.
"I dare you," Dami said, eyes flicking to me, "to grab Mina's boobs. Both hands. Like… you mean it. Not polite. Like you're squeezing mangoes at the market."
The room exploded in laughter.
My heart dropped straight through my stomach.
"What the hell—" Jogo sat up fast, eyes shooting to me. "That's—"
"I'm game," I said before I could stop myself.
Silence.
Even Jogo blinked. "Wait. What?"
I stood. Slowly. Trying to act calm, but my whole body was trembling like it'd been plugged into a socket.
"If it makes everyone uncomfortable," I said, smiling sweetly, "you can just squeeze lightly."
He rose to his feet too, eyes locked on mine, unsure. "You sure?"
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
I nodded.
He moved closer.
And when his hands finally came up and cupped me—fully—there was nothing light about it.
He squeezed like he was angry. Like he'd wanted to for a long time but never allowed himself.
It wasn't just a grope. It was a claim.
One of his thumbs grazed the edge of my bra beneath the shirt, and I gasped.
His eyes stayed on mine.
I forgot we weren't alone. Forgot everything.
I wasn't breathing.
He let go slowly. Like it hurt him to stop.
I sat down before my knees betrayed me. Someone laughed nervously. Dami yelled "DAYUM!" and clapped. But it all felt like background noise.
Because Jogo hadn't said a word.
And I hadn't either.
But something in that touch had changed.
I didn't want the game anymore.
I wanted him to pull me into his room and—
---
I'd always known he wasn't a heavy drinker. So when he started laughing a little too loud and slurring just a little too much, I knew the alcohol was working faster than it should — but not enough to knock him out of himself. Just enough to lower his guard.
The others had left. The game was over. The room still smelled like popcorn and cologne and whatever vodka was left in those red plastic cups.
Jogo was slumped on the couch, eyes half-lidded, watching the ceiling like it was whispering secrets. I wasn't even sure if he realized I was still there — until he shifted and glanced my way, eyes soft but steady.
I took a shower. Not because I needed to, but because I needed to breathe — to clear the lingering heat that always settled in my chest after I spent too much time around him. Maybe it was the truth-or-dare game. Maybe it was how he looked at me during that one round — confused, but focused, like I'd said something he wasn't expecting.
The water helped. A little.
When I came out — hair damp, towel clutched lazily in my hand, my oversized tee sticking slightly to my skin — he was still there. On the couch. Not passed out. Just... quiet. Present.
Then he turned.
His eyes met mine.
And for a second, I swore the haze in them cleared.
He looked at me like I was something worth remembering. Like I wasn't just his best friend, but something more. His gaze trailed down my body and stopped — not out of lust, exactly, but curiosity. Like his heart knew something his brain hadn't caught up to.
"Hey," I said softly, drying my hair with the towel. "You good?"
He blinked slowly. "You're... glowing," he murmured, a crooked smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "Or maybe I'm just tipsy."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to.
I walked toward him, every step slow — deliberate — as if I wasn't sure what would happen when I sat down. But I did.
The cushion dipped between us.
He didn't look away. Instead, he leaned his head onto my shoulder, the weight of him familiar and warm. His fingers brushed against mine, just once, and then he lifted a hand to cup my cheek — gentle, cautious, like I might disappear.
"Why do you feel so... soft?" he asked, voice lower now. Quieter.
I turned to him. "You always say that when you've had a few drinks."
"Do I?"
"You forget by morning."
"Then maybe..." he paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to focus, "maybe I shouldn't forget this time."
His thumb traced the line of my jaw — not urgent, not bold. Just thoughtful. Like his hand was searching for something it had touched before only in dreams.
My breath caught.
His fingers drifted down my neck, lingering at the edge of my collarbone. He leaned in, hesitating, eyes meeting mine as if silently asking permission.
I didn't move away.
Instead, I leaned in too.
We sat like that for a long moment — close but not crossing a line. The air between us thick with things unspoken. Every now and then, his fingers trailed lazily over my arm, or brushed my thigh, light as air. He wasn't trying anything. He wasn't even sure what he was doing. But it wasn't nothing.
"You smell nice," he said suddenly, the words half-breathed.
I smiled faintly. "So do you."
He chuckled, and then let out a long, slow sigh — one of those breaths that says more than words ever could. His head rested fully on my shoulder again, his arm slipping loosely around my waist. The motion was instinctive. Safe. Not possessive — just present.
I whispered his name once.
"Mina..." he murmured back. "You're still glowing."
I didn't correct him this time. Didn't tease. I just let him stay there, breathing soft and even, his touch lingering in a way that felt like memory. Not desire. Not confusion.
Just something real.
Eventually, his body relaxed more fully. He didn't pass out — not suddenly. He just drifted, slowly, into sleep.
I stayed beside him. Not because I had to.
But because I wanted the moment — however quiet, however uncertain — to last.
He might not remember it tomorrow.
But I would.
Always.
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