by Imani King
"No," I said, a little tightly. "It wasn't Lena."
Ray caught the tension in my voice and looked up, curious. "Who then? A boy?"
"Yes, a boy."
Normally that would have been Ray's cue to make fun of me or tease me about how strict I was with boys, but not that night. He knew we were all too fragile for joshing.
"Invite him over. Bake him some cornbread and tell him you're sorry, Tash. I guarantee that'll fix it. And just tell him what's going on with you, if this is someone you like. You're so locked down all the time, it's not healthy. You've got to let yourself be easier with some of the people in your life, you know? Or one of these days, you're going to explode."
Ray was right. And so the next day, at school, I left a note in Kaden Barlow's locker. It doesn't sound like much, I know, but it was huge for me. The note read:
"Kaden - I'm sorry for being such a bitch yesterday. I had some bad news earlier in the day and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. To make it up to you I'm going to make you some of my family's famous cornbread - if you still feel like talking to me. - Natasha."
As soon as I'd dropped it between the metal slats of Kaden's locker I started fretting over the details of the short note - even after I'd already spent almost two hours writing and rewriting those few brief lines. Should I have signed my first name like that, as 'Natasha'? Was it too formal somehow? Did it make me sound weird? Should I have used the word 'bitch?' My third-grade teacher told us once that boys didn't like girls who used curse words. As far as I could see it wasn't true but as soon as the note was out of my reach her words came back to me. Had I just ruined my chances? Well, it was too late to fix it now even if I had. I scurried off to class before Kaden could find me standing there pondering over minutiae like a freak.
Chapter 7: Kaden
I was nervous - again, as I always seemed to be when Natasha Greeley was involved - before going to her house that evening. I tried on three different outfits before settling on a pair of jeans that had garnered a lot of compliments from various girls at school and a t-shirt that, while not exactly 'fitted,' was not exactly 'loose,' either. I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom laughing at my own behavior, barely believing that an invitation for some homemade cornbread was causing me such stress. Homemade cornbread, though. There was something so fucking wonderful about that - so innocent. Life was all parties and hook-ups at that age. I'd had so many blowjobs from random girls I couldn't have remembered them all if you asked. But a girl cooking for me? Home cooking? That had never happened. On the drive to Tasha's house, I wondered if we were the first generation in history to view baking for someone as somehow more intimate than giving them head.
Tasha's house was in one of the working class neighborhoods. There was a lot of chain-link fencing and dried out lawns, but it was all well-kept. I pulled my Suburban up to the curb outside her house and looked inside. There she was, standing in what appeared to be the living room, talking to someone and pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Even from the street, I could tell it was her. There was something about the way she held her body, as if she wasn't exactly sure how attractive she was. I watched her for a few minutes, transfixed, and then realized that if I kept it up much longer it'd probably be really creepy. I locked the SUV and walked up the front steps to the door.
"Kaden!" Tasha said, smiling at me as she opened the door and I found myself enveloped in the scent of baking to the point that I thought I might actually start drooling. My own mother didn't cook. Neither did my dad. Either the maid made us dinner before she left for the night or it was the Whole Foods hot bar for us.
"Hey, Tasha.' I replied, mostly failing to keep a gigantic grin off my face. "Something smells damn good."
She ushered me inside and showed me into the kitchen as I tried to conceal the fact that I was taking everything in - everything about her, everything about the house. There's something so interesting about seeing someone outside of their usual environment. I was fascinated. It was neat and tidy - just like the front yard. No clutter, everything perfectly dusted. I almost made a comment about their maid being good at her job but bit my tongue at the last minute when I realized that her family almost certainly didn't have a maid.
"You sit here," Tasha said, pointing to a chair.
"Is your family home?" I asked.
"Oh, um. Yeah, my mom's sleeping, my sister's doing homework, my brother's at work and my brother's girlfriend is upstairs with my niece." She replied, slipping on an oven mitt and opening the oven door to check on her cornbread.
I sat down and watched her. She was wearing another pair of those leggings she always had on, the ones that made it virtually impossible to not to notice her ass. Tasha's ass. It would have been so easy to just get up, walk up behind her and cup that ripe curve in one of my hands. Any other girl and I would have done just that. But something felt different that night. For one thing, I was at her house and that in itself was unusual. Most of the time I spent with girls was - well, not at their houses. There was something else, too. At first, I couldn't quite put my finger on it but as I watched Tasha bustling proudly around the kitchen it dawned on me. I didn't say anything because part of me thought it might offend her - or make her laugh. It was her sweet, feminine energy. It was the way she expertly pushed a skewer into the hot cornbread and pulled it out to make sure it was clean. Sounds stupid, right? But I loved it. If someone had given me the option, right then, of a blowjob from one of the cheerleaders and just eating cornbread with Tasha - cornbread that she was baking for me - I would have taken the latter. No question. It surprised even me.
"What are you smirking about?" She asked, catching the smile on my face as I contemplated what the hell she was doing to me.
"Me? Uh, nothing. I guess I just - I'm enjoying this."
I couldn't help but steal another glance at her body as I spoke and she busted me immediately.
"Oh yeah, Kaden, I can see that you're enjoying this. Hopefully, you can keep your eyes on the food long enough to avoid getting it all over yourself."
Dammit. That wasn't what I'd meant at all. "No," I started, slightly flustered and then even more flustered by the fact that I was flustered. Me. Kaden Barlow. That wasn't supposed to happen! "That's not what I meant, I just-"
Tasha was laughing at me - not unkindly, but still, it was obvious she didn't believe me. For some reason, it was suddenly imperative that she understand what I meant. I got up and took one of her delicate wrists in my hand, making her look at me.
"Tasha, I'm serious. Look at me. I didn't mean it like that. I meant I'm enjoying this," I gestured around at the kitchen and then at her. "All of this. I'm glad you invited me over. No one ever made me cornbread before, you know. And yeah, hands up, you caught me looking. But that isn't what I meant."
She was looking at me quite intently as I spoke, scrutinizing my face. She paused, as if thinking, and then just gave a little shrug. "OK, Kaden. That's cool. And no one ever cooked for you before? Not even your mom?"
"Well, maybe a few times my mom cooked, but both my parents work a lot. And you're the first girl apart from my mom, yeah. Is that strange?"
"I don't know. I guess if your mom was working maybe not. But my mom worked and she always made sure we had a home-cooked meal prepared - at least when we were little. Everyone does it their way, right?"
"Right." I nodded. Tasha had tried to conceal the smile on her face when I told her I was enjoying things, but she hadn't quite managed. And damn if knowing she was having a good time didn't just make me feel even happier.
"OK," she said, when the cornbread had cooled slightly. "Sit down, you big goof."
She sat down across from me, refusing to take a bite before I did. And when I did, she paid close attention to my reaction. Luckily, Tasha's cornbread turned out to be one of the most delicious things I ever tasted.
"Mmmph," I said after cramming the entire piece into my mouth. "Mmm...oh my God. Tasha. Oh my God! This is so good. This is-"
"Do you want another piece?" She asked, glowing with happiness at my reaction.
"Yes!"
She cut me another piece, bigger this time, and I was just about to devour it when a female voice came from upstairs.
"Tash? Can you come help me with Rosa for a minute?"
Tasha looked at me. "Can you give me a sec? She probably just needs me to watch her in the bath for a couple of minutes."
I held up my hands and grinned. "No problem. Anyone who makes food like this can do whatever they want. Take your time."
As soon as she was out of the room I helped myself to another piece of cornbread. And then another. Soon, there was only a single, small piece left. It didn't even occur to me not to eat it, as I was under the impression that she'd made it for me only. When she came back down to the kitchen about ten minutes later and spotted the empty pan, she didn't quite manage to hide the look of disappointment on her face. I knew immediately that I'd screwed up.
"Oh, shit. Tasha, I thought it was cool if I ate the rest. Were you - did you want more of it yourself? Shit, I'm sorry."
To my surprise, she actually looked embarrassed. Why would she be embarrassed when I was the one who'd just eaten an entire pan of cornbread? "No," she shrugged, trying too hard to seem casual. "No, Kaden, it's cool. I made it for you."
She was lying and we both knew it. I jumped up to take the dishes to the sink and wash them, to try and do something to make up for being such a pig. Tasha stopped me. "No, Kaden. No dishes. I'll do them."
Her voice was tight and I was angry at myself for wrecking the mood. Sheepishly, I sat back down at the table while she rinsed the plates off under the tap. An uncomfortable silence descended on the small kitchen, broken only by the arrival of a woman I assumed was Tasha's brother's girlfriend. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me and stepped forward to introduce herself.
"Oh, hey. I'm Alisha - I didn't know Tasha had company."
"Kaden," I said, standing up to full height and shaking the woman's hand. "Kaden Barlow."
"Kaden Barlow. Do I know you? That name sounds familiar."
I shrugged, not wanting to look like a conceited ass in front of Tasha by telling Alisha that I was the captain of the Reinhardt High football team. Alisha shrugged and walked over to the empty cornbread pan on the counter.
"Did you put it in the fridge already?" She asked Tasha, who turned around quickly, shaking her head, clearly trying to get Alisha to stop talking. "I'll just take out Ray's piece - he doesn't like it cold. Then we can have the rest for lunch tomorrow."
I slumped back down into my chair as it dawned on me what I'd done. Tasha had made the cornbread for her family. I knew they didn't have very much, I knew that, and I still didn't think twice about eating the whole damn lot. I was an asshole.
"Shit," I said again, quietly because I was so embarrassed. "Tasha, I didn't realize - aw damn, I'm sorry. I-"
I cut myself off before offering to make it up to her. What was I going to do? Bake more? I couldn't even boil an egg. And if there was one thing I knew about Natasha Greeley it was that she had a very well developed sense of pride. There was no way that offering to make it up to her in money would have done anything but make the whole situation much, much worse.
Tasha turned around with a big, forced smile on her face. "Don't worry about it, Kaden! I'll just make more."
Alisha was the one who saved me from myself, suddenly pointing her finger at me and nodding. "Kaden Barlow! I do know you - you're the quarterback at Reinhardt, aren't you? I read in the newspaper that all the big colleges are fighting for you - is it true?"
I nodded. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's me."
Alisha gave Tasha a look. One of those raised-eyebrow looks that women give each other when one of them has shown up with an impressive male companion. Then she turned around to leave, wishing me good luck with football before she did.
"Thanks," I called out after her, still wishing the kitchen floor would open up and swallow me whole. As soon as she was gone I took Tasha by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes, almost getting distracted by her long, black lashes before I managed to say what I needed to say.
"I'm sorry," I told her, again. "Tasha, that was really dumb of me - it was just so goddamned good and I guess I just assumed you made the whole thing for me."
And then, to my horror, Tasha's eyes began to well up. What the fuck? Was she crying? That was literally the last thing I wanted to happen. I immediately went into panic mode.
"Shit. Shit. Tasha, please don't cry, I - I'll make you more cornbread, OK? I'll-"
"Kaden, it's not that," she said, swiping at her eyes and taking a deep breath. "It's not the cornbread. And I'm not crying. I'm just - I'm tired. It's been a long week. It's been a long year."
"Has it?" I asked tentatively, not entirely convinced she wasn't upset about the cornbread.
Tasha looked up at me, blinking against the threatening tears. She turned away before allowing me to see them spill over and tried to flee - her usual tactic - but I caught her before she made it out of the kitchen.
"Tasha?" I asked, looking into her eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."
She took a couple more breaths. If I hadn't been so worried I would have found it adorable, the way she was so determined not to give in to her emotions. "It's like I said, Kaden. It's just been a tough week. My mom-"
Her voice squeaked on the word "mom" and that was it, she put her face in her hands and started sobbing silently. I pulled her into my arms without thinking and held her against me tightly as a maelstrom swept through my own heart, shocking in its intensity. Tasha's mom. Had someone hurt Tasha's mom? The instant rage at the mere thought of it was so strong it surprised me.
She let me hold her for a few minutes until she could speak again and then, with her forehead resting on my chest and not looking up at me, she mumbled: "My mother is sick."
I didn't have to ask if it was serious. I tried to pull her back into a hug but Tasha turned her tear-streaked face up to me for a few seconds. Then she reached her arms up around my neck and kissed me, hard.
Maybe I should have tried to resist, tried to understand that she was vulnerable and emotional. I knew, though, even as her full, soft lips opened against mine, begging me, that any attempt to pull away would have been useless. I remember the way she kissed me that night. Desperate, needy little kisses that didn't stop when I slipped my tongue into her mouth and sat down on one of her family's kitchen chairs, pulling her down onto my lap.
"Kaden..."
She was breathless. That was almost too much. Just that sweet little sound of her gasping my name when I ran my hands down the warm curves of her body created a surge of desire so strong my cock was like granite, straining at my jeans. I slipped one hand up underneath her top and she arched her body back, inviting the touch, exhaling quickly when I pulled her bra down under her breasts and ran my finger around her nipple.
I was no virgin at that time. In fact, I was probably more experienced than most thirty-something men. But what I could feel in Tasha, that unstoppable hunger, was new. She shifted her body forwards at one point, so my hard-on was pressed against her thigh, and the sound that came out of her throat, I swear to God I almost came in my pants.
"Kaden," she whispered, pulling me against her, grinding down against me as if she was trying to merge her body with mine. "Kaden, take me back to out to the hills, OK? Right now, let's-"
It was at that moment that we both heard the front door opening - and the front door was only feet from the kitchen. Tasha jumped off me and frantically started trying to smooth down her clothes as I made a clumsy attempt to push my stiff cock down one of my pant-legs.
"Hey Tash, I-"
A male voice. Probably her brother. He walked into the kitchen, looked back and forth from Tasha to me a few times and then shook his head slightly, more than aware of what he'd walked in on. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be the type of older brother to get all macho and confrontational. After questioning me
on how old I was and where I went to school he visibly relaxed.
"So I suppose you're responsible for eating my cornbread?" He asked. "Alisha texted me. You're lucky my sister's here to protect you because I don't take too well to other men eating my cornbread."
He was friendly, as I said, but he made a point of sitting down with us at the kitchen table and whether Tasha picked up on it or not I don't know but the message was clear: there would be no more alone time with his sister. Not that night, anyway. At least I finally managed to get her number before leaving - and a little kiss on the cheek when her brother wasn't looking.
When I got home I had to sit in the Suburban in the driveway for about five minutes, willing my cock to stand down and forcing myself not to remember how goddamned good her curvy little body had felt pressed up against mine. I'd eaten her cornbread, though. All of it, even though she'd meant to use it to feed her family. And then I'd left without getting the whole story on her mother. I had to do something to make it up to her, to show her that the evening hadn't just been about me trying to get into her pants.
I knew what I had to do. I, Kaden Barlow, was going to have to bake. Just the thought of it made me laugh out loud at myself as I sat inside the Suburban, trying to figure out just what it was about Tasha that had me even considering stepping foot into a kitchen. When I finally cooled off enough to go into the house my parents were sitting in the living room, watching TV.
"Hi honey!" My mom said when she saw me. "Did you have a good time?"
I'd told her I was going to a friend's house for dinner. I had not told her who that friend was. "Yeah," I replied, "I did. Mom? Can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure, Kaden. What is it?"
"Can you teach me how to bake cornbread?"
Both my parents looked up at me when that sentence left my mouth. A few seconds passed before my dad told me they could just pick something up from the bakery if I needed a cake or something for school.
"No," I told them, enjoying the looks of bafflement on their faces. I think my parents were even more surprised by my sudden interest in baking than I was. "I need you to teach me. I need to make it myself."
