"You may call my food trash, and I don't have time for that kind of humiliation. I should've opted for the chef instead."
"Nah," he walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, then twisted the cap. "I wouldn't do that to you." He stated, before gulping down the beverage. "This is your world. I'm just living in it."
Teasingly, I tapped the side of my cheek, giving him an inquisitive look, deciding what I could whip up quickly for both of them.
"Do you like meatloaf?" I asked hesitantly.
"You mean ground beef cake," he grinned, making me release a loud cackle.
"Ground beef cake, Syx? Out of all the things you could've said."
He shrugged as he twisted the cap back on the water bottle. "That's what it is to me."
"Then I won't make it."
"I ain't say I don't like it, but that's what I call it."
Shaking my head, I grabbed the cutting board and knife so I could wash them off. Then I rinsed the bell peppers in vinegar before cutting them. Syx grabbed some ground turkey and saltine crackers and placed them on the countertop.
Together we worked in comfortable silence for a while. Despite my nerves, I found herself relaxing in the midst of the rain and thunder. There was something calming about his presence. He moved with such grace and confidence, and he didn't try to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter.
"So," he spoke up, snatching me out of my thoughts. "What do you do for work?"
"I'm a college professor," I responded proudly.
"Oh," he chuckled lowly. "She's fine and smart."
"I am."
"How long have you been married?" he asked, switching the topic now, making me choke on my spit.
"Huh," I glanced up at him from chopping the bell peppers. "I didn't tell you I was married. I told you I was divorced. Did you forget that?"
He stabbed the air with the knife in his hand, pointing at my ring finger. Nothing was there. That meant he was paying attention to every little detail, and all of my flaws were probably sticking out like a sore thumb now. Snatching my eyes away from him, I glanced at my finger then held my hand in the air with a disgusted look written on my face because once upon a time, a frog kissed me and put a ring on it.
"The faint tan line on your finger. Unless you wear a promise ring there and chose not to wear it tonight. I know women who still wear their wedding rings because their trophies. Ain’t shit wrong with that. You’re getting’ offended?”
"Oh, shit," I murmured, then swiped the back of my hand along the fabric of my dress as if that would make it disappear. "I don’t wear it anymore.”
His face scrunched up in confusion, but I noticed the relief that wavered on his face that he tried to play off. "Will I be in your business if I ask why?"
I scoffed because he was being sarcastic. By the end of the night his fingers might be thrusting in and out of me as he licked and sucked my flesh, being a mere stranger, so telling him about my divorce wasn't personal at all.
"He cheated," I shrugged. "Don't act like you don't know him though."
His brow rose and he stopped chopping the onion. "Know who? Your ex-husband?"
"Malcolm Stevens," I said plainly.
"The football player?" he questioned without a glimmer of joy.
"That's him."
"I knowofhim, but I ain't no fan," he retorted. "You had your last name changed?"
"No. I kept it. I didn't want to feel like a dog on a leash. Trust me, when I mentioned it to him, he was against it for a long time and so were his parents, mainly his father, but there was nothing he could do. Of course, my father was happy because he doesn’t have sons to pass down his legacy."
"Was he not your dream guy?"
