Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance) (27 page)

“Mariah has anniversaries not birthdays. She feels old. You understand, right?”

Cash shoves him, knocking his feet back a few steps. I have a new arm around me. Two.

“You weren’t in my bed this morning, Honey-girl.” Accusing eyes. Playful eyes. Green is the devil’s chosen color. I tell you.

“Sorry you had to find your shoes and socks all alone, little boy.” I poke his stupid grin, screwing my finger into the side of his mouth.

“It’s like waking up to a grey sky. Ugly. Lifeless. Don’t ever do it again.”

“You could have come to my apartment. You have a key.”

Heath is staring at our verbal foreplay. Our secret game. Cash smirks and ignores.

“Why don’t you guys just live together? I don’t get it. You are all …” he holds out his palm and licks all over. “It’s gross, honestly.”

“Lilla doesn’t love me enough.”

I hit him. “I put up with you celebrating another woman’s life … like her whole
life
, Warren. I’m pretty sure I love you enough.”

“Then why didn’t I have you in my bed this morning?”

“I could say the same.” I push against him, but he grabs my hips, tugging me back to him, onto his waist and carries me to his desk, sitting me down.

“You’re working right here, today, Honey-girl.” He takes a seat. “Actually, you’re helping
me
work right here today. I have to finish up a presentation for Mel. I need a little nonsense talking.”

“Isn’t that why Heath works here?” I tease.

“Usually,” Cash half-smiles, pencil to paper, head down. “But like I said, my world was grey this morning. A little sunshine never hurts, you know?”

“That’s some good butter you have for this roll. Keep spreading, Cash.”

“I could say the same, Honey-girl. About the
spreading
part.”

“I can hear you two,” Heath hollers from his desk.

“Ask me how many fucks I give,” Cash hollers back. He swipes his hand across the paper, blowing once as the grey crumbles and collects. “Why did we hire that bastard?”

I smile. “Because he’s your friend and really good with clients.”

“He eats all the donuts and never refills the coffee. Talks shit about my woman. Both of them.”

I hit his pencil, making him screw up. He bites his lips preventing the grin. “
Both
, huh?”

“I can’t quit my Mariah love. Don’t judge me, Honey-girl. I don’t judge your foodie … ness.”

“You really think I don’t love you, Cash? You’re foolish. You know why?”

He looks up and I want to punch and love his face. I love, love his face. The mischief.

“
I’ll be loving, I’ll be loving, I’ll be loving you long time.”

He laughs like I wanted. I kiss his face and slide away, singing as I walk to the coffee-maker.

“
I don’t want another

Ain’t gon’ never be another

Can’t nobody do what you do to me”

His voice carries through the quiet of our office space, as he continues to work.

“You know what’s ironic, Lilla?”

I dump coffee grounds and look for the filters. He doesn’t wait for a reply that won’t come. He’s just thinking aloud. Talking nonsense. It’s usually the best part of my day. Nonsense conversations. Good times. Just silly stuff shared between two people that would only listen to it because they love each other enough to. A silly key to a door or shared names on bills? That is the
real
nonsense.

“I fell in love with you to a song about the complete opposite. Mariah’s breakdown was our beginning. And goddamn yes I said that song title on purpose.”

I laugh and pour water. He smiles as he keeps his hand stroking. Working. Jesus. Shut up and brew. Coffee makes happy percolating sounds.

It’s quite fitting for the environment of this office.

***

“What is
this
?” Melanie’s eyes grow wide. “A
story
-
board
? A
presentation
? Who
are
you two?”

Cash slides down into his seat, chewing on his pinky finger.

“No wonder Timothy is so smitten with you. That great sense of humor you have, Mel.”

“You should take lessons from Lilla on how to be quiet when someone is paying you a compliment, young buck.”

“Being quiet is not how I got here.”

She brushes off his cockiness and goes back to admiring our presentation.

“I am actually quite stunned that you were willing to be a part of this campaign, to be honest, Cash. I do apologize for your family’s misfortune.”

“Yeah well,” he slides forward, hands on the table. Eyes looking at me. “Some things have to die in order for other things to live. Right?”

I smile when his foot touches mine under the table.

“That’s a good attitude,” she comments softly, lost somewhere in his drawing.

Cash mouths words to me that make my hand press over my mouth, hiding a smile. My cheeks aren’t as fortunate. He scrolls the words
my sky
across the folder. It does nothing to help the flush.

“This is very detailed work.” Melanie places the drawing on the table. I only notice from my peripherals. I’m a little locked up in devil green.

Cash sits back in his seat, still holding me with his gaze.

“You have no damn idea.”

***

I’m walking the aisles of a new grocery store. It’s a large chain that doesn’t have cocky-ass cashiers with liar name tags. Mary works here. She finally figured out the PLU codes. I know Cash hates being here. His mouth will never say it, but I see it in his face.

I feel it in my heart.

I turn the corner, aisle seven, and pause.

Everything that a group of girls beside me are thinking is exactly what is playing in my mind.

Is that even real? Can he even be real?

My husband would never do that.

I think my vagina is gonna explode.

Where the hell do you find a guy like that?

“At the checkout,” I laugh, pushing the cart to the end of the aisle, not waiting for them to reply. Cash is staring at jars of baby food. Hattie’s baby Fiona in a carrier thing, attached to him.

“You’re causing a serious problem at the top of this aisle, Love Lump.”

He ignores me, bouncing his legs to quiet the baby when she gets cranky.

“Who the fuck makes this stuff? Chicken and apples? Plums and turkey? I want to vomit just looking at it, Honey-girl.”

“I’ll make Fiona food, Cash. Never fear.” I wave my hand over the cart full of items.

“You need to teach Hattie how to cook. There’s no way my niece is ever eating such shit.” He leans in and dots my mouth with a kiss, careful of the bundle around his chest.

I laugh. “Wanna know what those girls think of
this
?” I motion to the baby.

“I worked in a grocery store my whole life, Honey-girl. I know what lonely housewives think of
this
.”

“I meant the
baby
, Jerk.”

“Attached to
me
.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“Are you honestly asking me this? I know you’re not
debating
it.”

“Ha—my ovaries are practically punching a hole through my body to get to you, Warren.”

He laughs and I start walking with him, one hand on the cart, one hand in his. We loop through two more aisles, picking up a few more ingredients for tonight’s dinner at his parents’ house. I’m resident cook on Friday nights. I happen to love this like I love his face.

He kisses my hand.

“Ready to check out, Honey-girl? Did you find everything you needed?”

My feet pause.

Soft green eyes. Kind smile. Pleasant.

The same girls from aisle seven—still looking from the checkout line. Still giggling and whispering through cupped mouths.

I look back to Cash—Cash who has his eyes on Fiona’s smiling face. Cash who has proposed the same question to me today, that he did the first time I met him in his father’s grocery store. I stare at him and take it all in. I watch his eyes adore this child. A real child. I watch him ignore the girls who would otherwise capture his attention, even if it were only to crack a joke. So different. So the same.

“Lilla?”

He likes Chicken Alfredo and paper airplanes. Loving with his whole heart and never fearing the break. Making his mom smile with the offering of a dance. Pop singers just because he isn’t afraid of who he is. Secrets only our pillows hear.

“Lilla?” Rough fingers I’d know with my eyes closed, touch my cheek, smiling as he calls me again.

I’m definitely dreaming while awake. I’m living it. My simple dream.

“Yes,” I reply, pushing the cart forward, towards the checkout lane.

You
.

Epilogue

CASH VALENTINE

Sometimes the beat hits your ears and beats it right out of your hands. Chest. Fingers. Sometimes it’s a long pair of legs in the morning, in front of the stove. A finger in a mouth licking batter from the pancakes she’s mixing. Sometimes it’s the bubbly-precious smile of a little girl. The way Hattie looks like my own mother and not some chick I kicked asses for.

Sometimes—it’s a mixture of all these things.

Sometimes my chest feels too heavy. My mind feels too full. My mother used to joke around, saying that’s why I got a headache when I was little. “Stop having so many smart thoughts. You’re not leaving room for your poor brain to breathe.”

I love her. She is just the very best person I know.

Sometimes, I sit back and watch Lilla from my desk. At her desk. I should be working. I should be thinking of other shit. But sometimes? Sometimes this is the real work. My father used to tell me: “Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

Sometimes?

Sometimes Claude has good advice.

Sometimes Lilla looks sad. Frustrated. I have to fight the urge to whisper across our quiet space and ask why. Why are you sad, Honey-girl? Why are you dim when your face is so fucking pretty? When your eyes are bright enough to light up my whole damn world. Why?

Sometimes I have to shut the fuck up. Sometimes I take her sadness and use it selfishly as dark charcoal and blue. Sometimes she sneaks into my loft and asks me what it all means. Sometimes? Sometimes I lie. Sometimes I tickle the fuck out of her and still lie. Sometimes? Sometimes I tell her she drives me crazy when she’s fucking sad and thank her with secret kisses to secret spaces on her skin for allowing me to be a part of it.

Sometimes Lilla is happy. Sometimes she smiles like a captured photograph. Sometimes I smile back. Sometimes I just watch. Sometimes I let her  paint the better part of me—metaphorically—with just that. Her simple smile.

Sometimes?

Sometimes at night I wish she’d come knock on my fucking door and give up. Not be so hard-headed and yearn for independence. Sometimes I wish she’d hold a pillow over my face and smother me in ways I could understand.

Sometimes …

“It’s been three years. Have I not treasured you, Honey-girl?”

Sometimes I tease her. Tickle her toes.

Sometimes she plays along. Sometimes she wiggles her feet at me and makes me earn her love. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m not afraid of Lilla. She’s the very best part of my life. Thirty seconds would be worth a lifetime of anguish. I’m just happy I fucking know her.

Sometimes she pisses me off. Sometimes I lock her the fuck out and want to pack all her love notes in a box and light it on fire. Sometimes she treats me like a kid and I want to act like one. Sometimes I want to show her how much of one I can be.

Sometimes …

“I’m sorry.” Always.

“I love you.” Always.

“I love you, too, Honey-girl. Lilla.” Always.

Fucking always.

Because bullshit like keys and titles aren’t a representation of our love. Our love is a constant and you can’t deny it.

Go ahead, hold out your hands. I’ll put this beating lump in your palms and you can be the goddamn judge.

Sometimes I take her hand and place it there. Let her know the truth. Remind her of how strong, willing and undeniable we are. Sometimes I feel like just her eyes can match the fever in my chest. Sometimes I feel like an asshole for even thinking of acting like a child.

Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes pretty pictures, jokes and hugs aren’t enough. Sometimes the world is fucking cruel and predictable. Sometimes stories end and new chapters fill the gap. Sometimes you get a text message that fucks up your whole existence. Sometimes you get down on your knees and pray to and for things you never have before. Sometimes you need a strong woman when something stops before it starts.

Sometimes you realize how fragile life is. Sometimes you realize how short. Sometimes I take Lilla’s hand and pull her along and away from the routine.

Knock the bullshit off. Love her like crazy, endlessly, stripped of reserve and preservation. Be out of our fucking minds with love, lust and longing. Belonging. Knock on the door of uncertainty and bounce in anticipation of not knowing what resides behind it. Love whatever comes our way because it’s part of us. Love every ugly word and beautiful sigh. Out of luck and full of each other. Ourselves.

Sometimes it’s alright to just fucking do
you
.

Sometimes I shake the shit out of her shoulders at two am. She rolls over. Smiles. Always, always, always.

Sometimes I’m smart and don’t ask, just pick her up. Set her on her feet and just watch. Sometimes I put my hands over her stomach and pretend it’s still there. I’m watching where she’s watching, but I pretend it’s still there.

Sometimes she rubs her hands over mine like it’s still there. Always I wish it fucking was. Always she cries but holds
me
. Always.