“Don’t even lie, Farrah. I’ll bet my neighbors heard that stomach growling.”
He led me to his kitchen, done in gleaming stainless steel with black stone counters. He pointed to the dining room table, and I walked over and sat down. The kitchen and dining room had an open floor plan, so I could easily see him as he opened the refrigerator and stared into it.
“You eat sandwiches?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Ham or turkey?”
“Ham,” I said softly.
“That pork ain’t good for you, ma.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
“My sister orders groceries for me. She picks whatever the hell she wants.”
“Oh.” I thought for a minute. “I’ll still take ham.”
He shook his head, but he grabbed it.
“Provolone or Muenster?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He pulled out a pack of the cheese, then lettuce and a tomato, mayo and mustard, and a bottle of water. Juggling all the stuff, he walked to the center island and set it down. He went to the counter to the old-fashioned, two-layer bread box. He pulled out a loaf of wheat bread and took it to the island, then got a knife, plate, and cutting board. I watched as he quickly made the sandwich and cut it in half, then disappeared into the pantry. He came back with a small bag of chips, grabbed the sandwich and bottle of water, then walked over to bring it all to me.
“You… you not gon’ eat?” I asked hesitantly.
“Nah, I’m good.”
I stared at him for a few seconds before I picked up half of the sandwich. As I bit into it slowly, he opened the bag of chips and shook some onto my plate. I frowned.
“What is it now, your highness?” he asked.
“Why are you being so nice?”
The look of amusement on his face suddenly changed back into a cool mask. “I’m not nice, shorty. Don’t ever forget that. And hurry up.”
“Well, that didn’t take long,” I snapped, glaring at him.
I had had more than enough of him for one night. I was ready to go back to the room. I ate quickly, avoiding looking at him as he put all the food away. When I was finished, I stood up and grabbed my plate. I took it to the sink and got busy washing it along with the cutting board and knife. I wasn’t too busy to feel when he came to stand behind me, though. I didn’t say anything.
“You mad now, Little Thug?” he teased.
I ignored his words as I rinsed and dried the dishes, but I couldn’t ignore the feelings his warm breath on the back of my neck caused. My heartbeat sped up and I shifted, trying to move away from him. He grabbed the counter on each side of me, blocking my exit.
“I asked you a question.”
Sighing, I turned around to face him.
“Mekhi, I’m tired. I just want to get ready for bed.”
He looked down at me for a minute before slowly lifting one hand. I was about to slide past him when he surprised me by grabbing my arm. I looked down at his hand, then back up to his face.
“What?”
He just stared down at me, his thumb rubbing the pulse point in my wrist. His touch left my skin feeling sensitive, and I tried to pull my arm away.
