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“You always say that, Lennox, man.” His big hand met his chest. “Thanks.”
I tapped the inside of the truck through the open window, smiling as I turned away. Trying to shake off that mention of my father, I strolled through the empty garage with just a motorcycle inside, and into the house. Immediately, I was doused with a deluge of garlic and herbal aromas, causing my hunger pangs to recur. The delicious traces were louder than the Afro-beats streaming from hidden speakers. Following the long, lit hall, I learned it opened to a huge kitchen. Long, black-painted wooden cabinets with brass hardware, a colossal gold-vein marble island centering the room, and a brass-trimmed range hood over the stove where he stood filled the space.
He was comfortably shirtless, with a kitchen towel tucked inside the waist of his low-hanging army fatigue, cargo pants. The man wore freshTimberlandboots at the stove.The butters! Parts of his back flexed infinitesimally with each subtle move he made when shaking a medium-sized, stainless-steel pan with a loaded cream sauce in the air, over an open flame. This was effortless masculinity in a way I couldn’t be sure I’d seen in a while, if at all. The intricate grooves in his broad back resembled an African warrior. His dark, low-cut hair formed miniature waves, fading toward the nape of his neck. The tattoos etched on his back and arms were artful. Some I’d seen; many I hadn’t. Right away, I knew this was all a bad idea. This week, into the weekend would be no good for me. Those anxious feelings leading up to today had been a warning.
His phone rang under the music. I watched as he reached for it on the counter next to the small bowl of what I assumed was fresh parsley.
“Yeah,” he grumbled, and my heart was near exploding at this close adjacency to him.
What was wrong with me? I’d played this scenario over and over in my mind for more than a month. I’d had countless conversations with myself about this very week and the proximity we’d share. This wasnotlooking good for me.
“What?” he somewhat barked, snapping me back into the here and now. “When?” Within seconds, he followed up with a grumbling, “Fuck…”
His powerful frame steeled for seconds long, and my pulse beat thickly in my neck. I watched him turn the eye of the stove off, reach for a remote on the counter and press a button, lowering the volume of the music. Next, he pulled a shirt from a nearby, displaced barstool belonging to the enormous island. I bit my lips together, watching him manage the thin, black t-shirt over his head. The striae in his back and arms flexed again, making a work of it until the cotton fell over the waist of his low-hanging pants.
His head dropped forward, a clear showing of frustration. Then, slowly, his broad shoulders turned a one hundred-eighty-degree angle. The first vivid mark of his frontal beauty coming into view was his deep brown beard, manicured with precision around his mouth. My lids fluttered and belly followed. He faced me, chin low, thick lidded eyes inaudibly admonishing me.
“Curry,” he throatily greeted.
My brows plucked, creating deceptive confidence. “Mr. Elliott.”
Quickly, his eyes melted into a soft squint. “Oh…Mr. Elliott? So, I’m middle-aged with bad knees already?”
“If I am.” I shrugged, switching the weight in my heels. “You started it.”
He scoffed, neck collapsing again. A cheap smile softened his face as his chin nearly reached his chest. Then Tobias sauntered over to me, shoulders stiffly aiding in his stride as he rounded the island. His woodsy-floral scent pouring over me was downright lewd.
When he arrived to me, I watched as his eyes roved up my body. They didn’t linger for long before he raised his palms above my head for a playful greeting. “I ain’t know you were on your way.”
I slapped hands with him in the air. “And I didn’t know you were having company over.”
His brows shot up. “Pardon?”
I tossed my lips behind him. “Cooking for a dinner party?”
Tobias reached for my purse, pulling it from my shoulder with his eyes low. “You’re my party. I cooked for your big head ass. Don’t insult me now.”
My head swung back as I grinned hard. “Excuuuseme. What’s the occasion?” I stupidly giggled.
“Your trust.” He walked my purse over to a barstool parked at the island. “Can you eat?”
Eat?Suddenly, my stomach couldn’t decide if it felt pangs of hunger or butterflies of…excitement?
“Was starving until I walked in and saw all your wing meat exposed.”
Tobias, back at the stove, turned to peer at me over his shoulder. “Knock it off, Lennox.”
That’s more like it…
Being less formal relaxed me, I guessed. God, I was so tense. Those long pep talks to myself were totally ineffective at this point.
I watched Tobias pour pasta with seafood, tomatoes, spinach, and a white sauce onto a plate. He scooped up freshly shredded parmesan cheese in his hand and held it over the mound of food. His auburn irises raised to meet mine. “Parm?”
“For me?” I swallowed. “This is for me?”
His head angled. “You gotta wash your hands first.”
Grinning, I nodded. “Yes. Please.”
