Page 13 of Clash
She’s just a co-worker.
I bruised my neck on a door knob.
That’s not cum in my shorts.
Perfume? That’s not perfume. It’s aerosol spray from my office bathroom.
Yeah, I never fucking believed his ass, but he sure as hell expected me to. When I finally called him out on his shit, that’s when the beatings started, putting me in my place once and for all.
After finding my way back down stairs, I meandered into the kitchen, picking through the fridge and cabinets until I had everything I needed to make us all breakfast. Yes, that meant Clash too. It was the least I could do after everything he did for me.
If there was one thing I was decent at, it was cooking, and it wasn’t long before I had Belgian waffles, bacon, sausage, home fries, and scrambled eggs prepared.
Alex must’ve smelled the food because he came bounding down the stairs, white teddy bear in tow, smiling wide when he saw all the food on the table.
“Mommy! You cooked!”
I laughed as he sat down in front of his plate, his eyes widening like saucers. “Is all this for us?”
My mouth opened to answer him, but the front door broke my concentration, bringing my focus to the godly man that entered through the doorway.
Clash was covered in sweat, the pebbled perspiration leaking down his face and staining his black T-shirt. He had on grey sweat pants… and yes, they’re everything girls go gaga over. I could see every inch tented behind the thick fabric.
“Did you make breakfast?” he asked, staring at his table curiously.
“Yes, is that okay?”
He took a step forward, stopping just shy of Alex who was stuffing his face. “Yeah, but why did you make so much?”
I shrugged, knowing the answer was a sinister aftermath of a fucked-up marriage. “A man should always have a four-course meal waiting for him when he gets home,” I answered robotically, waiting for Clash to sit down before I took my own seat.
My eyes were focused on a broken tile of the floor, knowing that eye-contact showed a strength I didn’t have.
“Hey now, don’t do that.”
Depths of hazel mesmerized me as I weakly lifted my head, getting lost in all the gorgeous features of his face.
“Do what?”
“Treat me like I’m your master. That’s not me, sweetheart. Cook yourself whatever you like, but don’t you ever think that you have to prepare a huge meal like this for me. I’m cool with hotdogs and mac ‘n’ cheese, shit I’d eat some toast with a cup ofcoffee if that’s all you wanted to make. I’m easy to please. But again, this isn’t about me. It’s about you and your son.”
His words shocked the hell out of me. What he was saying was the exact opposite of anything my husband would ever say to me.
He touched my cheek, and I flinched, too afraid of human contact to enjoy someone being what I think is supposed to be genuine. I wouldn’t know kindness, or genuine decency if it bit me in the face.
Retracting his hand, he grinned, moving to the seat across from Alex before motioning to the seat at the head of the table.
“Oh no, I can’t sit there.”
“Why?” he asked, that smile kicking up even further.
My teeth worried my lip, not sure how to approach his question without sounding completely crazy. “Only men sit at the head of the table,” I whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.
His smile instantly faded, and before I could react, he was standing up, pulling the chair out for me at the head of the table. “Nonsense, the head of the table is meant for the one that puts in all the work. That be you, sweetheart.”
Cautiously, I took the seat, my heart stammering inside my chest as I settled in the unfamiliar place at the table.Who the fuck is this guy?
We sat there eating in awkward silence. Every once in a while, I’d steal a glance his way, only to catch him watching me eat, barely able to stomach real food. Every time I caught him looking at me, I’d blush, my cheeks heating to insane temperatures that felt on the brink of combustion.
