Chapter Three
At a quarter past ten before I stopped reading financial paperwork on the bar. My eyes were starting to cross with the verbiage and numbers. I worried about profit loss and what I'd actually lose if I sold it to a person trying to lowball me. A hasty decision could cost me hundreds of thousands. I wanted to explore all avenues, so I set up for appraisers to come check the place out. Of course, the location of the business was a positive, and I could actually get back profit. Too many choices, especially when I teetered on the fence about putting the bar on the market at all. A clean slate is what I needed. I just wasn't sure I wanted it that pristine. I would have to start over in life and find a source of income to match what I currently brought home. Not an easy feat, but money meant shit if my life stayed in chaos. I didn't want to make any definite decisions until I thought it over immensely.
I gathered up my plate with all my chicken bones in it and rose up off the bed. As tempting as it had been to leave the dirty dish on the floor, If Aunt Celeste saw the plate anywhere other than the dishwasher, she'd rip my head off. Plus, I remembered there was an apple pie with my name on it. I took one last glance at my black-screened phone before I turned away and marched up the stairs. All my texts to Amy had gone unanswered. I even told her I had gotten out of rehab and went to Macon to sort shit out and plan my future. Judging by what I had been privy to on her social media profiles, she was still in Tennessee, and her recent profile pictures looked…happy. I was ready for a new life too, and I hoped she stayed clean. We could do this shit together and do it right for once. I winced at that thought after it flittered into my mind.
We failed so many times before, so who's to say this time would be any different?
I couldn't think like that, whatever fate had in store for us, it was destined. I had to believe, together or apart, we'd grown from our mistakes and could live healthy lives. I needed to know if she still wanted to try, we always said we would.
I opened the squeaky door to the kitchen to find Nadia sitting at the table with her phone in hand and a huge-ass piece of pie in front of her. My pie. She glanced at me, then back at her phone as she forked up a piece of apple filling. I dumped my trash and placed my plate in the sink. My hands wrapped around the edge of the ceramic to keep me from wringing her goddamn neck. I needed to think on the best approach for her diving into my pie. There were rules of etiquette, and she was breaking them at an alarming rate.
"We don't leave dirty dishes in the sink," she muttered. The fuck? I glanced over my shoulder to the back of her skull. She had some type of cloth wrapped around her head, keeping her shoulder length hair bound up. I looked at her attire and snorted; at least she had been in regular sleepwear dated to the twenty-first century. Even in flannel pajama pants and a loose T-shirt, she looked classy and elegant. But that didn't give her ass the right to get onto my case like I was some stranger in the place I grew up in.
"You say 'we' like you live here," I grumbled before turning to face her completely.
She didn't even bother to turn around. "I do. You're just passing through, remember?"
I chuckled, and it sounded malevolent even to my ears. "Who the fuck do you think you are, girl?"
"Girl?" She whipped around and looked up at me, her dark-honey eyes angry and her mouth firm. Though, her gaze lost a bit of its edge with those vintage white glasses on her face.
I leaned back against the sink, and she turned in the chair to give me her full attention. Good, I needed to give her a bit of a lesson on who the fuck she was talking to. "You've been here all of a year. I lived here through my teens, this is my home. So you're just passing through. And learn this…when she makes fucking apple pie, it's for me. So keep your goddamn hands off it."
She grunted and held her hands up in mocking surrender as she stood up from the table. "You're a mess. I can't with you. You're really getting onto me over some pie? No, really, what has you hating on me so much? Is it because I'm black?"
What? I was done with her if she pulled the race card. Me? A fucking racist? Comical. Nevertheless, if she made her mind up about me in that sense, then she could go to hell. "Fuck off." I sneered before grabbing the pie dish off the counter. I walked back toward the basement door.
"Well, goodnight to you too, sweetheart," she called out teasingly.
"I said, 'fuck off,'" I shouted before slamming the basement door and marching down the steps. When I passed the long mirror mounted at the base of the stairs, I paused in shock to see I had been smiling. Why was I smiling? And how long had it been since I last smiled without it being forced?
Chapter Four
Each morning in rehab had been the same routine, and I dared to not break it now. I woke up, drank a few cups of water, and then ran miles until I stopped craving for a morning line of coke. Morning bumps had been an old habit and one of my hardest to break. Being at Aunt Celeste's was no excuse not to keep up with the habitual start of my day for the last three months. It had been my fourth morning waking up in Macon, Georgia, and life didn't seem any clearer than it did when I first arrived.
Since my CPA handled payroll, I got paid my owner's percentage of the bar's profits. The new spike in my auto-deposit had been a pleasant surprise. The bar did outstanding in Carlos's hands. Especially when the druggie owner wasn't there drinking half the fucking stock of vodka. Sky-rocketing numbers made it hard to consider selling when I made money without really having to work. Honestly, other than my need to be hands-on with the business, I didn't have to sell it. I needed to learn to let the control go to someone else. One would think that, having had five months off, I'd be in no hurry to get back to the bar. However, more often than not, my hands twitched to mix drinks and chat up the patrons.
Falling back into bad habits scared me. Going back down the rabbit hole willingly would make me one fucked up Alice.
I checked my phone again; still no messages from Amy, but I didn't let it deter me from shooting her a gentle good-morning text. I hoped she might be considering my promises for a future. There was a lot to think about. Those last few months for us had been rough, and getting past the horrid memories of what we fucked up would be a challenge. I had been willing to try if she was, and I'd said as much in an earlier text. We'd been high as kites, but we both soiled what respectful foundation had been in place. It'd never gotten a chance to bloom into love because, first off, I avoided that emotion. But secondly, our stagnant relationship had been volatile and full of drama and had no room to mature. I was ready to grow now, to be something more than a guy with every avenue of his life fucked up.
The only texts I had were from Vashton and Rysten, wishing me well and checking in, but I didn't feel like getting into deeper conversations with them yet. Especially with Vashton and his pushy tendencies, and Rysten had his new optimistic outlook. I think it had something to do with his handicapped friend and new chick. I was glad to see him take the reins on his life, but now my horses were a bit wild.
I changed into my running sweats and hoodie, and prepared for the crisp April air to help bring some meaning to my life. With each jog around the neighborhood I kept the toxins out of my body, and I made an effort to keep myself clean for a meaningful life.
I marched up the basement stairs, fiddling with my music player on my phone and earbuds when I smelled breakfast. Maple bacon, eggs, and butter biscuits caused my stomach to gurgle in starvation. I'd be hugely fat when I returned to Tybee. Aunt Celeste kept me fed and happy, and I didn't pussyfoot around her meals. With such strong aromas thick in the air, it was tempting to stay inside and eat. I damn near had to fight myself mentally every morning with her deluxe breakfasts being laid out on the table for me. With renewed determination, I ignored the mental whispers about breaking my habits and stuffing my face instead. Besides, running would be the way I worked off days of overindulgence of soul food.
As I stepped into the kitchen, I expected to see Aunt Celeste whipping up breakfast. Instead, Nadia moved around in the kitchen in a j
ittery frenzy, cooking more food than she could possibly eat alone. Flour and milk were spilled all over the counter. She put a powdery hand on her hip as she stared down at the bacon and exhaled deeply. She looked frazzled, and I had a hunch she wasn't a natural cook. Why had she manned the stove this morning anyway? It was the first time I'd seen her since our racist pie argument a few nights ago. She still held my attention longer than I cared. I was thankful for her busy schedule. It had been a nice reprieve of my mental structure to not have her floating around the house like some annoying rainbow.
Nadia stirred up carnal thoughts and caused me to question everything I believed about casual relationships. A simple fuck could turn us both out and shift our worlds. I couldn't offer her anything but a solitary roll in the sheets, not a soul-shattering partnership. It had been a long time since I had a woman in my sights, more specially one I had started craving like the next hit. She seemed too vanilla for a bastard like me. The safest thing would be to keep my distance, for both our sakes.
She hadn't seen me yet, so I watched her move in silence for a moment. Her body shifted in ways that accented her voluptuous curves. Suddenly struck by how bad I wanted my hands on her, caressing every inch of her dark skin, I chewed my bottom lip to help stifle the moan rising in my throat. The pinching pain had me envisioning her nipping my bottom lip in a dirty kiss. I wanted my dick slick with her juices. It might be shocking that she wasn't my usual type, but it didn't seem to fucking matter to me. I'd heard that people came across a girl like her once in their life, and they either lost their chance or they were lucky to have her. It wasn't just the green vintage attire she wore that got my attention. She seemed reserved, but also a firecracker when pushed, and no matter what I tried to tell myself, she charmed me.
Nadia turned to dump the bacon onto a nearby plate and jumped when she noticed me. She ran a hand down the apron around her waist and wouldn't meet my gaze. The intensity I gave off could be taken as anger, and I dialed it back a bit.
"I'm not a fucking racist," I blurted and she shrugged then nodded, but I wasn't sure she believed me wholeheartedly. Oh, if she only knew my thoughts at that moment.
If she was nervous when she noticed me still standing there she didn't show it, but she chose to speak. "Uh, Celeste is at a senior community meeting this morning. She asked if I would cook you breakfast. I don't know why I agreed. You've been—"
"Thank you." I decided a small white flag wouldn't hurt.
She met my gaze and gave a bashful smile before looking away. "Uh, um, you're welcome."
No matter how I tried to deny it, she was fucking sexy in those old-fashioned glasses, traditional attire, and bright lipstick. Her historical style worked too well on her. Today, her lip color choice had been bright red and all it did was continuously draw my gaze to her luscious mouth. My dick hardened thinking about her kisses roaming my skin while her hands explored and raked down my pecs and abs. I wanted her lipstick to be smeared against her chin and cheeks as she took me in her mouth. I wanted the good girl to unleash her vixen, to see her discard her modesty and leave it on the floor with her damn clothes. More importantly, I wanted to be the guy she found valuable enough to do it for.
Whoa, what? Time to fucking run.
"Where are you going?"
I didn't answer as I hastily moved toward the front door. I wasn't sure if my morning run had been meant to break my thoughts of cocaine or her. Maybe, in some weird way, both. She could pass as a new type of drug, one I craved and desperately tried to fight off. Addiction landed somewhere usually, and if it wasn't drugs it might be smoking, sex, or gambling. Could it land on a person? I tried to block myself from her for some damn reason, which meant, she wasn't good for me.
Scratch that, I wasn't worthy enough for her. What would she want with a recovering addict with a penchant for doing all the wrong things in a relationship? I thought of Amy and how we had begun falling deeper in the hole. Then I remembered how I kept bringing her down with each bag of dope I brought home. Nadia was a respectable woman in college, had a job, a dream. I couldn't ruin that, but in some way I was sure I would if we went there. Assuming, by the small glint in her eyes as she had focused on me, and the heat rising in them, she was thinking the some nasty thoughts as well. We could easily go there. Our argumentative moments could be flipped for frustration fucking. Hell yes, I wanted that shit so bad, but I needed to keep some distance from Nadia. That was safer for both of us.
Easier said than done.
****
After I returned from my run, Nadia was nowhere to be found. Perfect. I couldn't spend any more time fighting off my attraction to her. My infatuation grew like a cascading avalanche, ready to swallow me whole and bury me under its immense weight. I had to be very, very careful with how I dealt with her. My emotions were about to veer so far off course that even I couldn't steer them back in the right lane. I had to think of myself as a juvenile bird, not ready to leave the nest, but curious about the flight.
After eating my fill from the food left out on the stove, I went into the guest bathroom and turned the shower to scalding hot. The heated water reddened my skin and felt good on my tender muscles as I moved under the pelting stream. I lowered my head and let my mind wander; it circled back to Nadia. I started to think I became obsessed in an unhealthy way because I never hyper-focused on a single person to this extent. Still yet, my erotic fantasy placed me against her ass. Her chest would be pressed firmly against the bed and she'd back against my pelvis. I ground my hips, my cock massaging her clit delicately as she begged me to enter to the hilt. Fuck, I could see my pale hand moving over her full thighs, gripping and hauling her closer as she slickened anywhere our bodies touched.
I leaned forward, letting my hand rest against the cool tile as the steam bellowed all around me. I cracked open my eyes to see my dick hardening as the water rained down my back. I licked my lips, tasting the warm shower water pooling around my mouth. My libido detonated as my mind went back to visualizing Nadia crouched lower into the sheets. Her voluptuous ass was up in the air so I could see her spread wide just for me. I fisted my dick and massaged as if I guided it into her warm center. My actions were quick and a bit fierce as I let my mind roam to dirty desires that would make any woman blush, especially Nadia. I bit my bottom lip to stifle a moan as I came against the tile. The water washed away my climax, and I wished it would rinse off whatever hold she had over me. However, it seemed with every breath her lure was growing stronger.
At this rate, I wouldn't be able to break-free of anything concerning Nadia Jackson.
I wasn't sure I really wanted to either.
Chapter Five
Old horror movies and tortilla chips were my go-to relaxation mode. However, I couldn't focus on the movie or rest. The wall clock read fifteen past midnight, and Nadia wasn't home. After another hearty dinner, Aunt Celeste had fallen fast asleep. While I'd chowed down on her meatloaf, she'd rambled on about Nadia and her family and personal shit I never asked to know. I personally think she'd tried to soothe me because she assumed I had reserves about Nadia staying in the house.
Truthfully, I'd been grateful to get some in-depth info on a woman that seemed to occupy my mind more than I felt comfortable with. Nadia was a girl with a good home life with stable parents and siblings back in Texas. She chose to come to Georgia to earn in-state status and gain credits before leaping into one of the big universities. No wonder my aunt felt compelled to open her home. Her Christian duty wouldn't allow it any other way.
After our bellies were full and we were veered off into conversations of a lighter and humorous nature, I'd found myself bold enough to ask about Nadia's whereabouts for the evening. I'd asked nonchalantly, so my aunt wouldn't pick up on my impatience. Inside, I whirled with excitement to see her. Like a junky, I itched for my next hit of her, even if to gaze from a distance. That's when my aunt might as well have shot me in the gut with a sawed-off.
Nadia was out on a fucking date.
&nbs
p; I didn't know how to process a current status of info because of how it made me feel. While Aunt Celeste had bubbled excitedly from that little fact, my annoyance had grown every half-hour that rolled by. I couldn't pinpoint why. Our encounters weren't rainbows and sunshine, and I was sure she still disliked me even as I'd started warming up to her a little bit. I was attracted to her, sure, but I shouldn't have been so bent out of shape. Possessiveness didn't run through my veins, but that's exactly what I felt. I wasn't going to lie to myself and cause even more internal conflict when there shouldn't have been any. I wanted her for myself, every fucking inch of her. The awakening of these feelings sent my mind to a rocky terrain.
I munched on a chip and turned the volume down on the TV to think since the noise had become a distraction. Was she serious with the guy, and have they been together long? Why do I even want to know? Is she staying the night at his place? Why did that thought cause me to get pissed? Were they fucking right now? Why the hell do I care? I barely knew her.
I pushed the large bag of chips away and glared at the 80s horror flick, not really seeing the hack and slash going on. Those questions had swirled over and over in my head since dinner, and I wanted to know the answers to them all, but why? Why on Earth did I spend so much time worrying about this chick? I'd never put too much thought into Amy's whereabouts, and we'd dated for years. Amy had been the one I tried to care about like this. The drugs had hampered the whole domineering male tendencies, but now it seemed like I waded deeper in a foreign state of mind. Vashton had been right about one thing: I never let anyone in. I didn't care enough about someone, especially a woman, to let them in.
Realizing that about myself caused a heavy grievance and made me flick the television off in disgust. Darkness enveloped me and it seemed all too fitting in my normal state of mind. But as my thoughts focused back on Nadia and my solitude, I knew I should want someone to care about in my life. The lonely part of me did. I needed someone to stick it out with me for reasons other than drugs or money. Was I finally ready for a woman like Nadia?
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