Page 8 of Tate: Gemini King
Natasha clearly has a mental illness. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the only explanation I have for why she could stare straight at me as I admire her gorgeous body and lie through her teeth. The attraction between us was both obvious and immediate. I assumed that was why she kept her distance from me. Luckily for her, I don’t even care that she has a serious mental illness. I care about her anyway.
She’s just afraid of what will happen when we get into bed together. She’s afraid that she’s going to fall in love with me, which is ridiculous. I think both of us are pretty safe from that outcome. Maybe something could happen after raising Terrorist for a few years together, but it’s too early for us to do anything but fuck and cuddle.
Tonight, we’re getting a “snow squall” that came on so suddenly the county only warned us about the storm’s arrival this morning. Lake effect from Onondaga Lake and sometimes even Cayuga Lake covers our town with several more inches of snow than similar towns in New York further away from the large bodies of water.
I always loved the snowstorms out here in the country. Even if I live closer to town compared to Terran’s place, our apartment building only has four units and the others are all unoccupied for the next couple of weeks by chance. Once we’re stuck out here, snowed in and entirely alone, Natasha will come to her senses and sleep with me.
Waiting for the clouds to burst takes forever. I research NHL scores on my phone and learn that the Avalanche crushed the Sabres again last night. Yes. Even if it may seem like it doesn’t make sense, Colorado is my lucky team. It’s all coming together for me. My lucky team wins. Huge snowstorm tonight. I’m going to get Natasha pinned to the bed and spread open for me to take advantage of…
My plans for tonight are singularly focused on my roommate — the hateful, sexy, perpetually angry for no reason black woman in my apartment who I will absolutely be sleeping with before the end of the night.
Cormac texts me right after I check the NHL scores.
Cormac: My parlay did NOT hit.
I think I can get away with ignoring his text but he replies.
Cormac: Rent is due Monday. Can I borrow $50? Unrelated.
Right. Because needing $50 bears no relation to his gambling problem. I turn my phone off. I still have my fireman pager, so there’s no need to give various family members and friends and excuse to hit me up tonight.
The snow picks up before dinner time. I’m tempted to order pizza, but that won’t work to impress Natasha or get her attention. She hasn’t left her room since I got a good look at her body. I have zero regrets about that, even if Natasha clearly expects me to experience some type of “remorse” here.
The only thing I’m experiencing right now is hunger. Terrorist is curled up on my bed when I head out to our shared kitchen. It’s the one place where I leave Natasha nothing to complain about. We both leave the place spotless and neither of us cook very much. It’s not because I can’t cook, I just prefer not to because of my unpredictable work shifts. I don’t want to accidentally leave something on the stove and set my house on fire because I had to put out another one across town.
One meal never fails to impress women: Shrimp Alfredo.
I don’t initially plan on sharing any with Natasha – not with the feral attitude she displayed earlier – but I know I’ll impress her with my display of cooking abilities. I pull the shrimp out of the freezer to thaw it out in a water bath and get water boiling for the pasta while I work on the alfredo sauce.
One minute into chopping up the garlic, Natasha flings her bedroom door open and stands there glaring at me. Our apartment isn’t very big, so both of our bedrooms open onto opposite sides of our common spaces.
“I’m cooking dinner,” I tell her. “Did you have a good nap?”
She rolls her eyes like there’s nothing impressive about a man cooking dinner. But then, her eyes linger on my chest a little bit because deep down, she can’t help but acknowledge the truth of her profound attraction to me.
“I wasn’t napping,” she snaps, flicking her dramatic mass of curls out of her face and stomping out of the bedroom into the kitchen. She folds her arms as she continues giving me the most evil look she can muster up. Natasha has a pretty face but it easily contorts into something mean and if she were bigger than me, I would worry about her beating my ass up.
“Doesn’t this smell delicious?” I ask, trying to tempt her to beg me for dinner. She just looks at me like I have dog shit on my face. But at least she’s looking at me.
“What is your problem, Tate?”
“I don’t have a problem,” I respond calmly. Once a woman sees that you’re calm, she feels safe around you.
Natasha scoffs. “You walked right up to my shower and pulled the curtain back, staring at my body like it was nothing. We’re roommates, Tate and we aren’t going to be anything more than roommates.”
I try to hide my amusement but judging by Natasha’s side-eye, I’m doing a terrible job.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because. Sex means something to me. I don’t want to be a notch on some country boy’s belt.”
“You wouldn’t just be a notch on my belt,” I say to Natasha without thinking “You would be more like a bed warmer. It’s pretty cold out tonight.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“What?”
“You are disgusting, Tate and you are never going to get anywhere near me. Not even with your stupid shrimp alfredo. How stupid do you think women are?”