This time he sighed. “Yeah, I hear you.”
I disconnected the phone before throwing it on the coffee table in frustration. This nigga Trell was fucking with me, trying to show me he could get to me. Fuck him for using the people around me, though. He needed to come straight for me so I could settle this shit once and for all. And the fact that he was threatening Farrah, I didn’t like that shit at all. She might be a hard-headed little headache, but she wasmyheadache and I had given her my word that I was going to protect her. I just needed to figure out the best way to do that.
I was headed toward my kitchen when I heard the doorbell ring. I didn’t even bother checking my phone. Instead, I made my way to the front door and looked out the peephole. Farrah stood there, looking impatient as she waited. I opened the door slowly and smiled down at her. She rolled her eyes before pushing past me to walk into the house.
“Good evening to you, too,” I greeted sarcastically.
“Whatever. Have you found out anything about Trell?”
Her anxiety was still on one hundred. I wanted to tell her something to calm her high-strung ass down, but I didn’t have any news. Trell was still missing in action despite Tex’s best efforts. I shook my head quickly and watched the look of disappointment take over her pretty face. She sighed before heading for the stairs, no doubt to disappear into her room for the rest of the night and worry. I didn’t want her to go, but my next words still surprised me.
“Come help me cook dinner.”
Where the hell had that come from?She was obviously wondering the same thing as she turned and looked at me with her big, honey eyes. I waited for her to say no. We stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Finally, she nodded.
“I just—I need to change clothes,” she said.
I nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She joined me ten minutes later. I took a minute to look at her. She was cute in her little terrycloth dress with her furry slippers on. She fidgeted with the dress’s front zipper while I was looking at her. I could tell I was making her nervous.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Well, what are we making?”
“Just wings and fries.” I pointed to the mandolin and a few potatoes. “I need you to peel those potatoes and cut them into fries. I’ma work on the chicken.”
She nodded and washed her hands before picking up the vegetable peeler. She was quiet at first, her focus all on the potatoes. That didn’t last long. I felt her eyes on me, like she was thinking about asking me something.
“What?” I said, combining some butter, hot sauce, and a little honey in a saucepan.
“Do you cook a lot? I don’t know many single men with mandolins.”
I shrugged. “I mean, I guess. I have to eat, Farrah.”
“That just surprises me,” she murmured.
“How can anything about me surprise you, shorty? You don’t even know me well enough to know what I do or don’t do.”
“You just don’t… look like the cooking type.”
I stopped what I was doing to stare at her. “Oh, yeah? What type do I look like?”
She met my eyes for a moment before dropping her head. “I don’t know, Mekhi.”
“Nah, don’t get quiet on me now. You obviously got an opinion,” I said, opening the cabinet to replace the honey and hot sauce.
“I—oh! Is that some brownie mix?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah. You wanna make them?”
“Yep. Take them down.”
I pulled the box down and set it on the cabinet.
“I didn’t forget that I asked you a question, though,” I said.
