Page 91 of Zimyra

She playfully rolls her eyes.

“Yes. I’ll take something. Surprise me.”

I stretch my legs out and yawn. This comfortable couch and the smell of this food are enough to put me right out. I didn’t get much sleep last night, which is fine, as long as she slept comfortably and peacefully in my arms. That was my main concern. That’s all that matters.

“Here you go.”

I take the glass of what I think is lemonade and say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I take a sip and instantly feel energized. The flavor is A-1. “Ay, did you make this, or is it store-bought?” I ask.

“I made it—fresh-squeezed. You like it?”

“I don’t even drink lemonade, but this is delicious.”

I get up from the sofa and walk to the kitchen to see what else she’s doing. If she can make a drink taste this good, then this food is about to be life changing.

She’s stirring some chunks of chicken in a frying pan when I walk up behind her. She’s so focused, she doesn’t realize I’m here. She bumps into me when she turns around and giggles. “What are you doing in here? You want more lemonade?”

“No. I just wanted to see what smelled so good.”

“Nope. My mom says men are not supposed to be in the kitchen when a woman is doing her thang.”

She takes me by the hand and attempts to pull me out of the kitchen.

I don’t budge. She’s no match for my stature, weight or strength. Yet, she’s comfortable with me in her presence.

“Come on, sir.”

“Okay. Fine,” I say, yielding to her request, paying special attention to how good it feels to have her hand in mine. Feels like it belongs there. It does belong there.

When she leads me to the sofa, I sit down and, while still holding her hand, I yank her onto my lap. She ends up straddling me. Staring into my eyes, she leans so close to me that her lips are a breath away from mine and says, “Nice try, but I have to check on the food.”

She moves off of me, stands, and returns to the kitchen. I take a deep breath and settle myself. I’m not used to this. When I want a woman, I don’t stop until I get her. I shouldn’t have to wait for gratification of any kind. But then again, no other woman is like her. She’s one I will happily wait for.

Once the food is ready, she brings me a plate to the living room, then returns to get hers. She comes back, sits on the sofa beside me and says, “Taste it.”

I look at her and ask, “The food?”

Her cheeks redden. “Yes, the food! What did you think I was talking about?”

I grin. “Nevermind.”

I gather some chicken and rice onto the spoon and taste her cooking. As soon as the sauce, the chicken, and the rice converge on my tongue, I’m in heaven. I had to stop my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. I say, “This is some of the best chicken I’ve ever had.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m serious. This is delicious.” I stuff my face with two more heaping spoonfuls.”

She says, “You can take your time. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Please tell me there’s more.”

She grins. “Yes, there’s more.”

“Good.”

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