Chapter 8 - Chapter 8: Second-Hand

"Vuyi," I begin. "You following me?"

Her eyes trail down my body, checking me out as I do the same to her.

Her chestnut curls are piled on top of her head, and her clothes are drowning her figure. Dark lashes frame those pale honey-brown eyes, ringed darker at the rim, unusually light, the sort of eyes strangers stop and say something about. Her face doesn't show a stitch of makeup, minus . . . is that mustard on her chin?

She's centimetres from me, right where she barrelled into my chest, my hold keeping her steady. Without thinking, I use the pad of my thumb to softly wipe the yellow off her face. As I do, her mouth falls open, and her eyes dart to mine, holding my stare for a moment.

Vuyi clears her throat and takes a step back, away from me.

"Seems like you're following me," she retorts, keeping her eyes anywhere but on me as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"How am I following you?" I mirror her stubborn actions, crossing my arms the same way. "My best friends live here."

Finally, her eyes dart to mine, her head cocking in confusion.

"Thulani Sibisi," I explain. "His family lives in this building. Penthouse floor. But their lift is being worked on." I motion across the lobby, past the concierge desk and the biometric turnstile, to the Sibisis' private lift. The only one I use to avoid run-ins exactly like this one.

Realisation covers Vuyi's face. "His wife with the copper braids?"

Naledi's signature, those braids. "Naledi. Yeah."

Vuyi nods as if all the puzzle pieces are being put together for her.

"So, clearly, you're following me."

She scoffs. "I live here. If anyone's being a stalker, it certainly isn't me."