Fighting Emotion (3)

Chapter 3

Ifeoma suddenly found Fred dogging her heels; it was most likely for him to fall into step with her on her way back from lecture most evenings, or for him to suddenly appear with his own plate of food and sat opposite her in the cafeteria. He became underfoot to the point of annoyance.
The more she tried to dodge him, the more he pursued her. Even when she refused to talk to him, he would keep on talking as if he’s enjoying her stoic silence. It got to an extent her friends started mocking her over his constant presence around her. They christened him her ‘lover boy’.
One evening she came out of the female hostel gate to see him loitering around, waiting for her, incensed, her blood boiled over, and her temper erupted, she walked up to him. "Why are you stalking me?"
He saw the anger brimming in her eyes as always and smiled to douse it. “Actually, I was waiting to see you, since you banned me from coming to your room….” He shrugged. She had almost chewed him raw the day he visited her without invitation, in front of friends and roommates she told him off in a not so pleasant manner. He had to respect her privacy; there should be a limit to his foolishness.

“Now what, can’t you take a no from a girl and push on?”
“That’s not the way to talk to a guy who is trying so hard to court you.”
"Haven't it occur to you that I don't want to be courted, especially by you?" she retorted.

His eyes gazed at her lovingly, a look that drove Ifeoma crazy and chipped at her resistance. Fred watched the play of emotion in her eyes and knew her hostility was thawing; just a matter of time, and his man-hunt or rather his woman-hunt bait would catch its prey. A fleeting wisp of a smile appeared on his face.

He wondered how long she would continue to deny the spark kindling between them. It’s being three months now since they met and he had been going after her. Can a woman be this obstinate?
“How about we go to the student centre for a drink and a talk?”
She shook her head. "I don't think there is anything else you will say that will make me change my mind," she said with thinly disguised anger.

“Probably so, but for the sake of civility just humour me.” A brooding look replaced his smile.
“If I oblige, will you promise to stop stalking me?”
"You will have your wish fulfilled soon because I'm going to be away for a month."

A startled look jumped into her eyes. Fred noticed and tried to arrange his face into a benign expression. She could fight him all she wanted, but he knew she would miss him.

“Where are you going to be for a whole month?”
“Can we sit down and discuss it over some bottles of drink?”
“Okay,” a grudging acceptance as she let down her guard a notch and followed him to the centre.

The moment they sat down, she faced him. "So, you will leave school for one month to do what, what of classwork and assignments?"

“Calm down, I told you over some bottles of drink, and the drinks haven’t arrived yet.”

She flicked her hand in the air impatiently. “I don’t like waiting for information.”

“You have to wait and you have to be friendly and smile to get the information.”

Indignation flared in her eyes, Fred smiled. “So, what will you drink?”
“A soft drink will do.”
He went to the counter and came back with a soft drink and a melt; he uncorked them and handed the soft drink to her. After a few sip, she eyed him wearily.
He beat her to the question. “How hard have you been banging the typewriter and decoding the shorthand?”
Her lips tumbled into an unrestrained smile, “Not easy, but my quiz scores are not bad.”
“I’m happy to hear that, but I will be happier if you smile more when you’re with me and be a little friendlier.”

Anger flickered in her eyes, Fred held up his hand. “Calm down Ify, I just want us to be friends; there is no harm in friendship. It will be more fun for you to relax around me, smile and be cheerful than to be constantly on your guard, I’m not an ogre, just a guy who happens to like you so much and trying so hard to let you know that.”

She raised her eyes to the ceiling in silent exasperation. “Can’t you understand? I don’t want you! I don’t want to be hurt; I don’t want any man trampling on my heart.”

“Why? Something I did or didn’t do or from past experiences?”
He listened as she explained her reasons for not wanting an intimate relationship with any man yet.

“Okay, we can take it one step at a time. I’m not hot on commitment too.”

"Yes, so I have heard through campus grapevine, you're the type of guy I have been warned not to get close to or I will be stung for life."

“You’re too intelligent to judge me based on what you heard about me. Why not keep your biases aside and get to know the real me.”
"Really? You mean there is more to you than the stories flying about campus as the crowned prince of heart breaker."

His mouth lifted in a sexy smile. “I don’t break hearts.”
Ifeoma swallowed and looked away. He looked so dashingly handsome and rakish, her heart and brain cells quivered, a part of her wanted to shred her sanity and be adventurous, go wild and follow her heart desires.

She was melting and didn’t like it, of all guys to fall for; it has to be one with a reputation, one who had left a trail of girls heartbroken. She had fought so hard to keep her distance from him. “Honestly Fred, I like you as a person -", before the smile could completely take over his face, she added quickly. “But I don’t want a relationship with you.”

He looked deeply into her eyes; he could see the fears, the uncertainties, and the struggles. “Ify, what are you afraid of?”
She stared at him, a contemplative look on her face. He leaned toward her a little. “Life is a risk you have to combat with and it requires lots of mobility and dexterity don’t let fear keep you static and steamroll you out of the joy, the happiness and the fun of living and loving. You deserve that much in your life. Give yourself a break and embrace love.”

A smile cracked through her frosty face. “You’re big grammars and psychobabble talk will not melt my heart. I don’t want to be hurt; I don’t want to put my heart in the hand of a Romeo who will make mincemeat of it.”

“Trust me. Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m not really a Satyr as girls made me out to be.” For once his confident smile was replaced by an earnest plea that cut to her heart.

She studied him through narrowed eyes; for how long would she keep fighting her emotion and hiding it behind anger at his audacious pursuit. It would be foolish to keep pretending he didn’t appeal to her. From the first day she laid eyes on him, her heart had never been at rest, and she knew he would never give up. She realised for some time now she had stopped seeing him as simply a man pestering her life, but a possible relationship in bloom.
As the thought rolled through her head, her stomach became a ball of jumbled quivering nerves, lifting her drink she took a sip. "Well, your one-month absence will give me enough time to categorise and analysis my true feelings for you."

The smile that waltzed through his face snuck past her last defence, and she knew she had lost the battle when her cheeks dimpled convulsively into a smile.

“Not before then?”

"Nah, remember, one step at a time."

Fighting Emotion (Young Adult Romance Series 1)

About the book

When a man loves a woman, he will do anything to win her love. Fred is ready to play the fool to get Ifeoma to accept his love for her is genuine.

Ifeoma is afraid to lose her heart to a man with a reputation, one who has left a trail of girls heartbroken. She has to fight her emotion and fight him off to avoid the inevitable.



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Fighting Emotion (2)

Chapter Two

Fred sat on his bed in the male hostel staring off into nothing, his brain muddled with thoughts that escalated
his heartbeat above normal. He had no reason to spend Friday night in his hostel room, he preferred weekends away at a room he shared with a friend in town. Worst still, he had no pressing need or reasonable reason to set up his easel and paint but that’s exactly what his heart was urging him to do.
   Deep in his heart, he knew it was because of her, and he didn't even know her name or department. Who was she and why had she remained fixated on his brain all through the week? Not willing to examine it critically, he got up and got busy, selecting paints and brushes and other art materials he would need for the day, he packed them inside his knapsack and made sure all other items he needed were intact.

    He put on his work clothes, and as the first break of light streaked across the sky, he eased out of the room loaded down with bag, board, and table. He went to the exact location they met a week earlier and set up his easel.
   His body taut with anticipation, he went about his chores, made a selection of brushes, mixed the colours and with less attention he would have put into his work if it was classwork or a client’s work, Fred splashed colours on his board as he tried to capture the trees in the field.
   After thirty minutes of constantly looking behind his shoulder, Fred, berating himself for his stupidity wondered why a mere encounter with an unknown girl should be a source of emotional chaos in his life.
    Suddenly his body tingled and his toes curled excitedly, a sensation he never noticed before. He turned and saw her from a distance in sports gear.

***
   Ifeoma saw the lone figure in the distance and told herself to avert her eyes and walk straight to her hostel, but on the brink of taking the right turn towards her hostel, she looked up to steal a furtive glance, and as their eyes met, a shiver went through her body like an electric jolt.
   She was bent on ignoring him and the reaction of her body when he raised his hand towards her in greeting. Her footsteps faltered, she looked at him and then at her hostel gate, and against her will, her legs decided for her by walking towards him. Feeling betrayed by one of her body parts, her face tightened into a mask of anger. 

***
   Joy like he never experienced before surged through Fred's body as he watched her advancing with bounced determined steps as one walking towards a battlefield. Spitfire, as the word, echoed in his head a huge smile broke over his face. 

***
   Ifeoma sucked in her breath at the transformation, all the sharp angles of his face relaxed with the smile, he stood poised, tall and handsome; a picture of a male model. Heart-breaker, her head cautioned, but already there was a mutiny between her head and her heart, each was determined to go their separate ways. And even her body's treacherous reaction was an indication it wouldn't listen to her brain when it comes to him. 

***
   “Hi, I’m Fred.” He stretched out his right hand. “That’s if you wouldn’t mind having a splotch of colour on your hand.”
   Ifeoma hesitated for a second and thrust out her hand into his. Once again she felt the jolt, stronger and withdrew her hand hastily. He was invading her space consciously or unconsciously, and she was determined to find out why. 

   “You took off quite unexpectedly last week.” The smile on his face appeared stupid against her grim visage.
   “Do you come here every Saturday to paint, because apart from last week, I haven’t seen you here before?”
   The huskiness of her voice stirred Fred the more, her voice had none of the girly and flirtatious undertones of the girls who usually flocked around him. Stifling a smile, he asked. “Do you go for your gymnastic classes every Saturday morning?”
   A wry amusement glinted in her eyes. “You actually believed that?”
   “Do I have reasons to doubt you?” he looked her up suavely.
   She snorted. “Gymnastic, my foot.”
   "But seriously, weird things happen. With your dainty configuration, I wouldn't put it past you, you have the body for it and also an undertone of compact energy.”
   A body, wired like a firework that would go up in flames of passion with just a touch. His lips curved into a smile at his licentious thought.
   “Thanks, maybe I will consider taking it up for real.” She glanced at his canvas. “Last week you were so intense with your painting, today you’re relaxed.”
   He looked at his board, wet his brush, twirled it inside a colour palette and splashed it on the board in geometric strokes."Last week I have an assignment to submit on Monday morning. This week, the only reason I'm here is just to see you."
   Because he wasn’t looking at her, he didn’t see the alarm that jumped into her eyes. “Why are you here to see me?” Eyes narrowed, she waited for his answer.
   “Last week, you took off before we could be properly introduced…” he paused and turned to her. “We have an unfinished introduction to conclude.” He grinned. “I’m Fred Ibe, a part three student of Fine and Applied Art.”
   At her silence, he raised his brow and waited. Reluctantly she caved in. "I'm Ifeoma Jonathan, a first-year student of Secretarial Administration."
   Fresh meat. He hoped no guy had lay claim to her. There's always a mad rush every year by guys to acquire girlfriends from amongst the new students referred to as ‘fresh meat'. He grinned as his look turned to appraisal.
   "Yes, fresh meat," Ifeoma said reading his thought and look accurately.
   His grin widened. “Has any guy been territorial?”
   The appreciative gleam in his eyes made her voice hardened. “I was sent here by my parents to learn how to bang a typewriter and decode shorthand, not to bang guys or decode their lies.”
   His voice rang out in a deep, throaty male laugh. Another word, Feisty, popped into his head. As his thought roamed wild, his eyes roamed over her body, ‘bang’, how apt the comparison.
   His mind wandered into forbidden territory, as he wondered what it would be like to have her beneath him on a bed, his hands roaming over her body, her tight lips melting under his kiss and their bodies joined in a banging sensation. Just imagining the action gave him a hard-on. He shook his head to dispel the lustful picture his mind had conjured. 

   “I guess any guy who makes an attempt at toasting you will have his head roasted, even before the words come out of his mouth.”
   “Precisely! I’m glad you got the message loud and clear before you start scheming lines in your head.” Ifeoma said without a grain of smile on her face.
   His smile never wavered as he stared at her steadily. That’s my girl, his heart sang, he didn’t know where the line came from, right now he looked and thought like a man besotted. No woman had ever made his heart flipped; he had never had a compelling urge to possess a woman like he felt right now.
   Women fell into his laps in doves, and he had always taken his pick, enjoy the short rumble and tumble; short because none have been able to sustain his interest for long. His longest relationship lasted six months, not that he wanted it that way, but he discovered too late that Anastasia had long claws that were hard to unclasp. It took him months to pull her talons out of his life; she was beautiful but emotionally insecure, he got tired of assuaging her ego and breaking loose wasn’t as easy as he thought. He was just recovering from that experience.
   As he watched her walk away, he knew she belongs to him and he would go after her with every arsenal in his possession. His primordial instinct heightened at the thought of the chase ahead, the hunted had turned the hunter. A trickle of excitement ran down his spine. Gosh! Was he ready to make a fool of himself because of a woman? The stupid grin that broke over his face was answer enough. Insanity just knocked at his door and he was ready to go out of his way to embrace it happily and willingly.

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Fighting Emotion (A Novella))

Chapter One

Few meters to the school gate, Ifeoma trotted to a halt. With both hands on her waist, she took a deep breath, bent a little, twisted her waist to the right and to the left a couple of times and then straightened. Flexing both legs and hands outwardly, she started walking leisurely towards the campus gate.
Passing through the side entrance, she threw a cheery good morning to the gateman, who returned her greeting with a jaunty wave. The campus was astir; she could hear the hum and buzz of students though unseen. It was a Saturday; no morning lectures for most and so no early morning bustling activities at the entrance.

The few students she encountered were those coming back from an all-night party or an all-night vigil. As they walked briskly past her, she examined them and could tell from their dressings where each person had been to.

As she bounced forward, every pulse in her body vibrated with the energy gleaned from her morning jog. She wasn’t jogging to lose weight; she had no extra ounce of flesh around her dainty frame.
While a sprinter in her secondary school days, she relished the wheezy feeling and adrenaline rush that comes with running and the sound of air whooshing through her ears, like a lover's whisper, always thrill her body.

Her Saturday jogging exercise was a luxury she cherished so much when she could afford to indulge in it, it inebriated her spirit, eased off pent-up stress and put a spring on her life for the rest of the week.
Approaching the T-junction, leading, one to the hostel and the other to a small field beside the art studio, she spotted a lone figure, facing an easel, not unusual as many art students’ paint in the morning. As she got closer, she couldn’t tear her eyes away, there was something arresting and compelling about the rapid movement of his hand that made her bypassed the route to the female hostel and gravitated towards him. She stood behind him fascinated, as she watched him capture the rising sun on his canvas in rapid strokes of a brush.

“You like it?” His voice boomed out suddenly.
Startled, she asked. "Like what? Oh, your painting?”
Turning his head, he gave her a side glance, his brown eyes cringing at the edge. "What else do we have here?"

It took some seconds for her to recover from the cockiness in his voice to mutter an answer.  “It’s nice.”
"Yeah, I guess it is." His hand continued its rapid movement, while she stood behind him and wondered what on earth brought her there.

She took her eyes off the canvas to assess him. Tall and lanky with a slim waist tucked into a faded and paint-stained jeans trouser, and a small towel casually draped over his shoulder. With what she saw, she grudgingly had to admit there was a natural masculine elegance about him.
She was still gawking at him when he turned sideways to pick a brush from among several brushes scattered on a small foldable table within easy reach of his hand. Apart from brushes, there were paints, watercolours, a straw hat, a dark sunshade, an insulated water-bottle and a small bucket of water.
Angry with her fascination with him, she lifted her leg to leave when he spoke again.  "I can see you're in sports gears, practising for any Olympic competition?"
She could hear laughter in his voice. “Yes.” She answered indignantly.
“Which?” he asked casually.
“Gymnastics.”
His hand halted, slowly he turned, a mocking smile on his face. He started from the legs and looked at her way up. When their eyes met, Ifeoma lifted her brow and looked straight into his eyes audaciously.
***
 “Wow!” slipped out of his mouth and the smile etched stupidly on his face. Stripped of action and words by the fire in her eyes and her cheeky combat-ready stance, he shook his head and turned back to his work. No girl had ever made him hot and stupid before.
He knew the moment she walked away; he felt cold air in place of her warm presence behind him. Turning he watched her retreating back. A word jumped into his head, Spitfire.
***
Ifeoma sulked into her room without any cogent reason for her anger other than his over-confidence and pomposity; by her deduction. But was that enough to provoke an emotional paroxysm in her life? Or was it that his roguish manner and charm touched a chord in her body that has never been stroke before.
When she calmed down and felt normal again, she tried to push him behind her. However, his image and voice stayed within the periphery of her thoughts all through the week.

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