ALONG WITH MY belongings, Stocks brought me up food. Somehow balancing a plate in one hand with a garment bag slung over his shoulder, he wheeled three suitcases into my room. Feeling obligated to help him juggle my shit, I peeled myself off the bed and stood. “Here. Let me help you.”
“Sit. I got this.” He handed me the plate. “Eat. You’ve gotta be starving.”
I hadn’t had much of an appetite, but the enchiladas, corn, and Spanish rice all looked and smelled delicious, making my stomach growl. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I ate about half that bag of goodies from your mom during the drive. It’s a good thing she lives three hours away, or I’d weigh three hundred pounds in no time.”
“You think my mom would just keep baking you goodies?” I asked, still surprised she’d given him any in the first place. Mom had never once liked a single guy I dated. If she knew Stocks and I hooked up, she probably would have slipped a few laxatives into his cookies in a passive-aggressive message that he wasn’t welcome. “I’m sure that was a one-time thing, and you should probably wait to see what adverse effects you experience before singing her praises.”
Stocks gaped at me as he set my garment bag on the bed. “Are you insinuating that your mom would poison me?”
“Poison’s for a quick death. She likes her victims to suffer.”
“She wouldn’t do that to me.” He suddenly didn’t look so certain. “We connected.”
“Did you tell her we fucked?”
His eyes widened with shock. “No. I would never tell your mom we fucked. I did tell her you picked me up at Naomi’s party.”
“You what?” Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Why would you smear my good name to my mama like that?”
“Smear your good name? I wasn’t about to let her thinkIpickedyouup at a party. I don’t want her to think I’m some player or something.”
Stocks was too much. “Why do you care what she thinks of you?”
He unzipped my garment bag. His thoughtfulness warmed something deep inside me while the necessity of the gesture raised my hackles. I was an independent woman who could handle my own goddamn zippers… only, I couldn’t.
“Because she’s your mom,” he replied.
That cleared up nothing. Not one damn thing. Stocks and I had hooked up once. He shouldn’t care what my mom thought of him. “Next time I talk to her, I’ll let her know you fucked me six ways to Sunday. Bet you get a different reception next visit.”
“Why would you sabotage me like that?” He actually seemed offended and a little hurt.
I eyed him, unsure of the answer myself. Why was I so bothered about his relationship with my mother? She knew I was no saint when it came to men. Hell, she’d put me on birth control my freshman year of high school and told me to be smart and remember my dreams. But if she actually liked Stocks, it meant he might be good for more than just sex and carrying my bags. I wasn’t looking for more. “Why you tryin’ to get all cozy with my mom?” I fired back.
He dropped his gaze. “My mom and I aren’t close. She’s a health nut, so she doesn’t really do the home-baked goods and kitchen conversation. It was a nice change of pace.”
And now I felt like an asshole. Cutting off a bite of enchilada, I popped it into my mouth and let the flavor roll over my tongue, keeping my mouth busy so I wouldn’t make any more stupid comments. “Whoa. This is really good. Who cooked?”
“Jess and Spade. Apparently Jess has been learning some authentic Mexican recipes from his mom, and Spade is in the kitchen giving her a hand. He said they’re gonna attempt tamales next week.”
So, the room sucked, and I still wasn’t sure where all my clothes would go, but at least the food wasn’t bad. “Jess can cook. It’s refreshing to see a white girl get down with the seasonings.” I fanned my mouth. “This is actually a little spicy. I love it.”
While we’d been talking, Stocks had retrieved the rest of my luggage from outside my room. My bed now had three garment bags stacked beside me. My suitcases were all situated between the bed, dresser, and closet, leaving a three-foot wide path for me to navigate. Every zipper was open, and every hook was undone. Standing, he looked over his work. “Can I help you put your stuff away?”
Despite all the shit I’d flicked him, he was a nice guy. No wonder my mom liked him. “Thank you, but I can get it.” I hadn’t decided for sure whether or not to stay and needed to make my mind up before I filled up every nook and cranny of the cramped space.
He lingered by my bags, as if afraid to leave me alone with them. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Regardless of how long the fire station would be my home, I didn’t want him to think I was needy or incapable of taking care of myself. “You’ve gone above and beyond already. I’m good. I can take it from here.”
Still, he hesitated. “Can I at least give you my phone number? In case you need anything else?”
If homeboy thought I’d be calling his ass to help me, he didn’t know me at all. Still, the gesture was sweet and if it would make him feel better, I wasn’t going to be a bitch about it. “Hand me your phone.”
He plucked the cell out of his back pocket and handed it over. I swiped it on, amazed that he didn’t even have it locked. Anyone could read his messages. I needed to remember that if I planned to send him any.
Sending myself a text, I returned his phone. “Go get yourself a plate. You’ve gotta be hungry, too, and these enchiladas are the shit.”
