Page 12 of Rebound

“Like men don’t judge women all the time,” she says with a hair flip. “So, you cook?” She almost seems aghast at the thought. “And it’s edible?”

Chapter 8

Layla

“I’ve been cooking since I was ten,” he says with his back to me. He’s bent over the sink, and I admit he is sexy. He’s tall and lean and has an incredible ass. But his whorish ways mean there’s no way I could ever be attracted to someone like him.

“Why the hell were you cooking so young?” I ask. “When I was ten, the most I could do was make myself a bowl of cereal.”

“Because I had no choice, princess,” he says without bothering to look at me. Sounds like there’s a story there, but I don’t care enough to ask more.

“Whatever,” I toss back. I go to his fridge and refill my glass with more wine. “This better be good,” I tell him. I almost choke on my wine when I turn around to look at him again. He’s now in an apron and chopping vegetables on a cutting board like a professional chef.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll come and take you to lunch tomorrow,” he says.

“Um, we are not friends,” I tell him. “And I don’t want to ruin my reputation by being seen with you.”

“Oh, please. What reputation? Whenever I’ve seen you, you’ve been alone. Or a third wheel to Jeannie and Coach. You know? You’re kind of a loser.”

He doesn’t bother to look up to throw that particular insult. He’s now cutting the chicken into cubes and throwing the pieces into a bowl. After washing it, he adds seasoning and then does the same to the bowl with the shrimp.

“I’m so sorry I don’t change partners as often as I change my underwear, Whorekowski.” I look around the kitchen, looking for chips or crackers to snack on. There’s nothing. I finally grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter.

“You have any cookies?” I ask between bites.

“No junk in my house,” he says.

I roll my eyes, but then I remember I have a pack of Oreos in my purse. I pull it out and rip it open.

“Nom nom,” I hear Jasmine say. She comes wobbling to me and tries to climb up my legs. I bend down to pick her up, and she snatches the cookie from my hand and puts it in her mouth.

“Hey!” I say, but I grab another cookie for myself.

“Mine!” she yells. She snatches this one from me too. I giggle and put her down, but she doesn’t leave. She sits on the floor and eats the cookie.

“I don’t let her have junk,” Seth says.

“What kind of childhood is she expected to have without cookies?” Just to tick him off, I give her another. He purses his lips, grabs the rest of the cookies, and shoves them in his own mouth.

“Set the table,” he orders. He points to a cabinet, and when I open it, I find the dishes. Because I’m starving, I ignore his bossy tone and set the table. I see two highchairs in the corner. He grabs one and brings it to the table.

“Why are there two highchairs here?” I ask.

“Johnny Chastain spends a lot of time here. He and Jazzy are BFFs,” he says, and I try to picture him here hosting playdatesfor his daughter. I shake my head at the thought because it doesn’t match my perception of him.

“More!” Jasmine says. Her mouth is now black with cookies.

“Sorry, baby, but your greedy daddy ate the rest. I’ll bring you some next time.” I pick her up and kiss her hair. She smells like shampoo and cookies now. I put her down and she runs to the living room where she climbs the couch.

That’s when I notice the nice aroma coming from the kitchen. Curious, I walk over and look into the large wok he has on the stove. My stomach growls at the sight and smell of the vegetables. He has three things cooking at once; the veggies, chicken, and shrimp are all in different skillets.

He stirs the vegetables while he spins the skillet with the chicken around, all without dropping a single piece. He hands me a serving dish and points to the shrimp. I’m too hungry to tell him to stop bossing me around, so I put the shrimp in the dish and bring it to the table.

By the time I do that, he already has the chicken and vegetables on the table. He whistles, and Jasmine comes wobbling into the kitchen. After picking her up and washing her hands, he puts her in the highchair and gives her a big portion of chicken and vegetables. He fills her sippy cup with water and puts it in the cupholder on the highchair.

After slamming down tortillas on the table, he takes the seat across from me and serves himself. I do the same, and because it’s him, I don’t have to pretend not to have a big appetite like I would if I were on a real date. I’m not shy about piling my plate high and eating almost half of my first fajita in one bite.

I’m on my third one by the time I look up at him, only to find him looking at me as if he’s studying me.

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