Page 22 of Hellcat Barbies: Imani
He walks towards his armoire and after placing the book back on the shelf, I journey to his bathroom. Just like his bedroom, its massive and everything is black, grey, and white. The tub, toilet, sink cabinets, and surfaces are black. The floor tiles and shower wall tiles are grey and white and there’s a beautiful black-painted shiplap wall behind the sink.
The linens are located on built-in shelves between the shower. The top shelves are stocked with toiletries and the towels fill the lower ones. I grab a hand towel and a bath one before stepping into the open shower. Taking my time, I enjoy the multiple streams of water from his wall-based shower.
When I emerge from the bathroom, clean and moisturized from his cocoa butter Vaseline and Jergen’s lotion, he’s no longer in his bedroom. So, I seize the opportunity and raid his armoire. I find a Hurts number one, Eagles jersey. I slip it on and it swallows me, fitting like an oversized dress.
I head out of his room, following the sound of R&B music. He’s in the kitchen, hunched over a crowded with ingredients island, roughly cutting an onion. The sight is slightly comical but sweet and endearing at the same time. The knife he’s using is big as hell and it looks like he’s butchering that poor onion.
“What did that onion do to you?” I ask teasingly and he lifts his head.
His eyes scan my entire body and he grins. “Come here,” he says. As I walk through his living room, he places the knife down and washes his hands at the sink. He meets me at the counter and pulls me into his arms. He inhales me then laughs. “Why does my shit smell this good on you?”
“Pheromones, I guess. I actually liked your body wash; it’s much thicker than mine.”
“I love my jersey on you.”
“Me too. It’s comfortable.”
“You ready to eat? I’m bout ready to start grilling.”
I break our embrace. “Grilling?”
“Yes, one side of my stove is a grill.”
“Let me help.”
“Nah. I’m cooking for you.”
“You can still cook; I just want to help. At least cut the onion and those bell peppers. I’m pretty fast at it.” He sighs then deflates his broad shoulders. “Please, the veggies. That’s all; you are doing all the cooking.”
“A’ight,” he concedes then steps aside so I can fully enter the kitchen.
After washing and drying my hands, I grab a more suitable size knife from his rack and sliced the whole onion, one yellow bell pepper, and one green. He uses the large knife to thinly slice the beautifully marbled steaks. As promised, when I’m done, I leave him in the kitchen and plant my ass on the stool at the counter to watch this fine ass man cook for me.
He pours two glasses of bourbon on the rocks, places my glass on the counter, then starts on the Phillies. The deep fryer is heating for the fries. On one side of the grill pan, he’s toasting the butter rolls and on the other he’s grilling the steak, onions, and peppers. The delicious aromas have my stomach rumbling. I’m too ready to eat.
“What kind of cheese do you use?” I ask.
“I’m a purist. I use Whiz,” he proclaims. “I have provolone if you want but an authentic, Daymir Philly has cheese whiz.”
“I want it the Daymir way,” I say and he glances back at me over his shoulder.
“Shit, you can have everything the Daymir way.”
If what we just did in that bedroom is the Daymir way, I’ll take that for a thousand.
I decide to keep my thoughts to myself because I can’t have him thinking I’m sprung off my first time with his dick. Instead, I ask, “But what about those secret recipe French fries? Are they the Daymir way?”
“Close your eyes. I can’t reveal this secret.”
“Seriously?”
“Dead ass. Close them,” he insists so I comply but when I hear him moving, I peak and see him pulling a bag of crinkle cut fries from the freezer. After he drops them in the fryer, he quickly places the bag back in the freezer. “You can open now,” he says.
I open my eyes and smile.His secret is safe with me.
Ten minutes later, I’m eating the most seasoned, most tender, and most delicious cheesesteak I’ve ever had. Even his special recipe fries are delicious. The season mixture he put on them is everything, the right amount of salt and spice.
“Okay. You’ve sold me. Cheese Whiz is definitely the best and this steak tastes like butter. You have to tell me your spice blend.”
