Chapter 17 Khloe #2
The romance of it. The intention. The feeling of being wanted and not just loved out of routine .
Kairo and I had fun on the rare times that we stepped out but by the time we got home he was exhausted from his word day and then the enjoyment after.
Responsible exhaustion. Understandable exhaustion.
But still… exhaustion. And there I was blushing over a fantasy that never came true.
I swallowed, aware of my own body reacting to his words.
“Anyway,” I said quickly, clearing my throat and screwing the polish top back on. “What you doing tonight since you’re kid-free?”
He laughed, noticing my attempt to pivot the conversation.
“I honestly don’t know. My son’s with my parents for the weekend,” he said. “They've been planning it all week. My mom already told me not to call unless it’s an emergency.”
I laughed. “She wants her baby to herself. My parents were the same way before mine became a sassy teen. Enjoy it because all she wants now is for them to take her shopping and back home to bother me.”
“Exactly,” he said. “So I might just relax. Watch a game. Probably take myself for a night ride since I haven’t in a while.”
There was another comfortable silence. And I realized I didn’t have anything else to say but I also didn’t want to hang up.
I loved that I didn’t need anything from him. No advice, fixing, and compromising. We just… liked talking. Which scared me more than anything else because our friendship felt like more, and it wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
I looked down at my finished toes, wiggling them slightly as they dried.
“Stacks?”
“Yeah?”
“…You ever realize you can miss a feeling you never actually had?”
He was quiet for a second before answering.
“All the time.”
I didn’t realize that I was in my head until he said my name again.
“Khloe.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re thinking too loud.”
I smiled faintly, staring at my products on my bathroom counter. “I think I’ve been doing that my whole life.”
“Yeah… you carry conversations in your head that no one else ever hears.”
“I just…” I hesitated, then sighed. “You ever imagine your life one way for so long that when it turns out different you don’t even know if you’re allowed to grieve it.”
“I love my life,” I continued quickly and defensively. “I do. I love my husband. I love my daughter. We’re stable. We’re safe. We’re… good.” I paused. “And that’s why nobody understands when I say I still feel lonely sometimes.”
“I hear people say all the time ‘at least he’s not cheating’… ‘at least he provides’… ‘at least you don’t struggle.’ And I agree,” I said. “I do appreciate a man that works hard. I do. But nobody talks about what it feels like being married to ambition.”
I swallowed, feeling my shoulders relax from the tension exiting my body.
“It’s like living with a man the world gets the best version of… and you get whatever energy is left.”
The words surprised even me once they came out.
“I spent my teens and twenties pregnant, breastfeeding, being a wife, studying, trying to be strong. Then I blinked and I’m in my thirties, wondering when I actually got to be a woman… not just a mother, wife, or someone full of responsibility.”
“I made my choices. I’ll never regret my child or my marriage. But… women change after kids. Our bodies change. Our minds change. Our wants change. And men… they just keep becoming who they were always going to be.”
I laughed weakly. “Sometimes I feel like I aged emotionally ten years while everyone else stayed twenty-two.”
He was so quiet on the other line that I almost thought the call dropped.
“You didn’t lose your youth,” he said. “You invested it.”
“A lot of people spend their prime searching for love and having fun,” he continued. “You spent yours building something. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to experience softness now.”
“You’re not wrong for wanting to feel chosen after being needed for so long,” he added. “There’s a difference.”
“I always thought love was going to feel like peace,” I admitted. “Not just responsibility.”
“Love is peace,” he said gently. “But partnership is work. The problem is when the work replaces the peace.”
“You ever dream about how it was supposed to be?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought love was going to be fireworks forever. Turns out it’s mostly timing. Two people trying to arrive at the same emotional place at the same time.”
I wiped under my eye before a tear could fall.
“I just wanted someone to look at me,” I whispered, “and not see everything I do for them… but just see me.”
“Khloe… being appreciated and being seen are two different hungers. One feeds your ego. The other feeds your soul.”
“The crazy part about life,” he added gently, “is that people can live full lives starving spiritually because everything else looks perfect.”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t want to ruin my life chasing a feeling,” I said.
“You’re not chasing a feeling,” he replied. “You’re trying to understand yourself again. Big difference.”
I leaned my head against the tub.
“Do you think love changes… or people just stop nurturing it?”
“Love doesn’t disappear,” he said. “It just waits wherever it was last watered.”
“Sometimes,” he continued, “the bravest thing a person can do isn’t leaving or staying… it’s admitting they still want to feel something deeper.”
I exhaled shakily. “Why does talking to you feel… relieving?” I asked.
“Because I’m not trying to fix your life or change you,” he said. “I’m just listening to your truth.”
I covered my mouth and screamed in my head because OMG, what a fucking man!
“And Khloe?”
“Yeah…”
“You’re not wrong for wanting romance in a life that only asks you to be responsible. Some hearts don’t need more — they just need depth.”
My eyes closed. I didn’t feel dramatic anymore for everything I’d been wanting for myself. I felt understood and it felt good as fuck!
“You know what… come roll with me tonight. I froze. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said calmly. “Come roll with me tonight. I want to show you a good time and get a good taste of partying in your twenties.”
My stomach was in knots.
“Stacks…” I stood up, pacing across the bathroom. “That’s— that’s different.”
“It won't be wild or anything crazy,” he said gently. “It’ll mostly be my close friends and family. You won’t have to worry about being seen or judged. Just… music, food, people laughing and having a good time.”
That made it worse somehow because it sounded normal.
I leaned against the counter. “What do I tell my girls?”
“Tell them the truth,” he said. “You finally got the house to yourself and want to enjoy it.”
I smacked my lips. “They’ll just invite themselves over.”
He laughed. “Aight… Uhh, hold on.”
I could hear him thinking. Then he said, “After covid, no one wanna be around any sickness. Body aches and a fever will make everybody stay the fuck away.”
I covered my mouth laughing. “That’s terrible.”
“But effective,” he replied. “And if you worried about being seen,” he added, “you can just park in my garage.”
I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the floor. I knew it was wrong. The conversations were already wrong. The kiss had crossed the line. A night out together… that was stepping over it. But my mind kept justifying it as just one night going out and having fun.
I hated how easily my thoughts started working for him instead of against him.
“I don’t do reckless and messy,” I said seriously, letting him know.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m doing everything intentional to make sure you stay in the clear. I’m the single one, remember.”
He was right. I realized what scared me wasn’t him. It was how badly I wanted to go.
I had never done anything spontaneous that wasn’t scheduled, practical, or family-approved. Every memory of my twenties felt like fun that had structure.
And there was a night I couldn’t plan. A version of me I’d never met.
If I said no… I’d always wonder. If I said yes… there was no pretending I didn’t choose it.
I closed my eyes.
“They won’t be back until late tomorrow evening …”
I didn’t know if I said that for him or for me.
“…okay.”
The response wasn’t loud but to my own ears, it was.
“What should I wear?”
“None of that fancy stuff. Be comfortable. I’m giving you a glimpse of my world.”
My stomach flipped and I almost threw up. From what Niv had told me… his world wasn’t mine. That scared me, but not enough to stop me.
The GPS displayed that I was less than a mile away when my nerves kicked into overdrive. The sun was starting to set, like the world was winding down and I was just stepping into something.
Stacks stood at the end of his driveway waiting, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting slightly to guide me forward.
“Straight… straight… a little more,” he said, walking backward as I pulled in.
I pressed the brake gently.
He nodded. “Perfect.”
Before I could even put the car fully in park, the garage door was already lowering behind me, sealing the vehicle in from the outside world.
I glanced over to the passenger seat at a small bag before tossing it into the backseat. I’d packed light toiletries and lounge clothes. Nothing crazy. Just in case we came back early and talked or watched something and I wanted to be comfortable.
I shoved it farther behind the seat because I didn’t want him thinking it was some spend-the-night-whore bag.
By the time I reached for the driver door, he beat me to it. The door opened and cool evening air rushed in.
I laughed softly. “Hey.”
He took my hand instead of answering first, pulling me up into a hug.
“Hey,” he said against me.
My heart was racing so fast it almost embarrassed me. A door opened and a hug shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t feel intentional… chosen… like he was actually glad I came.
We pulled apart and he looked at me slowly from my face down to my shoes.
“You look beautiful.”
I glanced down at myself and gave him a look. “Boy, please.”
He laughed. “What? You do.”
“Thank you.”
All I had on was a fitted tee, ripped jeans, and my Chanel sneakers.
He motioned toward the door guiding us inside. “Have you ate?”
“A little earlier.”
“Good,” he said. “I just cooked.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Cooked what?”
He laughed, hands lifting in surrender. “Hold on now. I ain’t a chef. But I can do a little something.”
I smiled, hoping he didn’t take offense. “No, not like that. I just… don’t know many men who cook outside of grilling.”
In my mind, though, it hit different. A man taking weight off his woman was attractive in the best way. Coming home mentally drained and dinner already handled? Clean kitchen? Peace waiting on you?
I don’t care how tired I am. I’m going to find the energy to fuck the shit out of him for that. That is top level foreplay.
He walked toward the kitchen. “Fried chicken and jambalaya.”
My stomach reacted before my mouth did.
“It smells good.”
“Thank you.”
He stepped closer and pulled me into another hug.
“Go sit,” he whispered in my ear. “I don’t want you drinking on an empty stomach.”
Before I could respond, his lips brushed lightly against the side of my neck landing with a full kiss.