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For Sinovuyo Ndamase and Lwandile Marhudulu, two of my greatest friends.
Prologue
A flat tyre. Great!
Hlobo sighed, glaring at the useless thing. There was nothing more irritating than being stuck beside the road, helpless. What a way to start the day! How was she going to take off this tyre and fit another? She had never done anything like that in her life. It was thirty minutes already, but her insurance company had not showed up yet for roadside assistance.
Hlobo glanced at her wristwatch. It was 8:30am, meaning she was going to be late for the boardroom meeting.
Just then, her cellphone rang. She went to get it from her car, where it was lying in her bag on the passenger seat.
“Hlobo Sondlo speaking,” she answered.
It was her friend, the receptionist from work, asking where she was.
“I don’t think I’ll make the meeting, Nonhlanhla. Please tell Steve that I have a flat tyre,” she explained.
“All right then. I’ll tell him. Do you need help, though? Should I send someone . . .” But Hlobo was no longer paying much attention.
A black sports car had just pulled over on her side of the road. Hlobo watched as the door opened. As if in slow motion, a tall, dark figure rose out of the vehicle. She was immediately startled by the compelling masculinity of the man walking towards her. His legs were bronze and powerful, their muscularity revealed by the training shorts he was wearing.
“I have to go, Nonhlanhla. Bye,” said Hlobo, cutting the call short.
“Hey,” he said casually, his voice surprisingly musical for such a well-built man. “You need help?”
Hlobo nodded her head, her mouth dry from astonishment. This was probably the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. He had dreadlocks framing a face that was glowing in the soft morning sun.
“Indeed I need help,” replied Hlobo, her eyes all over him. “Do you know how to change a tyre?”
He eyed her as if she had asked whether the sky was blue. “Uh-huh, I sure do,” he replied.
Minutes later Hlobo watched as the stranger changed the tyre, his muscles contracting and relaxing as he worked.
She most certainly was enjoying the view; her eyes were observing and admiring every move he made. There was only one word to describe him – hunk! He was like a powerful and well-oiled machine, made from sheer steel and toughness. She guessed that he was a bodybuilder, or why else would he be so strongly built? When he was bending down, she couldn’t help but gaze at his beautiful physique. She boldly stared at him, biting her lower lip and enjoying every moment of the experience.
“Okay, then. I’m done,” he told her as he got up – much too soon.
“Thanks a lot. I don’t know how I could ever repay you,” she remarked. There was a boyish charm about him, now that she got closer to him. “Where were you going?” she asked, once more noticing the shorts he was wearing, the trainers and the T-shirt that clung tightly to him, showing off his powerful chest and arms.
“I’m on my way to a rugby practice,” he explained, towering over Hlobo. He could sweep her up with ease or crush her against his powerful chest.
“Oh, I hope I didn’t make you late,” she apologised, although her heart was glad to have set eyes on him.
“Oh, it’s okay. The coach will understand,” he said gently. “Anyway, I actually needed a good excuse to ditch today’s practice,” he added wryly.
Hlobo’s eyes immediately went to his mouth as it curved into a smile. “But you’re still going to go, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Not if you come and have coffee with me.”
They looked at each other for a moment, as if time had come to a standstill. Was he asking her out? She looked at him, surprised, with her eyebrows arched.
“I hardly know you. How can you ask me for coffee?” she asked. So she’d been right when she’d got the impression earlier that this hunk was sure of himself. The way he had walked towards her, all muscles and confidence. Now he had just confirmed Hlobo’s suspicions.
“The name is Sizwe Bala. I’m a professional rugby player, for the Bulls,” he introduced himself.
Hlobo didn’t know anything about rugby – or any other sport, for that matter. Her passion was accounting, and she worked for a firm called SRB&T Accountants. Her curly black hair was in a ponytail and her black-rimmed glasses revealed her for the intellectual she was. Back in high school she had always been teased because she actually enjoyed the stuff involved in the recording of transactions in journals and balancing amounts. So sport, especially rugby, was the last thing she would ever be interested in.
“I’m Hlobo Sondlo. Nice to meet you, Sizwe. Still, just because I know your name doesn’t mean I know you,” she said, playing hard to get.
Cars, taxis and other modes of Joburg transport kept whizzing by. But to Hlobo it felt as if she and Sizwe were the only two people on earth. It was unbelievable, the way she found herself drawn to him.
“If you’ll have coffee with me, I promise to tell you everything about myself. Plus, that will give me a chance to get to know everything about you.”
It wasn’t his flair for logical reasoning that was so persuasive but his looks. He had a boyish, clean face with almost no trace of a beard at all. And when he smiled, his dimples kept appearing, making him even cuter.
“So what do you say?” he enquired, running his hand through his dreadlocks.
Hlobo went quiet for a moment, her brown eyes staring into his. He was smiling, awfully sure of himself and that she would agree to join him for coffee.
But Hlobo declined with a smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t have coffee with you.” Her smile widened when she saw his surprised expression.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Hlobo rolled her eyes. “I’m sure,” she replied in amusement. “I have to go to work. Thanks again for changing my tyre.”
“No problem,” he said, looking disappointed.
Oh, he’ll get over it, Hlobo thought to herself. He was a gorgeous man. She was sure he could get any woman with a snap of the finger. Just not her.
She got into her car and started it. She waved goodbye and left him standing there, stunned.
* * *
After parking outside the offices of SRB&T Accountants, Hlobo quickly ran towards the entrance.
“Hello, Nonhlanhla,” she said, passing the receptionist behind her desk and heading for the lift. “Is the meeting still on?”
“I think so. But I’m not sure.”
