Chapter 14
Riley
I’m going to be good and keep the music in my ears. He’s trying to be kind, right? He’s been less grouchy, and he laughed. Sorta. I’ll count it. I don’t understand how a man with a laugh like that doesn’t do it more often.
Oh, I know—because if he fucking does, all the panties in a ten mile radius would melt off people’s asses.
I can guarantee it. I’ve never met anyone who walks around with as much sex appeal as that man, and he doesn’t even try.
Mom was always talking about how bad boys are intriguing and whatnot, and it never did it for me, but this?
A grumpy grown man, however old he is? I can see it.
I can feel it. I had to all but squeeze my thighs in search of some friction when that man’s onyx eyes were devoured me earlier.
Either that, or he was extremely annoyed at my choice of clothing. Can’t tell which one.
Aly it’s clear as day, even though with shame invading his body.
He stretches his calloused hand, and, in one quick swoop, I’m vertical. His intense stare reaches parts of my body he has never touched. “What are you doing here?”
“I knocked and knocked, but I figured your headphones were in. Your door was open, and I just wanted to let you know I brought you this.”
I didn’t even notice the plate of food in his hand.
“You can’t be leaving your door open.” He walked into my cabin without permission, and he’s scolding me over the front door?
Of course he is.
“And you can’t be going into people’s cabins without permission.” I cross my arms over my chest, covering my now pebbled nipples. The effect he has on me is bigger than I can deny. I hate it, considering there’s nothing we can do about it.
“What is that?”
“Asopao,” he says.
“Ahsoh what?”
“Ah-soh-pah-oh,” he adds. “It’s a family recipe.”
“And you just whipped that up?”
He lets out a sound I can’t decipher, like half the things this man says—lost in translation in my same language, harder when he says things like that. Where did he even come from?
“I had leftovers.”
“I had dinner,” I reply.
“You had crackers.”
“Girl dinner.” He pinches his nose in frustration. I love getting a rise out of this man.
He’s mustering patience from somewhere deep within him, making me fight the urge to bust out a laugh. “Again, crackers are not dinner.”
“Same, same,” I reply.
He shakes his head. “At the risk of you calling me daddy again—which I hate, by the way. I’m nobody’s father—”
But you can be my daddy, I want to say, but I don’t. Good job, impulse control, for working for once in your life.
“—certainly not yours. Crackers are not enough food for dinner. You need protein and something green. Fat too.”
“And who are you, Dr. Atkins?”
“I don’t know who that is, and no. I’m a man who has seen his fair share of crashing over diets that don’t give the body enough of what it needs.”
Well damn.
“Listen, I’m sure you mean well, but I really hate it when people tell me what my body needs.”
Suddenly, this conversation has a different undertone.
Yes, the food is a trigger, and every comment that comes with it.
With the whole you’re eating too much, you’re not eating enough, too much bread, not enough vegetables, you’re so small, you’re getting big, when in the end, it’s nobody’s business what I put in my body.
“Hey,” he whispers, placing his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out judgmental.” His sincere tone carries a softness I wasn’t expecting. And he’s right. He did come across as judgmental.
“I just got worried, and I had extra food. Nothing more than that.” He looks around, letting out a sigh of resignation. “I can set it in your kitchen on my way out. Have a good night.”
Well, now I feel like an asshole. “My bad. Sorry I snapped at you. I forgot to eat my whole life, and it was always a pressure point with my parents. One more thing I always got in trouble about.” He blinks, acknowledging me.
“Never mind. I’m done here either way, and that was nice of you.
Would you sit with me while I eat this and explain what it is? ”
“No need. Really.” He looks almost wounded, like a dog that’s all bark and no bite. Aww, sweet Dom might just be a very rough-around-the-edges puppy. What else are you hiding inside of that armor you’ve built around yourself, Dom?
“No, no, I insist.”
I follow him down the stairs until he sets the plate on the kitchen island. I grab two spoons and two forks from the drawer on the right. “I didn’t know which one we would need.”
“A spoon is best, but I’m not eating this. You are.”
“You can’t show up here at ten thirty pm with food and expect me to eat by myself. Plus, you need to explain what this is.” I dip my head, removing the plastic wrap and taking in the mix of spices hitting my nostrils at once.
Damn, that smells so, so good. “Yum!”
I dig my spoon in, taking some sauce and what seems like rice and peas and some sort of meat. I take a bite, and although it looks like stew, it doesn’t taste like it at all. It’s thick and rich, like nothing I’ve ever had before.
“What the heck is this?” I ask Dom, taking another bite.
“I told you, asopao.”
“But what even is that?”
“It’s like soupy rice, the best way to describe it.”
“It’s like a hug in the shape of a dish,” I add, digging back into my bowl. It’s so good. I can feel his gaze on me, but I don’t actually care. He can judge all he wants, but this is damn good. “It’s better than crackers, that’s for sure.”
He laughs, deeper than the last time he let his guard down. This one is like rolling thunder, deep within his soul, like he’s been keeping it hidden for a long time but he couldn’t help to finally let it out. “Yes, because crackers are a snack. This is a meal.”
“Sure.” I find a piece of chicken for sure. Is there more than one type of meat here? In actuality, I don’t care. I’m loving this.
“My mom refers to this like you did, like a hug.”
“Do you have a good relationship with her?” Boundaries went out the window when he brought me this. I feel like we need to be on a first name basis, me and his mom, after she taught this man how to make the most perfect dish to ever exist.
“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, you just compared me to her, so I wanted to make sure it was a good thing, you know? I can promise you, I won’t keep you awake anymore if you promise to bring me food that tastes like this next time you cook it.”
A brief flash of amusement flashes behind his eyes, buried quickly when he realizes I noticed it. “I didn’t compare you to her. I just said you used the same phrase. You two are polar opposites, though.”
Well, shit. Okay. Good relationship with her, which means he probably hates me.
“In a good way,” he adds, snapping me from my inner spiral. “And to answer your first question, it's chicken soup with rice. I make it when it rains if I have the ingredients. They’re hard to come by, but Judy sometimes gets them from her supplier, so I batch cook it. I always bring her some.”
“Where is this dish even from?” I ask, wanting to smack myself in the head.
“From Puerto Rico.” There’s pride in the way he says it, as if he carries it in his veins.
“Is your mom Puerto Rican?” I ask.
“Yes, or Boricua, if you ask her.”
“What does that mean?” I’m not going to lie to him and pretend I know more than what I do about Puerto Rico. It’s sad that that’s the case, but it’s true.
“It means she’s Puerto Rican. It derives from the Taino name the island had.”
Interesting. “Tainos are the natives from there, right?”
He nods. Okay, I’m not as uncultured as I thought then.
“Is your dad from there too?”
He shakes his head. “No, my dad is Dominican.”
“Neighbors!” I shout, and he smiles. “Does the Dominican Republic have a Taino name too?”
He studies me from across the table, as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. The lamplight carves harsh shadows into the questioning lines around his eyes. “Yes. Quisqueya, so my dad would say he’s quisqueyano hasta la tambora.”
“Your Spanish is beautiful.” It is, and for the love of everything that’s holy, I hope this man has major flaws, because what I thought was his bad attitude is turning into an alluring edge, making him more appealing, and I like it waaaay too much.
“What does hasta la tambora mean? I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions. ”