Chapter Four
“C’mon so I can feed you. You’ll fuck around and smoke the day away if I left you.” He tapped me on my shoulder, motioning for me to stand up.
“Okay.” I passed him the cigar, and he toked from it then stood up, towering over me and clasped my hand around his and led me out.
After locking up the cigar room, I trailed upstairs and into the kitchen after him. He held onto my hand as if I might venture off anywhere else inside the house.
The kitchen was big and beautiful. There was an island in the middle with huge countertop space that I loved more than anything else. On top of the island were vegetables, bell peppers, onions, and a cutting board.
"What's for dinner?" I questioned, leaning against the island. The coolness wafted over my arms.
"You said you can cook, right?" He glanced back at me with a smirk.
"Are you putting me to the test?"
"Maybe."
"You may call my food trash, and I don't have time for that kind of humiliation. I should've opted for the chef instead."
"Nah," he walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, then twisted the cap. "I wouldn't do that to you." He stated, before gulping down the beverage. "This is your world. I'm just living in it."
Teasingly, I tapped the side of my cheek, giving him an inquisitive look, deciding what I could whip up quickly for both of them.
"Do you like meatloaf?" I asked hesitantly.
"You mean ground beef cake," he grinned, making me release a loud cackle.
"Ground beef cake, Syx? Out of all the things you could've said."
He shrugged as he twisted the cap back on the water bottle. "That's what it is to me."
"Then I won't make it."
"I ain't say I don't like it, but that's what I call it."
Shaking my head, I grabbed the cutting board and knife so I could wash them off. Then I rinsed the bell peppers in vinegar before cutting them. Syx grabbed some ground turkey and saltine crackers and placed them on the countertop.
Together we worked in comfortable silence for a while. Despite my nerves, I found herself relaxing in the midst of the rain and thunder. There was something calming about his presence. He moved with such grace and confidence, and he didn't try to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter.
"So," he spoke up, snatching me out of my thoughts. "What do you do for work?"
"I'm a college professor," I responded proudly.
"Oh," he chuckled lowly. "She's fine and smart."
"I am."
"How long have you been married?" he asked, switching the topic now, making me choke on my spit.
"Huh," I glanced up at him from chopping the bell peppers. "I didn't tell you I was married. I told you I was divorced. Did you forget that?"
He stabbed the air with the knife in his hand, pointing at my ring finger.
Nothing was there. That meant he was paying attention to every little detail, and all of my flaws were probably sticking out like a sore thumb now.
Snatching my eyes away from him, I glanced at my finger then held my hand in the air with a disgusted look written on my face because once upon a time, a frog kissed me and put a ring on it.
"The faint tan line on your finger. Unless you wear a promise ring there and chose not to wear it tonight. I know women who still wear their wedding rings because their trophies. Ain’t shit wrong with that. You’re getting’ offended?”
"Oh, shit," I murmured, then swiped the back of my hand along the fabric of my dress as if that would make it disappear. "I don’t wear it anymore.”
His face scrunched up in confusion, but I noticed the relief that wavered on his face that he tried to play off. "Will I be in your business if I ask why?"
I scoffed because he was being sarcastic. By the end of the night his fingers might be thrusting in and out of me as he licked and sucked my flesh, being a mere stranger, so telling him about my divorce wasn't personal at all.
"He cheated," I shrugged. "Don't act like you don't know him though."
His brow rose and he stopped chopping the onion. "Know who? Your ex-husband?"
"Malcolm Stevens," I said plainly.
"The football player?" he questioned without a glimmer of joy.
"That's him."
"I know of him, but I ain't no fan," he retorted. "You had your last name changed?"
"No. I kept it. I didn't want to feel like a dog on a leash. Trust me, when I mentioned it to him, he was against it for a long time and so were his parents, mainly his father, but there was nothing he could do. Of course, my father was happy because he doesn’t have sons to pass down his legacy."
"Was he not your dream guy?"
I shook my head as I ripped her eyes away from him and continued chopping the bell peppers.
"I thought he was, but God had different plans.
You know, most men carry a legacy of bullshit, and I truly believe cheating is hereditary.
His great-grandparents raised a legacy of ain't-shit ass niggas," I spat.
"So, you're scorned?"
"Nope, I'm free," I retorted.
A wave of annoyance came over me, so I stopped chopping the onions and placed my knife on the counter, causing it to clank against the cutting board.
"Do you have some wine? I need wine. Do I have to go to the cellar and get it?"
"Did I upset you by mentioning something you fought hard to get over, Nyne?" he questioned boldly.
"I just don't like talking about a fuck nigga, if that's okay with you," I snapped.
"Then we ain't got to talk about a fuck nigga." He stopped chopping the onion and staggered around the kitchen, walking past me to head back to the wine cellar.
I don’t know why, but for some reason bringing up Malcolm annoyed me.
I hated his existence. I’d already healed from that part of my life, but that didn't mean I wanted to keep mentioning him.
It was bad enough I was always getting tagged in bullshit concerning him every other day, and that shit drove me to drink.
Syx returned and began pouring both of us glasses, but he filled hers to the rim, assuming I needed it, and his assumptions were right.
"By all means, I ain't mean to upset you, Nyne, but I can tell there are certain parts of your past that you haven't healed from." He said it and sent a kiss to the side of my jaw.
"Maybe not," I shrugged nonchalantly. "But that's not what I'm here for," I retorted as I gulped the wine, savoring the bitter taste, then popped my tongue.
Awkward silence filled the room between us. It was so heavy you couldn't slice it with a knife. We moved around the kitchen, brushing past each other, moving in sync, cooking dinner as if the day had exhausted us, until I spoke up with an apology.
"I'm sorry, Syx—"
"You don't have to apologize, baby," he spoke gently. "I get it."
"I shouldn't have come off so mean," I reiterated. “You were only asking a question.”
"You weren't mean. It was me who probed around in your business. I shouldn't have done that. I was out of my league."
"But have you ever felt so in love with someone that your heart beats at the same time as theirs and you crave them, and when you're not with them, only for a minute, you feel the world shift?"
He shook his head. "I ain't never been in love, Nyne."
"Well I was, and it hurts. Love isn't supposed to feel like that." I frowned as I took another sip. My face was so scrunched up, I could feel my nerves shaking.
"That's why I ain't never been in love, because it makes you feel like that. I'll go crazy if a woman ever played with my feelings like that... fuck around and catch a murder charge."
"I should've." I muttered under my breath.
"Then you wouldn't be here," he mentioned. "Don't let that fuck nigga rob you of your happiness, Nyne."
It had been a while since the meatloaf went into the oven. I set the timer to prevent overcooking; subsequently, our only remaining task was preparing the side dishes. I was peeling potatoes to make them from scratch.
I scoffed and replied, "I won't."
The feel of his hands brushing up against my skin made all of my anger wilt away.
Applying gentle force, he grabbed the cusp of my chin and forced me to look over at him because for the past fifteen minutes I hadn't.
Now I was left with no choice but to do so.
For a millisecond, his coffee brown eyes played ping pong with my tawny colored ones.
"Promise me," he commanded.
Parting my lips to speak, I muttered, "I promise."
"For the next two weeks, it's all about you... all about us. Bury that nigga in the ground, love. He ain't worth robbing you of your happiness no more." He frowned as if all of my pain had transformed from me to him.
After he spoke, he still gazed into my eyes with a serious expression etched on his handsome face, peering into my soul and examining my flaws on display like they were under a microscope. Slowly he began to caress my chin before pulling away.
"I want you to leave here loving yourself.
When all of this is over, Nyne—because it will be—I want you to feel satisfied knowing you're worth the type of love that you crave.
All it takes is the right man to treat you like his treasure.
Niggas ain't born with that gift and that ain't your fault, baby. "
He stared into my soul, deeper, then pulled away, taking my breath right along with him.
"And you do?" I retorted, wanting to know more of his demeanor than what he was leading on with.
"On what terms?" he inquired as he took a drink from his glass of wine while leaning against the countertop, only inches away from me.
"My guess is that you're single because of your job occupation, or are you too much of a hoe to believe in monogamy?"
His brows raised as I waited for his answer. "Keep it real," I encouraged him.
He chuckled. "It ain't got shit to do with me not believing in monogamy.
I was raised in a two-parent household. Before my grandfather died, he and my grandmother were together for years.
I just ain't never met a woman who's able to handle my occupation without being selfish and wanting me to quit. "