Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance) (11 page)

“More coffee, Honey?”

I nod, ignoring my mother, Poppy, calling me that. It’s sweet, it’s comfort, it’s a reminder of Lilla and that’s the last thing on today’s agenda.

“Thanks for breakfast. It was delicious, as always.”

She scratches my head, smiling.

“You look tired. Up late last night?”

“I was painting. Yeah.”

“Sleep still isn’t a friend to my boy?”

“Nope.”

Poppy sighs, moving around my kitchen to clean up breakfast.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m a big boy, Mommy.”

She laughs, as intended.

“But I
like
to. I miss you being home. It feels like you’re too far away. Some days,” she blushes, “I feel like I want to take a butterfly net and come running after you. Slip you back inside a jar and tighten the lid.”

“Suffocate me?”

“Steal you back. Bring you home.”

“This
is
my home.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “this is your
house
. Where you grew up is your
home
.”

“Technically, this is an apartment, but, that’s probably just semantics at this point.”

“At least you have a lovely porch. I am quite impressed with the mini garden. I didn’t know you were into gardening.”

“I’m not.”

And only Poppy let’s shit like this go, aside from her smile. I go back to reading the newspaper and she goes back to cleaning the kitchen. Whatever makes her happy, even if it’s damn dirty dishes.

“Honey?” I want to groan, but I hold it in, looking up. “Where can I put these?”

Poppy holds up a collection of papers—some trash, some thoughts. Some ideas, some of the most important things I’ve drawn recently. Some things I haven’t brought to life. Some things I need to read. Some things I need to quit.

“Just toss them on the couch. I’ll deal with them in a minute.”

I take a mouthful of hot coffee, appreciative at how well she makes a cup. I can never get it this good. I think it’s something about being a mom, it allows her to do shit right. I don’t know.

“Who is this?”

I don’t need to turn around. I know what she’s asking about. Who. I stare down into the coffee cup, watching the white foam cling to the rim.

“Her name is Lilla.”

 Because Poppy is the only person I don’t/can’t keep a secret from. Even if it were a possibility, I wouldn’t. She’s just too close to my soul. Too connected to me. Same way she knows how to make perfect coffee and soft laundry. DNA of a mother. A good one.

“She’s incredibly beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

“Very similar to that songbird you fancy.”

I laugh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Yeah. A little.”

“You sketched her
sleeping
. She must be important.”

“She’s my Eden.”

And I love Poppy because it wasn’t a ‘who is she’ ‘what does she do’ ‘how long have you been dating’. It’s a statement of truth. It’s an open door. Walk in or leave it at that.

But again, moms know how to get shit done.

“Lilla shops at our store. She schooled me on cucumbers.” I smile at the word.

“Warren, I’m a lady and I know I taught you how they are to be treated.”

“I’m not being dirty. She’s like … her food is my art. You know what I mean?”

“She’s a Foodie,” she looks back to the patio. “Oh.” Finally the garden makes sense to her.

I shrug. “If that’s what it’s called. She told me how to pick a good cucumber.”

“Well,” she sighs, “that would make quite the story.”

“For?”

“For how you met, if you ever
you know
…” she begins humming
that
march. Her fingers walking like legs.

“I love you dearly, but no. Not happening.”

“A woman who is beautiful
and
can cook—What am I missing?”

“She’s already married.”

A hand has never been pressed to a chest for such a long period of time.

“
Warren
.” Those motherly disapproving eyes. Like when I got caught looking up Jenny Miller’s skirt in fifth grade. Damn.

“Don’t worry, we’re just friends. I told you, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Boys don’t sit around drawing pictures of girl-
friends
as they sleep, or keep food they cook in the fridge.”

“How the fu … what are you some type of secret spy?”

“Just a mom who knows everything and misses nothing.” She puts her hand on
that
hip. That
you’re not going to do this shit
hip. “You’re playing with fire, boy. These aren’t the type of wounds that heal.”

“Why do you have to be in my kitchen getting all metaphoric and philosophical on my ass? You look amazing today. Did I mention that? Your hair is fantastic.”

“Save the sugar for your coffee. I need you to listen to me.”

“I always do. I need
you
to trust
me
.”

 “It’s not about trust. It’s about a young man who is not old enough to understand things he
thinks
he is old enough to understand.”

 “I get it. Lilla is off limits. It’s fine. I’m going to eat the shit  out of that dessert she made and that’s that. No more pictures or cucumber lessons. Alright? Calm down. Shit. You’re too damn old to get this riled up.”

She runs her hands through my hair, not amused by my mouth. As intended.

“And if Lilla doesn’t want to quit
you
? Then what happens?”

“No one ever
wants
to quit me, but …” I shrug.

Her face disapproves of my inflated ego. She realizes she made me this way, right?

“You curse too much. You’re too pretty for such ugly language.”

“Men aren’t pretty, Lady Bug.”

“I was telling it to my
little boy
who will never be a man. Now,” she looks around, “where is your dirty laundry hiding?”

***

I only believed someone would say yes.

Soft pats of encouragement on my head. A fridge full of alphabet magnets holding colors in place. Various scenes depicting the world through the eyes of a seven, eight, nine-year-old child and I bet she still has those magnets hidden somewhere.

Sometimes the window was small, but the world was always huge.

“Come in, come in.” Melanie Lockhart waves me inside of her home. An impressive pile of bricks, stacked by her husband, Timothy. “I’m so glad you have finished. I’m shaking with excitement.”

She smokes through a skinny cigarette holder, propping it between her boney fingers. Thick eyeliner surrounding her baby blues. Hair coiled properly into a tight bun. I wonder sometimes if she likes to be called Audrey in the bedroom. If she lets Timothy have a little Hepburn fantasy when he’s inside her.

“Beth,” she snaps her fingers, “get Mr. Valentine a drink, please.” Beth is an older woman, short, white hair, way too old to be working—anywhere. She looks at me in question.

“Whatever is easiest,” I shrug, not wanting to be rude, to either of them.

We sit at a table in one of the large rooms downstairs. There are papers scattered about. A presentation of some sort. My eyes are trying to figure it out when …

Lilla rounds the corner, pausing in place as soon as she sees me.

“Oh,” Melanie rises excitedly from her chair, going toward her. “Good, you’re back. Lilla, this is the young man I was telling you about. The one I want you to work on the campaign with.”

She ushers her toward me. “This is Cash. Cash—Lilla King. She is in charge of the advertising for a new project we’re working on.”

Dead-ass silence. Awkward.

“N-nice to meet you, Cash.” Lilla extends her hand.

We shake hands and Melanie asks us to sit down.

“Okay we’ll talk business in a moment, but right now, I just want to see what is under this paper.” She places the long cigarette in her mouth and I rise, holding the painting for her to unveil. Her eyes widen with excitement. A kid on Christmas.

Hands to her chest, taking a step back to admire it.

“It is every bit as beautiful as the last painting.” She takes the canvas from my hands and twirls, walking towards the parlor adjacent to this room.

“Help me hang it, would you?”

I wave her off. “I’m not really good at that part.”

Her lips smile and she calls another housekeeper in to hang it above a cream-colored sofa. A brown envelope is handed to me and I wish that was it. I wish I could go home.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Lilla?”

Her eyes look to the painting and then me. Beth sets down a glass of lemonade and I choose to keep my eyes on it.

“Yes,” is all she replies.

“I think you two would be a great match for the Villa Blanca Campaign. I’d like for you to exchange numbers. Get together with Cash, Lilla, show him what we’ve already planned out. Cash, come up with a few designs, I’d be interested to see what that mind of yours creates. As always.”

“I’m sorry, what is this for?” I ask.

“A shopping center my family recently purchased, for renovations. Cutting off the dead wood. Giving the city something that doesn’t resemble a shanty. Lilla will fill you in.”

“I’m not sure I have time to work on another project, but thank you,” I lie.

Melanie’s hand rests on mine. “Darling, trust me, you have time.”

“I really don’t.”

Her eyes aren’t pleased. I should probably be groveling for this type of job and she is throwing it at me. Her family is the reason why I have that car parked in my parent’s garage and a place to call my own. The reason why anyone who is anyone knows I exist.

Melanie’s hand rips a scrap off Lilla’s paper and clicks a pen. The scrap is slid along the table toward me. I eye the numbers on it.

“Still too busy?”

I shake my head.

She takes the paper and rips it in half, tossing it into her ashtray.

“Didn’t think so.” Melanie scoots back from the table. “Be a gem and walk Lilla to her car. I have a fundraiser tonight and I must be getting dressed.”

I watch as she exits the room, and then turn slowly towards Lilla. She is putting away her things. Glances to me briefly.

“I’m okay. You don’t have to walk me out.”

“It’s no big deal,” I shrug.

I take one of her bags as we walk to the door. Instinctively I lay a hand on her back as we cross the steps, reaching the driveway. Quickly I pull away, handing over her belongings when we make it to her car.

“Um,” she looks to her feet. “I need to give you something. I mean, you’re going to want to know what you’re getting into. I mean, I have plans. For you. I mean …” she sighs. “I have the stuff, the freaking plans for Cruella’s shopping center.”

“Cruella?”

Her hand mimics Mel’s smoking her cigarette. “Dahhling I want to buy and skin all your precious puppies.” She tokes from a fake holder, rolling her eyes.

“Mel’s alright.”

“Ha,” she opens her car door, tossing her bag inside.

“She gave me my start. I wouldn’t have sold anything if it wasn’t for her. Her family.”

“In that case,” Lilla says, “I wish I was a painter.”

Everything packed up, ready to go. Only the cool breeze between us. Only awkward tension speaking up.

“I can make copies and drop them off at the store if you’d like?”

“I don’t even know what she wants me to do.”

“We’re supposed to collaborate on the advertising campaign. I think she wants you to take what’s in my head and bring it to life.”

“Copies of stupid fucking shopping mall plans aren’t going to do that.”

She lowers her eyes. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how it works. For you.”

My hands rub over my face. “Just come to my apartment. Fuck.”

My feet start to walk away.

“Cash …” Did I already say fuck? “Warren, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you didn’t know Melanie was one of my clients. It’s fine. We’ll do this, get paid and move on.”

Her head shakes. “I’m not talking about this project. I’m sorry I hurt you the other day. You just … caught me off guard.”

She smiles sadly, looking down. “It’s easy sometimes to blame everyone else. My marriage is crap so obviously it’s Adam’s fault. My career is crap so obviously it’s my boss’s fault. Never mind the fact that every time something bothers me, I keep my feelings to myself. I keep Adam in the dark about everything and expect him to somehow be in touch with me. I put fifty percent of myself into my work and expect to be rewarded one hundred percent. And I blame everyone and everything
but
myself. “

I take a few steps towards her. “You just did.”

She looks up. “What?”

“Took the blame. You just did.”

Lilla nods. “Said it to the wrong person, so, not really.”

“If you told Adam what you just told me, what would he say?”

“Probably agree with me.”

I nod. “Then you’d still be in the same place.”

“It’s not his fault. He does what any woman would want. Would ask for in a husband. He’s a good provider. A good person. Would do anything for anyone. If I explained to someone why I’m unhappy they would look at me like I have two heads and tell me to grow up.”

“Wanting your husband to love you isn’t a sin.”

“He does. That’s my whole point.”

“You can love someone without being
in
love with them, Lilla. There’s a difference.”

“How can you tell?”

My feet move, stopping just as my body presses lightly to hers. Backs of my fingers grazing lightly over the flush in her cheeks.

“Does it ever feel like that?”

Her eyes look to mine.

“There’s a difference between love and lust, too.”

“Ah, you’re hurting my feelings again,” I tease.

“I can’t compare you to Adam. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. You’re completely different.”

“Is that good or bad—that’s all I’ve been trying to
ask
.”

“I don’t have an answer to that.”

“Shit, Lilla, do I feel good or not? It’s not that complicated.”

“It’s
extremely
complicated because the answer to that question is
yes
. It’s the most perfectly-imperfect wrong-right feeling I’ve ever felt.”