by Lane Hart
“Vegetable Creole,” he answers, removing a pan with the blackened, burnt remains from the top of the stove with an oven mitt and placing it in the sink to run water over it.
“And what went wrong?”
“Oh, I think I must have misread the cook time from the recipe.” Leaning over the counter, Alex quietly studies a sheet of paper with a recipe handwritten on it. “Yeah, it says simmer on low for fifteen minutes, and I left it on high, while I was vacuuming…”
I try to suppress my grin, but it’s pointless, so I let it break free. He’s adorable in his slightly more than casual attire while failing at his attempt to try and do something sweet for me. The fact that he was cleaning up the apartment means that he cares what I think and wants to impress me.
“I’m not a big fan of green peppers anyway,” I lie while crinkling my nose just to make him feel better when I spot the chopped remains on the counter.
Chuckling good-naturedly, Alex says, “Then I guess it was a good thing it went up in flames.”
“It was,” I agree. “Besides, I haven’t had a thick, juicy burger in sooo long. My parents abhorred fast food when Abby and I were growing up, and now my mother is always telling me it’s bad for my arteries and waistline.”
Thinking about clogged arteries makes me think of my dad. I’ve barely seen him other than at dinner the night I met Kenneth. My father still doesn’t know that I’m aware of his heart attack. And other than his hair turning a little grayer he still looks like the same healthy man he’s always been.
“That’s ridiculous,” Alex says, coming over to place a hand on either side of my waist. “Nothing could be bad for these curves, so you should eat whatever the hell you want.”
“Aww, you’re just saying that to try and get me naked,” I tease while looking up to meet his greenish-silver eyes.
“I’m saying it because it’s the truth,” he responds, tightening his grip on me as he spins me around so that my back is braced on the counter. “But I can’t deny I want to get you naked too. If that’s not the secret phrase to make it happen then, please tell me what is.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to say anything in particular to make that happen,” I assure him as his hard body crowds mine, making my pulse race. “But for the record, ‘Let’s stay home tonight to watch the I Love Lucy marathon’ would work every single time.”
“Good to know,” Alex says as he lowers his lips to mine.
And boy does he kiss me.
His tongue is so persistent that my head falls back to give him full access to ravage my mouth. When his steel length presses into my stomach, I nearly combust with need. I want him to pick me up and fuck me right here on the kitchen counter. Okay, maybe not right behind me where the burners are…
Pressing my palms against Alex’s chest to separate us, I sniff the air and ask, “What’s that smell?”
“Burnt vegetables?”
“No, it’s something else, like when my hair burns on the curling iron. Oh shit!” I scream as I push Alex backward so I can get away from the stove.
Alex curses then he grabs a dish towel and starts smacking me in the back of the head with it as I run screaming around the kitchen.
My hair is on fire!
“Hold still!” he yells at me.
“Put it out!” I shout. “Put it out!”
Another whap of the cloth to my crown and Alex says, “There, I think I got it all.”
With another screech, I take off running to the bathroom to assess the damage. The black charred strands that are several inches up from the bottom of my normally brown locks are fairly obvious, unfortunately. At least the burnt area is below shoulder level, but it looks like I’ll be getting a haircut tomorrow.
“Whitney?” Alex calls from the other side of the bathroom door. “I’m so sorry. Apparently, I forgot to turn off the burner. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I call back because I know that’s what he wants to hear instead of the fact that I’m freaking out about having to chop off my long hair. Just when it got to the length that the big, soft curls looked awesome.
“How bad is it?” he asks as I wipe away the tears from underneath each eye.
“You like girls with crewcuts, right?” I ask him teasingly.
“Oh definitely. Those are so hot,” he answers right away without hesitation, making me smile.
Thankful for the hairband I keep on my wrist for emergencies, I pull all of my hair up off the back my neck and twirl the band around it several times, so I don’t have to look at it or think about it the rest of the night. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. At least the stitches from my forehead are gone.
Opening the bathroom door and finding Alex’s muscular frame taking up the entire opening, I ask, “Ready to go eat?”
“Are you seriously okay?” he questions, reaching for my chin to lift it up to his face.
“Yeah. It’s just hair, right?” I say.
“It was your long, beautiful hair, and I burned it up,” he replies.
I try to shrug nonchalantly. “It’ll grow back.”
“Are you sure you want to leave the apartment? Apparently, we have some serious bad luck.”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Just keep me away from open flames and porcelain.”
Alex chuckles softly and reaches up to rub his fingertips over the healing scar on my temple. “I promise to do my best to protect you from catching fire or needing stitches again the rest of the night.”
“The rest of the night?” I repeat with a raised eyebrow. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”
“What? No! I just meant the rest of the night, while we’re together,” he amends quickly.
“So you don’t want me to sleep here tonight?” I ask, fucking with him as I run a fingernail down his chest, following the line of buttons.
“I didn’t say that. I want you to stay, but only if you want to. I don’t expect it or anything.”
“Good,” I tell him with a smile.
His head falls in relief before he starts shaking it. “You…you are a handful.”
“If I recall correctly, I’m pretty sure it was two handfuls you and your mouth were enjoying the other night and into the morning,” I remind him as I slip past him and start down the hall toward the door.
“And so worth it,” he groans from behind me when he follows me to the car.
Chapter Fourteen
Alex
“Let me get two double cheeseburgers, two fries, and two drinks,” I tell the cashier at McDonald’s while Whitney grabs us a seat.
“That’ll be six forty-two,” the freckly kid tells me. I happily hand over one of my hard-earned tens for him to make change, then glance around to find where my cheap date decided to park herself. Of course, it takes less than a second to spot her. Whitney sticks out like a majestic queen sitting among common pig farmers in here. While completely out of place, she still looks relaxed in the plastic booth, one of her hands fidgeting with the hair pulled up on the top of her head in a messy bun.
Fuck, I hate that I was stupid enough to kiss her in front of the stove. Seeing her just felt so good after the long week that I wanted my lips on hers, my tongue in her mouth...
“Here you go,” the kid tells me, pushing a tray of our dinner toward me on the counter.
“Thanks,” I say before delivering the goods to my beautiful date. “Do you want me to fix your drink?” I ask Whitney when I set the tray down in front of her.
“Sure. Diet, please,” she says sweetly before taking one of the burgers and unwrapping it from the yellow paper. Without any delicacy whatsoever, Whitney crams it into her mouth and takes a huge bite.
“Mmmumm,” she says, which may have been the word yum before her eyes close and her face goes slack with utter satisfaction. Now if I could just be responsible for putting that look on her face tonight, I would be a very happy man.
Buying the food with money I earned and getting to hang out with her for a few hours isn’t bad as a consolation
prize if that doesn’t happen.
Once I grab our drinks and fix some little white cups of ketchup, I return to the table and dig into my own burger.
“Foockyeah,” I groan around a mouthful when the cheesy meat hits my taste buds.
“So good, right?” Whitney asks while cramming down some salty fries.
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing how terrible the processed food is for my body but not caring at the moment.
Finally swallowing, I tell her, “My dad never let me eat here growing up either.”
“Such a shame,” she commiserates. “But I guess if we had it all the time back then it wouldn’t taste as good for us now.”
“True,” I agree before going back for another bite of my burger. As soon as it’s down, I dip a handful of fries in ketchup and chomp on those.
“So what have you been up to this week?” I ask Whitney between bites since I don’t know much about her, like whether or not she has a job or goes to school.
“I went shopping for some new boots, but that’s about it,” she answers quickly with a shrug. “You?”
“Working...” I start. “Out.” For some reason, I don’t care if Whitney assumes I’m dirt poor, but I don’t want to admit to her that I’ve been waiting tables since it’s a job that’s so beneath a girl like her.
“Do you go to school or have a job?” I inquire while she keeps her eyes lowered to her fries.
“Nope.”
“Neither?” I ask after her rapid response.
“No. My grades weren’t good enough for what my parents called a ‘decent college,’ and I’m not good at anything, so there are no jobs I’ve been interested in.”
“Same here,” I admit. “I could’ve gone to college after high school I guess, but it seemed like a waste of time.”
“So, you’re just a fighter?” she asks, her emphasis on the word just causing me to wince. Her tone sounds judgmental, like cage fighting lacks importance and is such a waste of time. Which is the truth, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself. I’m twenty-four, and I know it’s time for me to probably move on to something worthwhile.
“I’ve been training for years, hoping for a chance at a championship belt, but that doesn’t seem very likely at this point in my life.”
“Then what do you think you’ll do next?” Whitney inquires.
“I dunno,” I reply honestly with a shrug. The truth is I don’t have to do anything after I make it to my birthday, but it would be nice to do something that I enjoy as much as fighting.
“Well, you have to have some life plan, right?” she continues to prod, her burger and fries forgotten for the time being like my answer is an extremely important one.
“You don’t have a plan, so why do I have to have one?” I ask somewhat defensively. The truth is that the future is a touchy subject for me. My father expects me to do something productive with my money and I have no idea what that is yet. It’s not like I could ever live up to his legacy no matter what I do.
“It’s different for me, but you’re a guy. How do you plan on supporting a wife or…or a family?”
“Whoa!” I exclaim, dropping my half-eaten burger and picking up a paper napkin to wipe off my hands. “Since there’s no wife or kids in my immediate future, I don’t think I need to worry about that.”
“So, you’re saying that you have no ambitions or goals in life? Just fighting?” Whitney asks, her forehead creased in confusion.
My teeth grind together at her tone and that word again. “Okay, I don’t particularly care for the way you keep saying ‘just fighting’ since that’s the only thing in my life I actually enjoy doing. So what if I’m not the best in the world. Does that mean I should give it up?”
“Well, yes, if it’s impossible to make a living from it,” Whitney argues while straightening her spine across the table from me.
“Who are you?” I ask. “My father?”
Scoffing, she says, “Do you like being poor, not having a car or a house to live in?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I tell her honestly, which is the truth. At first, it was difficult to get used to living in a small apartment and walking everywhere, but I adjusted. Then, I started to feel…free for the first time in life, not having anyone’s expectations hanging over me.
“I find that hard to believe,” Whitney mutters.
“At least I get to do whatever the fuck I want without anyone harping on me all day. Well, until now,” I grumble.
“Oh, well if you don’t like my harping, then maybe I should just go!” Whitney exclaims as she pushes the tray of food toward me.
“Maybe you should, because I’ve only known you for, like, two seconds and I don’t need your lectures,” I snap.
Immediately, I want to take the words back when Whitney gets up and storms her cute ass right out the door, not just because she’s my ride home, but because maybe I was a little out of line. It’s just her questions were the same ones I used to get ten times a day from my dad, making me feel like shit because I had no motivation or dreams other than my not so pragmatic cage fighting.
Sliding out of the booth, I race toward the exit and open it just as Whitney gets to her car.
“Wait!” I call out to her.
“You can walk home,” she says to me over the top of the red convertible.
“Fine, but can I at least apologize before you leave?” I ask her as I round the front of the Audi.
Whitney hesitates for a moment, and I’m certain she’s going to abandon me outside the fast food joint. Thankfully, she decides to turn around and face me with her arms crossed over her chest instead. The way she purses her lips and looks so indignant is pretty hot.
“Look, I know I need to get my shit together, and I’m trying,” I assure her. “But I can promise you that until I figure that out, I’m not going to end up homeless or whatever it is you think will happen to me.”
I wait not so patiently for her response. Eventually, she lowers her topaz eyes to the ground and says, “You were right. We haven’t known each other very long, and it’s none of my business what you want to do with your life.”
“I don’t want you to bail on me before we have a chance to get to know each other,” I tell her honestly. “And right now, I have enough cash in my wallet to buy you anything on the dessert menu you want. So, what do you say we go back inside, get some ice cream, and talk a little more?”
Whitney chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before she looks up and asks, “Any dessert I want?”
“Whatever you would like, it’s yours. Hell, we can splurge and get two if you want,” I tell her with a grin because I know I have her.
“In that case, I want a hot fudge sundae with a chocolate chip cookie to crumble on top of it,” she declares so vehemently that I can’t help but laugh out loud.
“Done,” I tell her, holding out my right hand palm up, hoping she’ll take it.
She only hesitates a moment before she accepts, placing her much smaller, daintier hand in mine.
The simple skin to skin contact is sweet and innocent, but it still causes warmth to spread through me like I’ve never felt before. Have I ever just held a girl’s hand? Not that I can remember.
Grabbing the door handle with my left hand, I hold it open for Whitney to go through first. “After you.”
“Thanks,” she says on the way past without releasing her grip on me. She even stands next to me at the cash register as I order two of both requested items. When it’s time to pay, I have to let go of her hand to pull out my wallet and the three dollars and change for our dessert.
“Have a good night,” the kid at the register says when he places our ice cream and cookies on another tray with a pair of spoons.
I really hope it will be from here on out.
Chapter Fifteen
Whitney
Alex sits quietly across from me as we both devour our chocolate chip sundaes. I haven’t figured out what to say either.
I feel stupid for freaking out when he said he didn’t have any immediate plans for a lucrative future. Even though we haven’t known each other long, I like him. A lot. But I don’t want to waste my time with someone who slacks off each day at the gym rather than going to work and earning a decent living. I only have a few dreams that I hold onto since my mother has told me for years that I’m not smart enough to get by on my own so I better marry rich. It wouldn’t take a rich man to give me a marriage, home of our own, and children. Just one who works hard and wants to put in the effort needed to support us.
While I would never say that every woman’s place is in the home, it’s where I want mine to be because I want kids, at least two, and I want to raise them without having to juggle a job as well. Even my sister Abby, who runs her own wedding planning business, wishes she was home with Eden more. She loves her job, but I can see how much she regrets having to leave Eden with a babysitter, especially while she’s so young.
I’ve never been good at anything in my entire life, but I think I would be a great mother. Besides, I’ve had twenty-two years of experiencing what not to do. As long as I do the complete opposite of everything my mom did while raising me and Abby, I should be amazing at it.
The side door of the restaurant suddenly opens with customers coming in, making me shiver as I down the first half of my sundae.
“Are you cold?” Alex asks from across the table.
“I should’ve brought a jacket,” I admit. In North Carolina, the fall days can be warm at sixty degrees, but at night the temperature drops fast, ending up below freezing.
“Me too,” Alex agrees, putting his plastic spoon down to rub his palms up and down the sleeves of his thin button down. Sheesh, he’s probably colder than me.
Suddenly scooting out of the booth, he gets to his feet and then slides into my side, pressing his body against the side of mine.
“There, we can warm each other up,” he says while putting his arm around my shoulders to pull me closer.
And, wow, he is nice and toasty, making me want to snuggle in closer to his broad chest. So I do for a moment. But the chocolate syrup and cookies mixed with vanilla ice cream is too tempting. I have to spoon in another mouthful.
