Tainted Black Part 8

I felt horrible for hurting her, but it was time to make it right.

I thought I was past this girl, but I was so d.a.m.n wrong.

Seeing her brought me right back to where we started, wanting to reel her in. Make her feel better, because the pain, hurt, and sorrow was all too clear. I needed to make up for my mistakes.

I wanted to make her feel like a virgin all over again-only this time, I'd know better. I would take my time, handle her correctly, like a virgin is supposed to be treated. With kindness. Gentleness. Care.

I would make her grateful that it was me who popped her sweet, delicate cherry, and I bet she would never leave without saying goodbye again.

NINE.

The following day was terrifying. Not only was Dad worse, but he was also running a high fever and refusing to take his medicine. Without his memory, he was a mad man. Margie and I spent three relentless hours trying to calm him. She ended up crus.h.i.+ng one of the pills and dumping it in his yogurt. The pill soothed him a lot.

By six that evening, he was in bed, numb as he watched a game of golf. I felt bad for him. I hated that we had to trick him into getting calm, tell him who we were and that we were there to help him not hurt him. He didn't trust us.

Not only was Dad's behavior taking a toll on my mind, but someone else's dad was as well-Izzy's. I planned on going over around 7:30, even though he said 6:00. It would be a late dinner and a late round of drinks, but it would give me an excuse to leave as soon as possible, you know, since it would already be kind of late? I planned on staying for about an hour.

Yeah that was the plan anyway.

It took me a while to find something to wear. I was about to put on a dress, but then I realized how easy it would be for him to sneak a hand beneath. Shorts would have been too revealing, but it was really hot. I refused to put on jeans or look like an idiot by wearing sweatpants during the middle of summer.

So, I tugged on some self-made jean shorts, a white blouse with the sleeves cutoff, fixed my curly mane, and applied an Indian-styled headband, and then I was out of the door.

The walk took less than a minute, but as I walked across, it felt like it'd taken a lifetime. The garage gate was open, and Theo was just walking out, opening the deep freezer. He took out a pack of unthawed steaks (I'm guessing he was keeping them cool), and when he heard my footsteps, he looked up. I threw up a quick wave, unable to hide my smile as I spotted him. He looked... amazing. And I was sure he hadn't even tried.

It was simple, really. Cargo shorts, a black T-s.h.i.+rt that hugged his firm body, and a pair of black Nikes. His hair looked like it'd just been trimmed, washed, and styled. It wasn't this way yesterday. Did he do this for me, or was it that time of month for a routine haircut? Either way, his attire was effortless, his entire appearance mouthwatering.

"Little Knight!" he chimed, holding his hands out. I walked into the garage, past his bike that had greasy tools surrounding it. "Didn't think you'd show." He held up the pack of steak, taking a quick glance at it before looking at me again. "I was just about to season these T-bones and toss them on the grill."

"Sounds great." Turning, he opened the door and held it open, allowing me inside. It'd been a while since I last set foot in this home. The last time was that night... the night that changed everything.

I walked in ahead of him, slipping out of my sandals and then walking to the kitchen. There were empty margarita gla.s.ses set up on the island counter. The house looked different, more modern than the upscale look Mrs. Black tried to uphold.

He'd changed the black appliances to silver, and there were now two ovens in the wall across from me. The flat stovetop was built on top of the island counter that took up the center of the s.p.a.cious kitchen. Theo walked in after me, barefoot now. I supposed the j.a.panese tradition was the only thing he hung on to.

"Why'd you think I wouldn't show?" I asked as I sat at one of the cus.h.i.+oned barstools at the island.

Theo walked on the opposite side, drawing out a butcher's knife and cutting through the plastic that was wrapped around the steaks. While pulling out the T-bones, he shrugged and said, "It's nearing eight o'clock. Dinner is usually served somewhere between five and seven." One of his cheeks tugged up, forming a crooked grin.

"My... dad isn't doing so well." I looked away. "I was at the store yesterday because all he'll eat is vanilla yogurt during his bad days. Bought a ton."

"Man." He shook his head. "Can't believe what he's going through. Now that you finally get to spend time with him, he's-" His words quickly stopped flowing when he realized where he was headed and how much it would pain me to hear.

The thing about Theo was he kind of had no filter. He spoke his mind. He didn't care if feelings happened to get hurt. Izzy used to hate when he'd blast her in front of our friends or during sleepovers. He was a real man, one that didn't sugarcoat s.h.i.+t, not even his own feelings.

He turned and walked to the sink to rinse the steaks off, putting an end to that conversation. After doing so, he glanced over his shoulder, smiling again. "Come here." He gestured for me to come with a c.o.c.k of his head.

"For...?"

"I took up some culinary cla.s.ses. Wanna show you something." One shoulder lifted in a shrug, as if he didn't want his pride for cooking to show. "Lots of time on my hands now. You know how to cook?"

"If Ramen noodles and PB&J sandwiches count, then I guess so."

He laughed, watching as I slid off the stool and walked his way. He pulled out the wet steak and then took a step to his left, placing them on a cutting board. Grabbing the meat hammer from a case containing various kitchen appliances, he tore off a sheet of plastic cling wrap and then set them aside. "That doesn't count," he chuckled, eyes bright. "But I'll teach you a little something." He pointed to something next to me. "Grab those seasonings, will you?"

I reached for the bowls of seasonings and started to give them to him, but he held up his hands. "Nah!"

"What?" I asked.

"This is all you."

"Oh no," I shook my head, shoving them against his chest. "The meat will be so salty. It'd be better if the professional did it."

Smiling, he grabbed the seasonings and placed them on the counter. "Fine. But you're pounding." He picked up the hammer, handed it to me, and then placed the plastic sheet on top of the steaks. "Come on."

My eyes flickered up at him, uneasy. "What if I f.u.c.k it up?"

"Well, now." His eyes were slightly expanded, still warm. Comforting. "Someone grew a potty mouth while they were away, huh?"

"Sorry," I apologized as he stepped aside.

"Don't even worry about it. You should hear Izzy. I think she forgets she's actually speaking to her dad when we're on the phone sometimes."

"Yeah," I released a breathy laugh. When he noticed he mentioned his daughter, a draft of seriousness pa.s.sed by us. It was so easy to talk to him, so easy to fall for such a beautiful, easy-going person. But it helped that he'd brought her up. It made me realize instantly that I wasn't here to play nice or even play house. I was here for dinner and drinks.

Dinner and drinks.

Drinks and dinner.

Whatever.

"Alright," he held his hands out, pointing towards the steak and quickly getting off the subject of his daughter. "Have at it. Beat it 'til it's blue."

Laughing, I lifted the hammer and slammed it onto the red meat. Theo walked away, pus.h.i.+ng the doors open that led to the deck. He checked the temperature of the grill, and I couldn't help my wandering eyes.

He moved swiftly, fluidly. There was something about him now. He walked lighter, head higher, but there was still a small cloud of darkness hovering above his head-one that would never go away. Not until he came to peace with his past. Or, better yet, stopped blaming himself for things he couldn't control.

When he was back inside, he dusted his hands and walked my way. The closer he got, the tenser I became. It was then that I realized he had a spritz of cologne on. It was an earthy scent, drifting past my nose, the smell of the seasonings long gone as he met at my side. His arm brushed mine, his hand reaching over me to grab the flavorings.

"Okay. I think we're good," he said as I slammed the hammer down once more. He grabbed a few pinches of the garlic, pepper, and a mix of salts he'd put together, smearing them on the steaks with his fingers. "I'm gonna toss these babies on the grill now. I'll whip us up some margaritas while they cook." He picked up a pan, placed the T-bones inside, and walked to the deck, winking before stepping outside.

"Sounds good." I sighed, ignoring the flutters that thrashed in my belly. Theo placed the steaks on the grill, and I walked out with an inquisitive gaze, watching as he flipped them back and forth in peace.

Taking notice of my stare, he briefly looked at me with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt on his face. "Something on your mind?"

"I'm just... curious about something."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I don't know," I hummed, sitting on the bench a few inches away from the grill. I folded my legs, looked up, and caught him staring at them, running his gaze up and down. He avoided my eyes as he looked away, pretending to focus on the grilled meat. I pretended I didn't notice him looking. "You seem much better now, Mr. Black."

He huffed a laugh, placing his fork down. "Alright, there you go with that Mr. Black thing. Chloe," he murmured, turning my way and stepping closer. "You can call me Theo. I realize there's a big elephant in the room-one we should probably address. If you want, we can talk it out. Hopefully that'll get you to ease up. You seem... tense. See, I wanted to wait to talk about that, but if you insist."

"No-it's not that," I quickly responded. "I just... have a lot on my plate. And if it really makes you feel better, I will call you Theo. Not Mr. Black."

"Good. I'd appreciate that." He picked up the silver fork again. "As for that elephant in the room, how about we just let him go, pretend he was never here."

"Is that what you want?" I questioned.

His eyes met mine. "Is that what you want?"

"I think it'd be best," I admitted, but there was a little lie behind that statement.

"Whatever you want, Little Knight." I'm not sure he noticed, but a faint smile touched his lips, one I was sure he meant to hide. He knew there was still something sparking here, something really, really hard to ignore. Fireworks popped. Electricity zinged and zapped, shooting straight to my core.

Inhaling deeply, I stood and watched as he flipped the steaks once more and then took them off the grill. "Looks good!" I said.

"Think so?"

"Yes. I've been dying for a really good steak lately."

"Well it's a good thing you're in town, huh?" He revealed one of his dimples, and I followed him inside. Once the pan was out of his hands, he went for the fridge, pulling out a jug of lime margarita juice and then some ice from the freezer. He went for the blender, and asked, "So, school is good? Liking USC?"

"Oh, I love it! I mean at first I didn't like my roommate, but she's cool now. I get her."

"You were never the type to really make friends," he said.

"Yeah, my dad said the same thing."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes having too many friends leads to trouble... and stress. Trust me, it took me a very long time to come to terms with that conclusion."

"Yeah, I've only seen one friend come over. Wasn't his name Mr. Brant or something? Cool guy."

"Yeah... about that..." He looked away, dumping ice into the blender. "Mr. Brant only wanted one thing. Had to let him go."

My lips twisted. "What do you mean?"

"Money..." His eyebrows pulled together. "When he found out about what happened to Janet, he showed up more often. Found out he was only taking advantage of my situation, getting closer to me for the few checks I'd receive due to her loss."

"What?" I gasped. "Seriously?"

He nodded.

"What an a.s.shole."

"Agreed." He turned on the blender, crus.h.i.+ng the crushed ice even further, filling the room with a loud whirring noise. I toyed with the cotton edges of the placemat in front of me, focusing on the horizontal prints.

"I would never do that to anyone. It seems so... wrong," I said over the noise.

"Well, I could give him the benefit of the doubt by saying his mom had finally kicked him out and he had just been fired from a well-paying truck-driving job, but I won't. He's an adult. I was going through a hard time, and to try and take advantage of me at my weakest point is pretty f.u.c.ked up. I understand not having money, but all he had to do was ask. I always look out for the people I care about. He knows this. Instead, he tried to steal it, going through my papers to see if he could find a pin number to my accounts. I caught him in my office one night." His head shook, the disappointment unmistakable. "But, it is what it is." The blender came to a hush, and he poured two gla.s.ses, one for himself and one for me. After digging in the drawer in front of him, he pulled out a purple straw and tossed it into one of the gla.s.ses, sliding it across the counter.

"Favorite color." He beamed.

"Look at you," I teased. "You still remember." I accepted the drink, deciding it was best to stop talking about his deceitful friends and his deceased wife. I took a quick sip, my taste buds going into a heavenly rage, flooded with tangy lime. "Wow! This is really good."

"I added a little something to the margarita mix before you got here. Can you taste it?"

"No." I shook my head. "But it's great. What is it?"

"That would be spoiling it."

"Just tell me," I laughed.

He took a sip of his and placed the gla.s.s on the marble countertop, folding his arms. "Just a few drops of cherry flavor."

"Wow... never would've guessed that one. I was thinking strawberry or raspberry."

"Close." He walked to the fridge, pulling out a gla.s.s bowl with potato salad inside.

"So, cooking, huh?" I inquired, lifting my brows as I smiled at him. "It's what you do to pa.s.s the time now?"

"It... helps." He put the bowl down and then grabbed two plates from the cabinet above. "See, I went to therapy because my mom thought I could use it. I don't believe in therapy and, luckily, my therapist understood that, so he told me to find something to do that can distract my mind, ease my discomfort. An outlet."

"When did you go into therapy?"

He was hesitant, avoiding my eyes. "About three months after you left." And only a month before you met your girl toy. "I started to... spiral. Instead of going to work I'd go to the bar. My mom dropped by one day to check on me, saw me looking and feeling like utter s.h.i.+t, and signed me up, refusing to argue with me about it." He sighed. "I'm grateful. Mom always knows best, right?"

"Hmm... most moms."

"Speaking of, where is yours? Never see her car parked up front anymore."

"Well, my mom decided to be a b.i.t.c.h and turn into a travel-happy cougar."

He busted out laughing. "Cougar? Really? Young guy? I can't picture it."

"Really? 'Cause I can. He can't be too much older than I am." I cringed. "Kinda... weird after seeing her with my dad all my life."

"So she just flaked out... left your dad here to take care of himself?"

"She got Margie for him, and luckily we can trust her. She's a really sweet woman. Her number one concern is my dad, so that's good I guess."

"Yeah." He placed his palms on the counter, his muscles flexing without effort. I looked away from his arms, but then my eyes met his. d.a.m.n it, wrong place. I was supposed to look down or to my left, even to my right. But, no. I looked up, trapping myself.