Page 17 of Beautiful Noise
“Damn, either I’m extremely hungry or this shit is bomb.”
There’s no way she made this. Nah, this is all my OG.
I piled another forkful in my mouth before mumbling, “Moms definitely made this.”
“No, she didn’t. I made it and you could have at least asked before ransacking my leftovers. Maybe I was going to have that for dinner.”
My eyes shot up to findher, standing in the opening to the kitchen wearing a scowl that paired lovely with the tight pants and T-shirt she had on. Nothing like a sexy, angry woman in need of some straightening. My eyes continued to roam until they landed on pert nipples that greeted me same as they had the night before.
“You might want to consider a bra,” I mumbled before forcing another load of pasta into my mouth, speaking through unrefined chews. “Not that I don’t enjoy the view but I’m guessing you’re not offering it intentionally.”
Her face tensed and I highly expected some type of coverup to follow but instead she rolled her shoulder back and flicked her wrist at me.
“And you might want to consider pants. That’s completely inappropriate.”
“This is my house. If I want to walk around butt assed naked, I could and it would be completely appropriate, sweetheart.”
“Kori.”
“What?”
“My name is Kori,notsweetheart.” Her words were followed by a throaty groan of irritation and a dramatic roll of her eyes. When mine remained on her body, she slowly folded her arms across her chest. “And wear what you want. You’re right, this is your house, but I’m allowed to critique whatever I see so you better pray you measure up.”
With a knowing smirk, my eyes lowered down my body before lifting to meet with hers after a brief delay. Her vision had followed the same path mine had traveled. It was redundant to acknowledge that I definitely measured up, because my briefs did very little to hide what I was working with, so I kept quiet.
“Not the R&B singer being overly cocky and arrogant. Imagine that,” she mumbled, walking into the kitchen where she snatched the refrigerator open, grabbing and dumping a fewitems onto the counter. One I was very familiar with. The craft paper and logo gave it away. Steaks from Sal’s Prime Cuts. That was all my mother’s doing but I kept my mouth closed and observed.
After a few moments of silently avoiding me, she glanced over her shoulder and motioned to the container I was holding which was a few bites away from being empty.
“I’m assuming I don’t need to include you in my dinner plans,” she muttered.
“Me, no, but my stomach, yes. Those steaks are for me.”
Big brown eyes narrowed, locking intently with mine. “You don’t know that.”
“Actually, I do. There’s no way in hell you know anything about Sal’s.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I chuckled and polished off the last two forkfuls of pasta before walking to the sink, which she was standing right next to. We were now inches apart. Close enough for the two of us to be very aware of each other’s proximity but not close enough to enjoy it. And damn if I didn’t want to. She smelled like caramel and vanilla. It was faint but very present and had my mind drifting to thoughts of my tongue on her skin.
Noticing how stiff and uneasy she became I decided to push things a little further, reaching past her head while I leaned in close. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips separated slightly. A clear sign that she thought I was going to kiss her and if I wasn’t mistaken, she wanted me to. It took everything in me to resist because gotdamn those lips…
Thankfully we both were snapped back to reality when the cabinet behind her slammed shut and I backed away with a glass in my hand, grinning triumphantly seconds before continuing our debate about the steaks.
“The only way to know about Sal’s is by word of mouth. He’s sort of a hidden gem in the city but also historical in a sense.”
She sucked in a slow breath, looking as if she needed the oxygen to refuel her brain. “That doesn’t prove your point,Ezren.”
I chuckled at her use of my government name. It was meant to annoy, and most of the time it did, however, it wasn’t so terrible passing through those pretty lips of hers.
“It does. That accent is more Texan than ATL which means you’re not from here and considering my mother and Sal are old friends I’d bet my ass she’s the one responsible for those.” I pointed to the packaging on the counter behind her.
I turned to remove the bottle of apple juice from the refrigerator and completely filled my glass which garnered me a dirty look because I’d emptied what was left.
“That still doesn’t prove anything,” she shot back, shrugging as she turned to face the counter, likely to end the struggle she was having with herself about avoiding certain parts of my anatomy. I made her nervous.
This little arrangement my mother has forced me into is going to be fun.