I cross my arms and stare at him for an explanation.
“Oh, stop it with that look. You couldn’t scare a fly with that.” He looks around the room and puts his hands on his hips. “Okay, so I can’t cook. Well, I can make bacon and scrambled eggs, but that’s all. I was trying to bring you breakfast in bed, but maybe I should have had something delivered.” He lets out a breath and takes a seat as if he’s already exhausted.
The skillet on the stove starts to smoke, and I walk over and turn the fire off. I slip on the egg yolk on the floor, but he grabs me, and I end up on his lap.
“What the hell, Chastain?” I reach for a paper towel to wipe the egg off my foot.
“I meant well. I promise.” His arm tightens around me.
“Yes, and now my kitchen is a disaster.”
“You feel good, do you know that?” He runs his nose along the side of my neck, reawakening my body. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, I hear. Don’t fret, my queen.” He stands abruptly. He still has his arm around my waist, which is holding me up and keeping my feet from touching the ground. He walks me to the back of the house and into the master bathroom. He doesn’t let me go until he puts me inside the shower. “In you go. I’ll order us something while you wash up.”
I take off my robe and hand it to him. I don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the sight of my naked body. I gesture for him to leave, and he does. When he’s gone, I step out, put on my shower, and step back in. Another reason why getting together with him is a bad idea. A black man would have known better. I shower quickly, and when I step out, it’s to the sound of loud whistling. I know the song. Dad and the evil one play it all the time. It’s an old Lionel Richie song called Easy.
By the time I’m dressed in a long maxi dress, the whistling has stopped. I’m pleased to see my kitchen has returned to its pristine order, and Colt is wiping down the counter when I approach.
“So,” he begins. He pulls out a chair for me and gestures for me to sit. “I need to leave soon. I have a session with my personal trainer, and I have practice and a team meeting. The first two games are tomorrow and Monday.” He pours a mug of coffee and hands it to me. He goes back to the fridge and hands me a carton of half and half. “Sugar, sugar?” He laughs as if he told a joke.
I nod yes, and he goes to my pantry and returns with it.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” I joke.
“Indeed.” He pours himself his own coffee. “Now, back to what I was sayin’.”
“Were you saying something?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. He jogs to answer it and returns seconds later holding a plastic bag. While he rummages through the bag, I get an alert on my phone. I glance at it, and it’s an email I’ve been waiting for. I scan the first few sentences, then my shoulders sag in disappointment. I close my eyes and sigh. Then I toss the phone across the table.
“Bad news?” He approaches and rests a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it, nosy.”
He scratches his head and stares down at me. “I’m worried.” He cups my face. “My imagination is runnin’ wild. I’m thinkin’ you gave all your money to a Nigerian prince and now you need me to bail you out. I swear, Victoria—”
I roll my eyes and shove his hands away, but he takes both of mine in his. “Or someone is holdin’ Alan for ransom. Is that it? Don’t worry. I’ll bust in there and—”
“Oh, will you stop! It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what, darlin’?” He cups my face again. “You can tell me. Let’s see. What can it be?” He looks at the ceiling as if he’s deep in thought. “You just found out the family dog you had as a kid didn’t run away to a farm like your daddy told you.” He sits and pulls me into an awkward hug. “I had the same thing happen to me. I don’t want you to blame your daddy for this—”
“Oh, will you shut up? I applied to teach English in Mexico next year, and I wasn’t chosen. Are you always so melodramatic?”
He sits across from me and puts a hand to his chest. He loudly exhales in relief. “I’m sorry, Queen, but the selfish part of me wants you here.” He kisses both of my hands. “We still would have made it work, though.” He returns to the bags, and I swear I hear him say under his breath, “My lady speaks Spanish.”
He moves around my kitchen as if he lives here. He seems to know where I keep everything. “So, do you speak any other languages?” he asks while he pours me another cup of coffee.
“I’m fluent in French and Spanish.”
“French? Ooh la la.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “We’ll stop off in Paris on our way to Madrid.”
He puts a plate of food in front of me, kisses my temple, and sits. My stomach growls at the site of scrambled eggs, bacon, and potatoes.
“Thank you,” I tell him with an appreciative smile. “I’m sure this is much better than whatever you were going to make.” I decide to ignore everything he said about us traveling together.
“That’s why I believe in specialization.” He picks up his eggs with his hands and shoves the entire thing in his mouth. He bursts into laughter when he sees the disgust on my face. He wipes the side of his mouth with his fingers.
“You’re gross,” I tell him while I pick up a piece of bacon and put it to my mouth.
