I smile and kiss him. We get lost for a moment and then his stomach growls again. “Come on, let me cook for you.”
We get out of bed and I grab his shirt off of the floor. He scoots down and grabs his prosthetic. I can’t imagine what he went through to get to where he is today. He puts it on, followed by his pants. Then I catch him looking for his shirt and I smile at him, when we connect eyes.
“I like you in my clothes,” he says standing next to me, so tall that I have to crane my neck to see his face.
“Are you ready to eat?” I ask him.
“For sure.” Upon entering the kitchen, Nate sits at the bar and I open the fridge, bending over, ’cause I know he’s right behind me. I push my ass towards him and remember that we have dinner in the oven. I stand up pulling it open.
“This work?” I ask.
“You said you were gonna cook for me,” he grumbles.
“Fine,” I complain jokingly. “I’ll cook.”
“No, no, no. Leftovers are fine,” he says, coming into the kitchen and swatting my ass. “I’m gonna run to my car real quick.”
“Do you want your shirt?” I ask.
“Nah, it’s dark out.”
I can’t help but watch him walk away. He’s limping more than usual, and his back…oh my God, his poor back. Seeing his scars in the kitchen light makes them more apparent. I shiver from the sight, feeling terrible as I imagine what he went through. But I push the thought aside, knowing he doesn’t want to relive any of it now.
Turning the oven on, I reheat the food, then flip the TV on. As usual, Extra is on and I love me some Hollywood gossip. I listen from afar, opening another bottle of wine. Then the anchor begins to talk about Bain Adams from the Miami Heat and his wife, Arion. Oh, I love that couple. Such a tragic story how he lost his sister.
Nate comes back in with a duffle bag on his shoulder and his attention is immediately drawn to the TV. “The happy couple are expecting baby number two early next year,” she says and they flash a few photos of them from their recent People magazine shoot.
“Can you believe that? They just had a baby and now another one.”
Nate’s face is white as a ghost. He drops his bag and stands frozen in my living room.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly alarmed.
He doesn’t respond to me, I walk around him as tears well in his eyes. He blinks them away as the TV show goes to a commercial. “What’s wrong?” I ask again, beginning to panic.
He stumbles to the couch and flops down without speaking.
“Nate?” I ask again, frightened.
“She’s my ex.”
My jaw about hits the floor. What the fuck? I couldn’t have heard him right, could I?
“Arion Adams?” I ask, not believing him.
“LaSalle was her last name when I knew her, but yes.”
“Jesus, Nate, I had no idea.”
All color has drained from his face and I fan him while we sit on the couch. I’m not sure what to say next, but I have to say something, because the look on his face is scaring me.
“I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, settling on the fact that it might be better to just let him get things out into the open.
“What’s to say? She’s all that kept me alive when I was gone and when I came home, she’d moved on with that asshole NBA star. Now they’re married and have a kid, and I guess another on the way.”
I exhale, taking in his words. Fuck, it’s a lot to process. But I totally understand where he’s coming from.
“I get it, Nate, I do. Even though our situations aren’t the same, I know how it feels to have the person you love choose someone else. I can’t imagine how you must feel with their life being splashed across the media.”
“You understand?” he asks holding on to my thigh.
“Yeah.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be shocked by this. I’ve let her go, but seeing those pictures…” he trails off.
“I’m sorry,” I respond and scoot myself on top of his lap, straddling his sexy body. He holds me tightly and stares into my eyes. Our chests heave up and down, and mine just about erupts when he runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
I lean in and kiss him, wanting to wash away his pain. Wanting to make him forget about Arion and anything that has to do with her. The second our lips collide, my world stops. There’s nothing else that matters in this moment except for Nate and I. His hands hold me so firmly, moving in just the slightest way, the way that makes my * tick.
He begins to unbutton his shirt that I’m wearing; I look down watching his hands so close to my body. Right away my insides heat in anticipation. Then the oven dings, the damn timer interrupting us. Why do I have to be so methodical? He throws his head back in frustration. I kiss him swiftly and hop off of his lap, strutting my ass to the kitchen before I toss him the TV remote.
“You can put on whatever you want.”