Page 54 of Soul Food

I couldn’t see his face, but my heart,my heart…Why did he have to make it do that crazy thumping thing it was doing now?

“You’re talking more…” I said shyly.

He placed my hand in my lap and let it go. “I hadn’t noticed.” He finally looked at me. There was something intense between him and I—something crazy kept happening to my body around him. There was a zing in my chest and stomach every time our gazes caught. I’ve encountered so many people over the years, looked into so many eyes, been around hundreds of beautiful males, and this one—this one was the only one who spoke to my body—my soul. He was on an entirely different level.

Studying his handsome face and those silvery gray, slightly evil-looking eyes, I asked, “How old are you?”

“Old.”

I sighed. “Would you please give me actual answers instead of these dull responses?” I waited a heartbeat. “Do you like spaghetti?”

“I’ll eat anything.” A slight shrug from his normal stiff demeanor.

Defeated, I dropped my head. I asked if he liked it, not if he’d eat it. At this point, I didn’t know how to get him to open up.

______

“Ya know, you don’t have to stand there. You can sit down.” I was putting the meat for the spaghetti on as he hovered near the pantry watching me like some giant predator. It was oddly thrilling and nerve-racking too. I was trying to ignore my body’s natural response around him—the tingles seeping between my thighs every time I thought he might step closer and the fluttering in my stomach as the seer of his hot gaze against my back only heightened the thrumming pulse in my ear—but embraced it at the same time.

I liked it. A lot.

“I don’t mind watching.”

I know.I briefly thought of what else he liked observing me do and wondered if that was why he said it. I scrambled around the kitchen while I cooked feeling hot and it had nothing to do with the stove being on. He stared at me the entire time, almost like it was a necessity.

“Can you get the wine from the fridge?” I asked as I scooped noodles onto our plates. I carried them to the table, and he met me a few seconds later with two glasses and the overpriced bottle of wine—all to impress him.

We settled into a comfortable silence as we started eating. As I viewed him across the table, the question kept nagging at me so I finally asked, “If you know you’re about to die, what would you do?”

He stopped mid-bite and set his fork down. “I’d do whatever I wanted.”

I nodded. “Lying in bed last night, I got to thinking about all these little things I never got to do. Like can you believe I’ve never been to an amusement park? I was too poor growing up. Once I was rich enough, I was too busy and didn’t want to go alone.”

“I’ve never been to one either.” He resumed eating, completely focused on his plate.

I grinned. “Really?” He nodded. I watched him take another bite. “Perhaps, we should go together then?”

“I’ve never been since I have no interest in going to one.”

“Riighhttt,” I mumbled. What twenty-eight-year-old asks a man to go to an amusement park with her? A desperate one. My impending death was making me crazy.

His eyes lifted from his plate. “Don’t get carried away with that wine.”

I hadn’t noticed I was filling my glass again until he mentioned it. How many times had I done that already?

“You’re already bold enough without the alcohol.”

Ughhh, what an asshole. Why was I so into him?

I chuckled dryly. “One of us should be. You’re like a locked door I can’t find the key to.”

“You need to stop trying to find the key,” he said.

I circled the top of my glass with my finger. “Maybe I should.” I stood. “I think you should go.”

He set his fork down again. His brow wrinkled briefly before saying in a monotone voice, “If that’s what you want.”

I hated those words. Could he not show he wanted to spend time with me, at least a little?

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