Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance)

by Grace, Pella

  “What is the two-one-three?”

  I laugh, ashing my cigarette.

  “I think it’s a hood. A zip code. I think. Don’t quote me. I just listen to the shit and pretend to know what they’re saying. The louder the music is, the more I think I know.”

  “So, we’d be from the seven-seven-two?”

  My smile widens.

  “Yeah, The C-Child and the L-Child. We’re from the seven-seven-two.”

  She laughs, looking towards the window.

  “I can’t believe you’re smoking Cloves.”

  “Who did it remind you of?” I ask.

  “My mom. She used to smoke those things when she dropped me off at school. It was the only time she could sneak one.”

  “Where is she? Your mom?”

  “You could guess better than me, C-Child.”

  “You don’t talk to your mom?” My brain couldn’t imagine such things. Not talking to Poppy? Not having oxygen.

  My question takes the light from this little brown-haired girl with a weightless smile. Her face dims. My regret swirling along with the cigarette smoke.

  I swipe my nose, paying attention to the road.

  “Sorry, Lil.”

  “It’s alright—I just haven’t thought about Dina in a long time. It feels weird talking about her.”

  “You don’t have to—but I want you to.”

  “Not much to tell. I didn’t really know her. She gave me to my grandma when I was little. Around six or so.”

  And now the cookbook makes sense. “Where was your dad?”

  “If I knew that, my mom might not have left. He didn’t come home one night and Dina just—let’s just say she went looking for him—at least, that’s what she told my grandma. She never came back for me.”

  “What in the fuck? Who does that?”

  “Dina.” She looks to the trees flying past us as I push to eighty on the speedometer.

  I roll down the window, tugging the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, tossing them.

  “Remind me to never smoke that shit again. Goddamn this car just got depressing.”

  She smiles. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t ever be sorry.” I dig into the center console. “I’m about to break all of my own rules for your simple smile.”

  “How?” her light asks, finding its way back. As intended.

  “Because this bastard is banned from my speakers.” I shove the CD in and click to the song I want her to hear. “The chorus, L-Child. The chorus, Honey-girl.”

  ***

  Poppy is twirling around the kitchen, arms over her head as Lilla and I peek around the corner.

  “Ma?” I call gently. Her lips smile and green eyes find us. She keeps swaying. “What the hell are you doing, crazy flakes?”

  “This song is so beautiful. Amazing. I feel like a kite.”

  “It’s about God. You’re not even religious. Have you been snooping through my old desk drawers? You know that shit’s not oregano, right?”

  “It doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful, Warren.” She twirls. “Dance with me, pretty boy.”

  I shake my head. “No thanks. Where’s dad?”

  “I said dance with me. I went through thirteen hours of labor and twenty-four years of push-up bras faking that I had boobs after your belly sucked me dry. The least you owe me is a dance.”

  I step towards her.

  “I never understand why parents assume their young wanted to be born. Perhaps I was perfectly happy being a sperm.”

  She takes my hand. “If you were so happy as a sperm, why did you romance my egg?”

  “This whole conversation is vomit-worthy, Lady Bug.”

  “Dance and listen to how beautiful this is.” Her head lays on my chest. “Do you remember when you were a bitty boy and I taught you to dance?”

  “I remember being twenty-four and forced to dance to gospel music in the kitchen while my girlfriend watched and didn’t try to stop such madness.”

  “Do you dance with Lilla? It’s very romantic to dance. You should. All the time. And tell her she is pretty.” Her voice drops. “She is very pretty.”

  “Yeah, Ma. We dance. This isn’t any creepier after you said dancing is romantic. Thanks.”

  “A son should dance with his mother. It keeps her feeling loved and love is what keeps you young. Your toes were so tiny. I kissed them every night as you slept. I think that’s why you were a good dancer.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “You should. I don’t ever tell you anything that isn’t worth remembering.”

  “I’ll remember that, too.”

  “I miss my little bitty boy.”

  “I’ll dance with you, Mom. You start asking for breast-feedings and diaper changes and I’m pulling the plug and calling the men in white coats.”

  “You have no idea how sweet the top of a baby’s head smells. How much your heart loves them. Maybe one day soon.”

  “Sooner than you think, actually.”

  Poppy pulls away, looking to me, then Lilla.

  I shake my head.

  “Lilla isn’t pregnant. Stop it. Hattie is.” Her eyes go wider. “Not by me. I said stop it. You’re gonna have a damn heart attack, old woman.”

  “You and Hattie have always been close.”

  “She’s like my sister. That’s disgusting.”

  “Who is the father?”

  “That idiot Trent. Whatever. She seems happy—I’m happy for her. He just better man the fuck up.”

  “Don’t curse—it’s ugly. But yes, he should take care of the baby.”

  “And Hattie,” I add.

  “Hattie is a big girl. She has a good nursing job and she’s furthering her education. She’ll be fine. Always has been. Stop putting your nose in her business.”

  “She’s a good girl because I always put my nose in her business. She’s fine because I’m a nose-in-business-putting bastard.”

  Poppy smiles. “I suppose in some circumstances.”

  “I’m not here to talk about Hattie—seriously—where is dad?”

  “Busy in his study. Do you kids want a snack? I was about to make mozzarella sticks. There are brownies on the counter. I made deviled eggs, too. I have sweet tea?”

  “Do I want a mozzarella stick? Does a bear shit in the woods and wipe with a furry rabbit?”

  Lilla giggles softly from behind. I glance to her, pointing my thumb her direction.

  “She’s laughing, but in her mind that is her exact fucking thought.”

  Poppy cups my cheek. “Please, Warren—the cursing.”

  “I can’t help it. My mother raised me to live wild and free.”

  “Try.”

  Poppy walks over to the fridge, giving the door a tug.

  “I’m gonna bother Dad. Call me when we have fried cheese from the Gods.”

  “I said he didn’t want to be bothered. Be a good boy.”

  “I’m a man and I need to bother him. He won’t be mad. I swear.”

  Hand-in-hand with Lilla, we walk to the stairs. Her eyes scroll over the wall of pictures of my family. I pause for a second.

  “You see, I was always a good looking little shit.”

  “Little shit—definitely.”

  I pull her towards me, making sure Poppy isn’t within view.

  “After we talk to Claude, I’m taking you to my old bedroom and showing my toys, little girl.”

  “I didn’t know they made Mariah dolls back then, C-Child.”

  “Keep talking that shit, Lilla. You’re gonna get it.”

  “Maybe … that’s the whole point.”

  I pick her up.

  “Yeah, we can talk to my dad, later.”

  “No, we have a mission, remember? What happened to us being Regulators?” She laughs.

  “The plan went to shit when L-Child gave me a hard-on.”

  “We can play later. Dad. Talk. Now. Feet. Move.”

  “Thank you for speaking simply. My brain appreciates it.”<
br />
  I keep her on my hips as I walk to Claude’s office, knocking twice before opening the door to enter. He looks up from his desk, unsure of the scene before him. Lilla wiggles to get down and I slide her onto her feet.

  “I asked to not be disturbed.”

  “Trust me, you want this disturbance.”

  I motion for Lilla to sit and I take up residence at her side.

  “You know a guy named Adam Downfall?” I ask him.

  His eyes squint, then look down.

  “How do you know him?”

  “He’s married to my girlfriend.” That gets his attention. “My girlfriend who is the co-owner of all things Adam Downfall owns.”

  Claude pushes away from his desk, resting his hands in his lap.

  “Get to the point, Warren.”

  “Adam’s company bought our building. Lilla is married to him. Lilla is dating me. Connect the dots.”

  He glances to her. Lilla slides to the edge of her seat.

  “What he’s trying to say, Mr. Valentine, is I own half of the building. Adam and I are getting a divorce —that’s a wholly other topic—but I know how much the grocery store means to your family. I’d like to help save it.”

  “It’s only a building.” Claude turns his chair, standing up.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “But it’s our building.”

  “No, it’s not. It belongs to your friend and her husband.”

  “And Lilla wants to help us get it back. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “It doesn’t belong to us. I don’t have the funds to purchase it—if I did—it wouldn’t have been sold in the first place.”

  “That’s what I’d like to help with,” Lilla cuts in, “I can readjust the terms of the sale, or make a new sale.”

  “I’m not interested, but thank you, Mrs. Downfall.”

  “King,” I correct. “She’s a King.”

  “Ms. King, I’m still not interested.”

  “What do you mean?” He’s pissing me off. “Lilla can give us our business back and you’re just going to pass?”

  “Yes,” he replies. “I didn’t become who I am by taking hand-outs.”

  “It’s not a hand-out. Did you hear what she said? She said rework the terms. Make a new contract. That isn’t a hand-out. You’re just being hard-headed and letting pride cloud your judgment.”

  “Warren,” he sighs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You never worked a solid day in your short life and have no idea how business works.”

  “Never worked a—I’m sorry—who the fuck was that guy working for free every day in that damn place? Looked a hella-lot like my ass.”

  “Worked,” he chuckles. “Worked. You used the store to pick up girls. You never worked. Let’s not be overly dramatic.”

  “I could pick up girls getting smokes or walking down the street. I don’t need the stupid store to pick up girls.”

  “Stupid,” he picks. “Amazing you want it to be saved.”

  “You’re pissing me off. I came here to help.”

  “Fine, let’s all put our thinking caps on and play a game. Lilla will give us our building back—set aside all of the ways legally that is impossible—but let’s live in Mickey Mouse Land for a moment and assume that has happened. We have a retail space. What now?”

  “We work?”

  Claude nods. “What are our margins? How in debt are we to our vendors? What was our profit and loss last year? Who is our top competitor? How many …”

  “Alright I get it. Stop acting like I’m retarded.”

  “Then stop acting like you know everything.” Claude takes his seat.

  “Having a retail space is the least of our troubles. I could lease another building. That isn’t the issue. We are a tiny chain amongst giants. On a grocery store’s best day, you only profit one percent. Do you have any idea how small your margin for error is with that kind of goal?

  “Why do you think I get so upset when you don’t take things seriously? You’re a good kid, Warren. I know you’re grown, not a kid, but you’re my damn kid. So you’re a kid.

  “The store can’t compete with the other chains. It’s a different time. It’s a tough time. It’s a hard thing to let go of, our family spent most of our lives in that place. My heart is heavy knowing that it will buckle. It has buckled.

  “Your childhood was spent there. I know it’s a hard thing for you—you have that way—like Poppy—you love whole heartedly with everything and don’t let go.

  “I’m a business man, son. It’s only a store. At the end of the day, it’s a store and we’re still a family. We have had the highest of highs and now our lows. We’re strong. We’re Valentines. We’ll find a new high in the future. We will be blessed again.”

  A knock on the door. Poppy peeks in, smiling, but it’s put-on. I know her, she was listening.

  “Snacks are ready.”

  But I’m not hungry. I want to lean across the desk and choke the fuck out of Claude. I want to hug him tightly and thank him for my life. For our metaphoric dance. I want to be a kid again, playing with paper airplanes and believing nothing could ever hurt me.

  I want that level of innocence and to be in the dark.

  Being a grown-up sucks. Plain and simple.

  Poppy takes a seat on my father’s lap and he loves her so much it hurts to even watch their embrace. I want to be like him. I want to be nothing and everything like my father. She loves him so much. So much. I’ve never once heard her tell my father something was impossible. That he couldn’t.

  She never would.

  She never ever would.

  She just loves.

  My mother—she just loves to love.

  “Go eat, bitty boy. Eat and dance with Lilla afterward. Life is too short to grow old too fast. Your face is too pretty to wrinkle from troubles that aren’t yours. Dance. Eat. Love, my love.”

  Her face turns into my father’s shoulder, humming softly. Lilla reaches for my hand, tugging me along when I resist my mom’s words.

  “This is bullshit.” I bite the end of a mozzarella stick and hand the rest to Lilla. “He won’t even fight.”

  “You heard what he said. He can’t. I’m sorry I gave you false hope.”

  “You, Honey-girl? You are my only fucking hope.”

  She hands over a second cheese stick to me, tapping hers to it.

  “Still from the seven-seven-two with me, Lump?”

  I step closer to her. “I’d rather be from the seven-seven-two in you.”

  Her voice softens, my lips brushing against hers.

  “Would it make you feel better?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods and wipe with a furry goddamn rabbit?”

  “So romantic, C-Child.”

  “My mom thinks dancing is romantic. Wanna do that?”

  “Can we eat our mozzarella sticks at the same time?” she asks.

  “Baby, we are the L and C-Child. Children. What the fuck ever. We’re the shit and we can do whatever we please.”

  “I wish.”

  I take her under my arm, swaying with one hand as we eat with the other.

  “You said I was a star, Lil. Maybe you should try it out on me.”

  “Twinkle-twinkle …” she teases, closing her eyes. A soft sigh. “Did it work?”

  “No, we’re still in my mom’s kitchen fully clothed.”

  “Not what I wished—shocking—I know.” She opens her eyes.

  “I don’t have a million dollars, either. Sorry.”

  “I do,” she says quietly. “I guess I don’t need that loan after all.”

  “Money is evil. It’s true.”

  Lilla tips on her toes, skinny arms around my neck.

  “I think Money is sweet and adorable and loving.”

  “I’m not Money. Fuck Heath. I thought we were gonna be Regulators, L-Child? Gonna dip out on me?”

  Lilla shakes her head.

  “How would Warren G and Nate Dog handle this situation, Cash?�
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  “I ask myself that daily,” I laugh.

  “Something tells me they wouldn’t play nice. I have a feeling that is not a zip code where two guys who play nice come from.”

  “What are you suggesting, Honey-girl?”

  “Chicken Alfredo.”

  “What is that code for? I hope something good, because that would be the greatest gangster code of all time, Lilla.”

  She pulls away.

  “You know how you need speed when you’re thinking to get ideas?” I nod. “I need to cook. Eat.”

  “The Chicken Alfredo will do this?”

  Lilla nods. “Plus, I have been dreaming of feeding you Alfredo since the first time I saw you in your blue apron.” A dramatic dream-filled sigh.

  “Yeah, I have this way about me that usually leads to thinking of creamy white stuff.”

  “You’re disgusting and I still love you.”

  “Less with the talking and more with the feeding. If it’s anything like your other food, I’ll be laid out like Puss in Boots an hour from now.”

  “It’s my number one comfort food. It’s the best.”

  “Good thing, because I have a feeling some serious comfort is gonna be required in this house if your magical noodle concoction doesn’t lead to a gangster-ass success plan.”

  ***

  “I think stretching is in order. Oh Jesus, please get off me, Honey-girl.”

  She laughs, rolling to the side of my twin-sized bed.

  “Goddamn,” I say, “when did this bed get so tiny?”

  “It has Transformer sheets. Your mom is a trip, Warren.”

  “I feel bad for her. She needs to get a monkey or something. Maybe for Christmas I’ll rent her one.”

  “You can’t rent a monkey, Cash.”

  “I think I am C-Child and I have already stated I will do as I please.”

  “What if she gets attached? What if the monkey gets attached? They’ll be heart broken when it’s time for goodbyes.”

  “True. Alright fine. I’ll buy her a monkey. She can keep it forever. Feed it fucking deviled eggs and pot brownies.”

  “What will his name be?”

  “Spank.”

  “Spank?” She rolls over, picking at my shirt as I tuck my arm behind my head.

  “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. You’re a smart girl.”