AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, okay.” She stood up in her chair, bowed to all of us, and sat back down. “I respected you all.”
“But you didn’t wash your hands,” Zada reminded her as she placed cream and sugar on the table in front of Baskoro. I looked around for my cup of coffee but couldn’t see one brewing. Yep, okay, I see how this was going. He’d charmed my girls much like he had charmed me. Could not fault them for being swept up by him.
After we all washed up, we were served leftovers. Now to be fair, I had eaten much fancier fare but never had I eaten something that tasted so good or warmed me so well. Perhaps that was due to the fact that comfort food always made a soul feel contented, or, and this was probably at least half the reason if not more, it was due to the man wolfing down hot turkey sandwiches and warmed-up lumpy taters like they were filet mignon. Kyleen did share her creamy corn with Basky, but not the last buttermilk biscuit which she smeared with strawberry jam and soft butter.
We ate, we talked, we ate some more, we talked some more, and then we somehow managed to find room for pumpkin pie with whipped topping. Kyleen opted out of pie to eat her candy, which she pronounced the best candy in the whole world.
“I hope the candy was okay,” he whispered into my ear as my girls made eyes at my…yeah, what was he exactly? Not my boyfriend, but not a mere friend either. My lover sounded perfect but did one hookup in the back seat of a trashy car make for a true lover? “I had no clue what to get for them, so I asked my sister.”
I choked on my pie crust. Everyone startled as I hacked. “Okay…I’m okay…dry crust,” I coughed out.
“My pie crust is not dry,” Zada scolded, then reached over to thump me on the back far harder than was actually needed, but the message was received.
“Sorry, I meant my throat was dry,” I said, cleared my throat, and leaned closer to Baskoro. “Your sister knows you were coming here?”
“Yeah, she kind of knows all about us,” he confessed, his smooth cheeks going rosy.
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were telling people about us,” I whispered.
“Well, we know, and his sister knows. So maybe it’s time you two stop fibbing to the world and just be honest with everyone,” Zada tossed out and hefted herself up and began gathering plates.
“No, please, ma’am, let us clean up.” Baskoro leapt to his feet to gently take the dirty pie dish from my aunt. I was sitting at the table gaping at my aunt as if she had just suggested that we try braiding seaweed into our hair to wear for the next team picture day. “Thank you.”
“Daddy, fibbing is bad,” Kyleen stated, chocolate finger pointing at me. “You should take a timeout after doing dishes to think about what you done.”
Aunt Zada chuckled softly, patted my child on the head, and then toddled off to watch something on TV while the three younger ones tidied up. Kyleen jabbered throughout the stacking of dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down of the counters. By the time the kitchen was up to my aunt’s standard of clean, my little girl was fading fast. It was after eight now, the sun had set hours ago.
“Why don’t we get you ready for bed?” I asked, scooping her up off the counter where she had decided to stretch out using the toaster to lay her little head on. I brushed off the crumbs as she curled into my arms, her droopy gaze moving to Baskoro, who was making himself another cup of coffee. “Say good night.”
“G’night, thanks for the candy,” she murmured, gave Basky a one-handed wai—her other hand rested on the back of my neck—and then thumped her brow back to my neck.
“You are very welcome,” he replied with a genuine smile that did funny things to my already tender tummy.
“I’ll be back down before you finish that,” I softly said, jerking my chin at his mug of coffee.
He nodded, his expression a little guarded. I left him to his caffeine, wondering a hundred thousand things as I moved through the bedtime routine. Kyleen was out as soon as her head touched her pillow. With a kiss to her cheek and a re-tuck of her blankets under her chin, I turned off the light and slipped out into the hall. My thoughts were still scattered like dandelion blows on a summer day when I padded downstairs to find my aunt pulling on her good winter coat.
“Where are you going?” I asked as I glanced pointedly at my fitness tracker sitting on my left wrist. “It’s after eight. I thought you turned into a pumpkin at seven p.m.”
“Don’t be wise, Marcus. It’s Black Friday bingo at the Lutheran Church.” She toddled to the front door and then slid her feet into her slip-on winter boots, her hand-knitted scarf wrapped around her neck. “I’ll be home after midnight,” she whispered as she stamped her foot down into her boot. “That gives you two three hours to be friendly.”
My mouth fell open. She giggled like the minx she was. A horn sounded out front. No doubt Ms. Nona Miller from the next block was in on this bingo run. Ms. Nona and my aunt were close friends, both being widows of a certain age with a child to help raise. Ms. Nona was the sole guardian of one of her grandchildren, a teenager of fifteen named Lyle, who delivered the papers in our neighborhood to help pay for a car when he turned sixteen.
Off they went into the light snow, uncaring that the roads may be slippery. No wonder I was finding gray hairs in private places.
Baskoro glanced up from brewing yet another cup of coffee. “This one is for you. Your aunt stuck her head in to tell me, quite pointedly, that she was leaving to play bingo with a Ms. Nona and they would be late so help myself to more pie. Is that what her codename is for you? Pie?”
I stammered over a reply. “Are you saying that you plan to help yourself to me?”
“Is Kyleen asleep?” I nodded. He smiled a sinful smile that warmed me from head to toe. “Cool. I have something for you as well.”
He moved from the Keurig to me like a sleek jungle cat, all sinew and muscle, eyes locked on his prey. His hand went to the magic front pocket of his hoodie. My mind was leaping ahead as I imagined him whipping out a string of condoms and some lube packets. Sadly, the porn prologue didn’t come to fruition. As the Keurig sputtered and the room filled with the sinful aroma of fresh coffee and Baskoro, he removed a crinkled slip of paper from the front of his hoodie, his gaze locked on his fingers as he carefully opened the wrinkled lined shopping list.
Okay, this was about as far from porn as possible. Was he going to take me grocery shopping?
I leaned on the counter, befuddled but curious as hell. He cleared his throat, darted a shy look at me, and then began reading.
“We walk along a stony path bound tight with willow and rose,” he started, paused, blew out a breath, and then wadded the paper into a tight ball and chucked it over his shoulder. “This is not me. These aren’t my words. They’re Citra’s words, her prose, and I feel like a giant butthole reading you this Jane Austen stuff when what I want to say is much simpler.” His eyes met mine. “I told my sister about us because I needed someone to talk to. I know we started out hating each other, and that was on me, but we moved past that. Into friendship. Then into something deeper. At least for me it has gotten deeper, and that’s also on me because we were like just goalie bros, but then I got horny in the car and things moved into feelings. For me. Totally for me. I just want you to know that I like you more than a goalie friend. And if you’re not ready for that or if you just want to be guys who get off together, then I respect that, but I will have to decline because I already have strong—”
