Chapter 10 #2
Instead of saying anything, she snatched her bag and headed out of the kitchen. When she got to the couch, she cut her eyes at me and did a double take.
“You’re the girl from the pictures. The one everyone thinks he’s in a relationship with.” Her voice cracked.
I chose not to respond because this was his problem... not mine.
“Did he tell you that he was fucking me?” she smirked.
“You want a consolation prize?” I cocked my head to the side.
She looked between me and Titan and turned to leave. He shut the door behind her and came back to join me on the couch.
“My bad about that shit. That was my chef. She was supposed to come over and cook for us. I’ain know she was gone be in her gah damn feelings,” he huffed.
“I’on know why you didn’t. You were fucking on her then you have another woman in your space comfortably and totally disregarded her feelings. She’s definitely calling Urban Spill before she makes it to her car,” I joked.
“Not unless she wants a defamation and breach of contract lawsuit... let her go right ahead.” He shrugged.
“You got it all figured out, huh?” I smirked.
“I do, and I’m hungry. You think you can hook your boy up with whatever she brought in here?” He grinned.
“She left the groceries?”
“Hell yeah. I paid for that shit, anyway.” He frowned like I’d offended him.
Shaking my head, I got up from the couch with him following me into the kitchen. He helped me take the food out of the bag and saw that she’d purchased chicken breasts and fresh broccoli. I could make that work.
“Do you have any seasonings here?” I asked as I went to the sink to wash my hands.
“Yeah... it’s some shit in that drawer next to the stove,” he pointed out.
I went to where he pointed and opened the drawer to find an array of seasonings stored away neatly and alphabetically.
“At least the hoe had taste,” I murmured.
I heard Titan laugh.
“You petty as fuck Tink.”
After I chose my seasonings, I placed them on the counter and got to work.
It took me no time to clean and season the chicken breast and do the same to the baby potatoes.
I cut those up and drizzled the olive oil on them and seasoned them with a garlic butter seasoning and placed them in the oven with the chicken.
Both of those would be done around the same time.
I’d steam the broccoli once those two are almost done. Now, I was cleaning up my mess.
“You want something to drink? My sister keeps shit here, so she might have that girlie shit stashed somewhere in here,” he offered.
“Girlie shit? Macho much?” I clamored.
“Nah, I just know y’all only drink wine, tequila or some fruity ass shit,” he countered.
“And do,” I laughed. “I’ll take a glass of wine, though.”
He nodded and went to the small bar area on the opposite wall, by the table. He grabbed a bottle of Stella Rosa Moscato d’Asti and a glass. I noticed he only had one glass when he returned.
“You’re not drinking?” I asked.
“Not that sweet shit.” He frowned as he poured my drink.
Once he set the bottle down, he was back by my side.
“So, tell me something I’on know about you Tink.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his bare chest.
I was stuck for a minute before I spoke.
“Uhm... my birthday is August twenty-third. My favorite color is orange, and I have to sleep with the TV on,” I laughed, and so did he.
“Get the fuck outta here. I know your little mean ass ain’t scared of the dark,” he chuckled.
“I am not, but I have to have the background noise or I’ll toss all night.” I shrugged.
“Why not turn on some music then?” he asked.
“It’s not the same.”
“Scary ass.” He smirked.
“Okay, Mr. Franchise. Tell me something I’on know about you.”
I turned to him, and he was just staring at me.
“My favorite color is blue. I’m fluent in French. I had to learn that shit when I lived in Montmorenci. Them muthafuckas over there swear by it.” He took a swig of the beer he had.
“You speak French?” To say I was shocked was an understatement.
“Mhm,” was his response.
“Say something then,” I challenged.
He smirked before placing his bottle on the counter and standing in front of me. He placed each of his brawny arms on the side of me, locking me between him and the counter while he peered down at me with his hair falling in his face.
“Si je le fais, tu vas tomber amoureuse de moi. (If I do, you’ll fall in love with me.)” He gave me a smoldering look that caused my breath to hitch. I was saved by the kitchen timer going off.
I cleared my throat. “I-I need to steam the broccoli.”
We never broke eye contact as he backed up and let me finish dinner.
“When is your birthday?” I asked.
“November second,” he replied nonchalantly.
“That’s in a few weeks. What do you have planned?”
“Nothing. I got a game the day before so I’ll probably just chill or some shit.” He shrugged.
I nodded.
Once everything was done, we sat at the counter and ate while we talked. We talked about my coming to a few games, and although I was hesitant, I agreed. He told me about his parents’ relationship, and I thought it was weird, but that wasn’t my business.
By the time we finished eating and talking, it was after one in the morning. He tried to get me to stay, but against how I was feeling... I declined.
“Man, it’s late. You’on need to be driving this late,” he fussed.
I was already at my car, so he was just wasting his breath.
“You forgot I work at a strip club? I leave work later than this some nights,” I countered.
I can tell he didn’t like it, but he’d be alright.
“Aight, man. You better let me know when you get home, Tink. I’ain playing either,” he fussed.
“I will,” I simpered.
Instead of responding right away, he just looked at me for a few seconds before he cupped my chin and leaned down and kissed me. It was soft yet demanding.
“Goodnight, Tink,” he said as I got inside my car.
I got in and left the parking garage and noticed he was still watching me.
What the hell just happened?