Page 23 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“What about past relationships?” I ask, still checking the foundation.

Her smile is coy. “Why? You the jealous type?”

“Nah,” I say with a smirk. “Just curious.”

Her gaze is dark and unreadable. “Let’s just say…I’ve had a few, but none of them were worth remembering.”

Something about the way she says that makes my stomach tighten.

Not in a bad way.

Just in a way.

I try to read her, but there’s not much to go on. No details, no names, no bitterness…nothing at all, really. Just a door quietly closing on a past she doesn’t want me to see. A fine ass mystery, this one.

Silently, I watch her patter around my kitchen. Savory smells begin to waft through the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

She doesn’t pay me any mind until I pull my phone out, her eyes boring into me as I check my email. She’s staring in that way that makes me uneasy, but I don’t stop what I’m doing. It’s good to introduce a little competition, or the appearance of it. Keeps them on their toes.

When I finish, I return my gaze to her, staring hungrily at the tiny shorts she’s wearing under her t-shirt. They’re doing a terrible job of covering the bottom of her ass. My mind flashes back to the first time I grabbed that thing, and my dick rocks up in response. I reach into my basketball shorts to adjust myself, and even though her eyes are on whatever she’s stirring in that pot, I think she’s still watching me.

“What are you making me? I hope it’s not spaghetti,” I joke.

She smiles, but she doesn’t answer.

“So…how was your day?” I say, trying again. She’s really making me work for it.

She checks on something in the other pan. “Exhausting,” she sighs. “The kids were bad as hell today.”

I chuckle. “What happened?”

“There’s this little girl, Aniya, right? I swear, she was sent to earth to torture me.” She shakes her head. “She drew on her desk with permanent marker. On purpose. I told her she had to clean it up, and do you know this little demon had the audacity to look me in my face and say, ‘That’s not my job.’”

I raise an eyebrow. “Damn. What did you do?”

She approaches me with a spoon full of something. “Taste this.”

I don’t know what it is, but she looks sexy as hell holding it out, so I open my mouth and let her feed it to me.

It tastes like beef. Probably stew. It’s actually good.

“What I did was tell her that her mama should have swallowed her. But I whispered it, so nobody else heard it.”

I freeze mid-chew.

The joke slithers between us, dark and sharp. At least, I think it’s a joke.

I watch her move back to her place at my counter with the empty spoon in her hand, waiting for her to laugh, or to backtrack. But she just rinses the spoon off and gets back to cooking like she didn’t just say that shit.

“You wild,” I say, forcing an uncomfortable chuckle.

She shrugs, smirking. “Kids are wild. I just match energy.”

I nod slowly, feeling lowkey disturbed by this.

“Didshehear you say that?” I ask, because I have to know.

She stares at me, as she does, studying, probably trying to gauge my reaction. Finally, she shrugs again and says, “I don’t know. Probably not.”

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