Page 44 of Not My Type
She laughs. “Fry the piece o’ fowl.”
“Okay,” I giggle and end the call.
I order my pizza and head to the bathroom to shower. I step under the water, and for the entire time, I’m thinking of that handsome gangster. I cut the shower off, dry my body and enter my room in my robe. As soon as I’m near my bed, I step out of the robe. I walk nakedly around my room, searching for clothes to wear.
Underneath need breeze!
I slip on a white tank top and pink biker shorts, before I head towards the kitchen to start the chicken. I put on Queen Naija’s Medicine, turn the volume up and dance as I begin to cook.
A knock on the grill startles me. Oh, the delivery guy. I wash and dry my hands before I walk out of the kitchen, open the door and gasp when I see Nick standing at my grill. He smirks at me.
I—
He’s wearing a multi-coloured polo hoodie with denim jeans and royal blue, suede Wallabee Clarks. Hmm... the Clarks dem neat.
Yuh mean him neat!
I notice that I’m staring too much and laugh awkwardly. He’s just looking at me with a weird expression, eyes glinting with something unreadable. Whew.
“Why are you here?” my cheeks warm.
“Nah get you phone,” he retorts. I act surprised, knowing damn well, I saw his calls and turn on do not disturb. I just didn’t know what to say.
“Ohh...” I trail off.
“You cooking?” he asks and I gasp, remembering the chicken.
If yuh burn dem up, him ago think yuh cya cook sis.
I quickly open the grill and run into the kitchen to turn the chicken over. They’re perfectly golden and crispy.
Thank God they aren’t burnt!
Dat would a look so bad. I step back and feel him behind me. He puts his arms around me. I smile to myself because the feeling of being in his arms is euphoric.
“Um...” I feel tongue tied.
He puts his face in the nape of my neck. My body trembles. I turn, and he pulls me to him as he steps away from the stove. Whew, why dat so sexy?
“ Mi nuh want the oil burn you,” His voice. Jezam.
He washes his hands and I sit around the dining table. He takes off his hoodie and puts it on the sofa, before he takes the fork from me. He’s only wearing his white marina with his pants. He turns the chicken for me and takes them out of the pan when he’s satisfied that they’re done.
I like how helpful he is.
“What were you gonna say?” he asks the moment he has covered the chicken.
My eyebrows shoot up. “What are you talking abo—” I stop myself when I remember. Girl get it together... Your decision.
“Mi a say... the question that you asked,” I meet his stare. It throws me off. His eyes dripping with emotions.
That’s... new.
“Sometimes you nuh have no...” I stop myself. I don’t know how he is — if he’s someone I can be honest with. I don’t know how he will take it and...
You’re afraid of him. Just be honest girl!
Yes. I hate to admit it, but this man wasn’t making it easy for me to say otherwise.
