“Then text that nigga, and ask him what’s the recipe, and you cook it. I’m not them old ass niggas that you were dating in the past, Dionne. I grew up on southern, homemade meals. My mama didn’t have much, but she always whipped something up with what she could. As you can see, I don’t even eat fast food like that. That’s not my thing. I’ll never ask you for much. Just cook for a nigga. Cook for me, fuck me good, and help me take the load off. I’ll never really ask you for anything else,” I shared.
“Well, I can’t do the second thing. You act like you aren’t attracted to me anymore,” her ass had the nerve to say.
Being around Dionne, I quickly came to the realization that her ass was dramatic as fuck. A nigga take a little break from fuckin her, and now she came up with the conclusion that I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. I swear women were fuckin crazy.
“There you go. Believing what you want to believe. Stop running with that narrative because I never told your ass that shit. I just told you over fifty times back in the bedroom that you’re running circles around these other hoes, and how they not fuckin with you. The face on you is one out of this world, so don’t even say that,” I shot, and she just sighed, rolling her eyes up in her head.
“So, ask me what I want for breakfast,” I changed the subject, and when I did, she just laughed, and she walked over to me,attempting to take the seat that was next to me, but I reached my arm out, blocking her from sitting down.
“We starting now? Tankkkkk,” she whined.
“We were supposed to start weeks ago. The morning after we fucked, you were supposed to cook me breakfast. I want an omelet. That’s easy, and it don’t take long. Think about what you going to cook for dinner too. I’m about to be on your ass. I was supposed to get a home cooked meal out of you a long time ago, but so many things keep keeping back-to-back that I been sparing your ass. I treat you good. I’m not good for a home cooked meal?” I asked her.
“You are good for it. You know that. I’m not the best cooker though, Tank. I don’t cook much. I’ve had a chef for years,” she stated.
“You got a nigga now, so you don’t need a chef. I’ll take two omelet’s, love,” I let her know, standing up, and I slapped her on her ass.
I left the kitchen, going to the bedroom, so that I could grab my phone. Once I had it, I went back out front, going into the living room. I took a seat, sat my phone down on the arm of the couch, and I grabbed the remote. I flipped through the channels and decided to just keep the TV on ESPN. I could hear Dionne in the kitchen moving around. I laughed to myself when I heard a video playing, where she was getting instructions on how to make an omelet. Her ass really didn’t cook, but I wasn’t surprised because she told me that shit in the beginning, when we were getting to know each other.
Fifteen minutes later, I heard…
“Tank, this coming out wrongggg. It doesn’t look like the video. Can I just order you something?” you could hear the aggravation in her voice because she was whining.
“It ain’t gotta be perfect, baby. Nowhere in my instructions did I tell you to make me a perfect omelet,” I said, not turningaround to look at her because I was too busy listening to the segment on ESPN, as they were boasting about Rico, and the good game that he played a couple of nights ago.
“But if it’s nasty, you going to tell everybody that I can’t cook,” she said, and I laughed.
Dionne knew that I didn’t spare her, and that I would always say whatever comes to mind.
She didn’t bring me the food until about twenty minutes later, and when she came, she was holding a glass plate with two omelets inside, and a glass cup, which housed cranberry juice.
I took my eyes off the TV, and I looked over at her. She had a look on her face like she went through hell with these omelets, but in the end, they came out perfect. She sat the cup on the small end table that was near the couch, and she handed me the plate.
“Thank you, beautiful,” I replied, putting the plate in my lap.
“You’re welcome. Try it. I want to see if you like it,” she said.
There was a gold fork on the plate, so I used it to cut into the first omelet, taking a piece from the edge, putting it in my mouth, while it was still piping hot, as I chewed it down. It was good. I thought the shit was going to be bland because the way she was moving around in the kitchen, you could really tell that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing.
“It’s good, baby. I’ll give it a nine,” I let her know.
“How come I didn’t get a ten?” I knew she was going to ask that shit before I even answered it.
“If I had given you a ten, that shit going to go to your head, and you going to stop trying. I heard you playing your little video in there, and at one point, you got annoyed because it didn’t come out the way you wanted it to. You didn’t give it to me until you felt it was perfect. That’s the energy that I want from you. I’m also not about to boost your head up too much, and have youthinking that off two omelets, your Chef- Boyar- Dionne all of a sudden,” I talked shit to her, which she knew was my specialty.
“Hmm,” was all she replied with, and then turned on her heels, so that she could go back into the kitchen.
I enjoyed my omelets in peace, while watching sports highlights. I quickly finished them, and when I did, Dionne came over, so that she could grab the empty plate, along with the glass, so that she could take it into the kitchen, and wash it. Probably ten minutes later, she came back, joining me.
She didn’t take the empty space next to me on the couch. Instead, she crawled into my lap, straddling me, having both of her legs on either side of my body. I placed a hand on her ass, cuffing it, while the other hand was resting on the arm of the couch. Her head was buried into the crook of my neck for a few seconds, and then she lifted it, and started placing kisses. After that, came her sniffing me. Dionne was slowly showing a nigga that she was becoming obsessed with me. There was once a time when I felt like I had to beg this girl to be around me, but these days, she would willingly come to me, always close to me, and no lie, I loved that shit.
“What you doing today?” I asked, taking my eyes of the screen for a little bit, so that I could look down at her.
“I’m a businesswoman, Tank. I gotta go down to my warehouse, and handle some business,” she let me know, and that shit made me laugh.
“Where your warehouse at, baby?” I inquired.
“In Fort Lauderdale. I closed on it that night it was raining, and my tire flew off,” she shared with me.
