Page 3 of Taming a Menace

One

I yla

After gobbling up my salad like I hadn’t eaten all day, I became even more intrigued by the ruggedly handsome chef maneuvering around my kitchen like it was his own.

He was tall with dark skin the color of ebony.

Just from seeing his arms flex in the plain black button down, I knew that he was probably twice as hard as the dense wood.

Thick brows furrowed as he worked out the details of his task.

I wanted to be inside his head. I wanted to know what made his brows dip as his full lips parted ever so slightly. I watched entranced as he made dinner. This shit was a sex scene. A man who knew how to cook was sexy. Key wasn’t just cooking. He was creating art.

I smiled as he laid a second masterpiece in front of me.

Then our eyes connected. There was something so dark and haunting about his eyes.

His darkness didn’t repel me. It didn’t make me want to turn and retreat the way every single one of my good brain cells were urging me to do.

I was drawn to him. There was something magnetic lurking in the shadows of those dark orbs making me want to know more.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him to save my life.

Before I knew it, his lips were on mine, and there went my panties. Just a simple kiss had ruined them. The flood of heat and moisture that dampened my thighs made me blush. I was stunned into silence until he apologized.

Although I was caught off guard, I didn’t feel there was a need for him to apologize. I wanted more. I wanted my fingers tangled in his thick beard. I wanted to feel the bristles on his chin graze my skin as his lips blazed a hot trail on my body.

There was no need for him to apologize. I wanted it just as much as he did, if not more.

At the same time, I knew it was too much.

I wasn’t ready. My heart was still broken.

It still belonged to someone who didn’t deserve it.

I, too, was caught up in the moment. I didn’t express that though.

Instead, I made an attempt to lighten the moment.

“Have dinner with me,” I requested as he beat himself up about his perceived misstep.

“I can’t do that. I’m already overstepping.”

“It feels weird eating while you watch.”

“I would watch you do anything,” he retorted.

The corner of my mouth lifted. My eyes flitted to his empty glass. Maybe he was drunk. He did tell me that he was a lightweight.

“How much of that scotch have you had?” I asked with a smile.

“Just the two shots you poured,” he said, quickly lifting his shoulders while mixing something in a metal bowl.

“Oh you were just letting me sit here and get tipsy by myself. I feel like such a lush.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. Tonight is for you.”

“Well I want you to join me. It already sucks that I’m spending what was supposed to be my anniversary as a single woman. Now I’m sitting here like the most pathetic girl in the world eating and drinking alone.”

“I don’t usually do that.” He refuted with a shake of his head.

“You made enough right?” I quizzed, raising up from my seat to see that there was plenty of food left.

“Probably. I wanted to make enough so that you had leftovers.”

“Well eat with me.”

“Only if you tell me what has so much sadness behind those pretty eyes.”

I blushed. I never blushed, but this man I knew little to nothing about made me blush. It wasn’t missed on me that he thought I looked sad. Forget the pretty part. I’d been told I was pretty a million times. A man that I’d just met wanted to know what made me so sad.

“OK.” I nodded in agreement.

He stretched his eyes as if he was waiting for me to go on. A laugh escaped my lips as I widened my eyes and mimicked his actions.

“Go ahead,” he said, placing his hands on the counter in front of him.

“Not until you make your plate and sit down,” I countered.

“Oh, you don’t trust me?” He grinned.

“I don’t know you enough to trust you, sir.”

He chuckled. “You’re right.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to fold, he used the second plate to fill it with food.

“You should have some of the salad too,” I recommended. “It was so good.”

“I’m allergic to shellfish. I don’t think it will hit the same without the scallops.”

“Oh wow. How did you cook it?” I frowned.

“I wore gloves. It’s cool as long as I don’t touch or consume it. Just sucks that I can’t taste test. I learned that the hard way in culinary school.”

“Darn. I’m sorry to hear that.” I pouted.

“It’s cool. Let me hear about Iyla. That’s what I want to talk about.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’m thirty years old, newly single.

I’ve had a passion for mental health since my uncle had a breakdown when I was a teenager.

So I went to school to be a clinical psychologist and have been doing what I love for the past four years.

I’ve been working on my doctorate on and off. ”

“That’s what you do, not who you are. While I commend you for chasing your dreams, I want to know about Iyla. Who is she outside of her career?” he quizzed.

“Oh, so we’re just starting with the hard questions off the top?” I laughed.

“Might as well get them out of the way,” he said as he occupied the stool next to me.

For the first time, I smelled his cologne. I’m not sure if I had been too preoccupied before or if the aroma of the food had overpowered it. Out of nowhere, his warm citrus scent felt like a hug. It enveloped me, making me want to cozy up to a man I knew nothing about.

I ate a mouthwatering bite of the duck and closed my eyes as it melted on my tongue. Not only was the man sexy as hell, but he could cook his ass off. Who cooked duck? The man sitting next to me beckoning for me to tell him about myself. I never talked about myself, so I had no idea where to start.

“Well, let’s see. I’m the youngest of two girls. My sister is my best friend. My parents are still married. I don’t have any kids, and I’m thinking about buying this house. The owner wants to sell.”

“I think you should. It’s nice.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s your favorite type of cuisine? Bonus points if you give me a restaurant recommendation.”

“Japanese. There is a place called Sakura close to my old place. It’s the best in the area hands down. It’s one of those take-out only spots.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s crazy that you asked that. I’m a foodie down to the bone as you can probably tell by these hips and thighs. My favorite meal is breakfast.”

“If being a foodie gave you those hips and thighs, I’m prepared to cook for you every single day.” He chuckled.

“Such a man.” I giggled. I don’t know why that made me giggle, but it did.

“That’s all I know how to be. A real man loves a woman with curves.

I don’t have to keep telling you how beautiful you are.

I’m not just talking about your face. You’re beautiful from head to toe.

Don’t ever let anyone make you feel any different.

Especially a nigga that didn’t have any business having you in the first fucking place. Excuse my French.”

“You’re fine. I work in mental health. I’m used to hearing curse words.”

“You’re not supposed to talk about work, Iyla,” he reminded me.

“Oh right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, love. Do you watch TV?” he asked, continuing his inquisition.

“Absolutely. I love true crime documentaries. I sleep with a night light in the bathroom because I get scared that I’ll end up on the next season. Speaking of things that I’m scared of, I’ve been to theme parks, but I’ve never ever ridden a rollercoaster because I’m scared of heights.”

“You’re just a scary little thing, huh? Anything you aren’t scared of?” he asked with a smirk.

“Really?” I laughed. “See, I knew I shouldn’t have told you all of my business.”

“I’m just messing with you, beautiful. I hate true crime. There’s enough going on. I try not to watch real life tragedies on TV unless it’s the news. What’s your favorite kind of movie?”

“That’s an easy one. I love, love, love anything romance, especially romantic comedies.”

“I guess I didn’t have to ask that, most women do.”

“Probably.” I nodded. “I’m a sucker for happily ever afters.”

“You believe that kind of shit happens in real life?” he quizzed with lifted brows.

“I’m probably the wrong person to ask right now.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry. That was insensitive,” he said, waving his hand as if he could erase what he’d said.

“It’s not your fault that I fell in love with a lying bastard.”

“I really hate that, though, because if it weren’t out of line, I would ask you out. I know you’re fresh out of a bad relationship. I have some shit going on myself.”

“So I’m sure you get it. That’s why I said it’s not on you to apologize.”

“The only reason I hate it is because I’m sure he didn’t deserve you anyway.

If I had my shit together, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you out.

Hell, I don’t think I could live with myself if I don’t at least ask for your number.

I’m not even trying to have sex with you or nothing like that.

Not that I’m opposed to it by any means.

I just want to get to know you a little better if you know what I mean. ”

“I think I do. I’m just not in a good place right now,” I mumbled.

He got up and cleared our plates as he stood.

“I get that. You got room for dessert?” he quizzed, pausing to look at me as he emptied the scraps into the garbage disposal.

“I want to say no, but I’m afraid to miss it.”

That got a hearty chuckle out of him. “How about I keep it light while you continue to talk about my new favorite subject?”

“Is it true crime?” I asked with a playful grin.

He narrowed his eyes but never dropped his smile. “I’m sure you know it’s you, but I’ll tell you for confirmation. It’s you.”

“See, I don’t know why you came over here making me giggle and blush like this. I was supposed to have a nice, quiet dinner alone to distract me from wallowing in self-pity.”