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He laughed as he took his plate out of the refrigerator and put it in the microwave. Once it finished heating, he grabbed something to drink and sat across from me. He bowed his head to say his grace before picking up his fork.

“Damn, this shit good as fuck,” he said after taking a bite of the chicken. “Ma dukes did the damn thing.”

“Yeah, my mama can throw down in the kitchen.”

“Hell yeah. Now I see where you get your cooking from.” He took another bite before looking at me. “Shit, you got good food and good pussy. I'm winning all the way around.”

“Nigga.” I shook my head.

“What?” He laughed.

“Really, Cassian?”

“I'm just giving you your props, ma.”

“You could've stopped at the food.”

“Why would I do that when both good as hell?”

I couldn't do anything but shake my head. This man had absolutely no filter when it came to some of the shit that came out of his mouth.

He took another bite of his chicken before looking over at me again.

“So, what's up with dessert?”

“There's some cake in the refrigerator.”

“I ain't talking about no damn cake, ma.”

I looked at him, already knowing where he was going with this.

“Cassian.”

“What?” He shrugged. “I'm just saying, that pussy was good as hell the other night. You gone let me taste it again or what?”

The way he asked that question had me pressing my thighs together underneath the island. I tried to keep my expression straight because I wasn't about to let him know he'd gotten that kind of reaction out of me.

“You are too much.”

“I know.” He chuckled and went back to eating. “But I asked you a question.”

I shrugged instead of answering him. Truthfully, I didn't know what I wanted to do. A part of me wanted to experience that with him again, but I was still trying to figure out how I felt about everything between us. I wasn't scared of Cassian in that way. It was more about how things might change if I kept letting myself get closer to him.

He didn't press me for an answer, and I was glad because I wasn't ready to give him one.

“Cassian, can I ask you something?” I asked after a moment, deciding to change the subject.

“What's up, ma?”

“Are you mixed with something?”

“Yeah. I'm Black and Italian. My mama Italian, and my pops Black.” He looked at me. “Why you ask?”

“I was just curious. I could tell you were mixed with something, but I couldn't figure out what.”

He nodded and took another bite of his food.

“So, you trying to see what our babies gone look like?”