His words oozed out with a strong, lascivious force. The icy cold air of the supermarket had caused my nipples to strain against the fabric of my bra and my black cotton blouse. Aiming his gaze directly at them, he again gave his lips a slow lick.
“Are you a giver? Or do you prefer to be taken?” he drawled.
Embarrassed, the seafood clerk slinked away to weigh and wrap his lobsters.
“Well,” I began thoughtfully, my eyes wide and full of innocence. “I never give and refuse to be taken.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that so?” he replied jauntily as the clerk handed him the wrapped lobsters. “Write down a way that I can get in contact with you and I’ll teach you the rules of give and take.”
Scribbling down my name and number on a receipt that I extracted from my purse, I handed it over to him. Reading it, he smiled.
“Okay, Miss Adu. I look forward to talking,” he said saucily before walking away.
Turning toward the waiting clerk who had a silly smile on his face, I pointed impatiently to the two I wanted.
“I’ll take those two,” I indicated right before he burst out laughing.
Closing the oven, I reached for the pan on the stove and poured the clarified butter into two ceramic cups.
“It doesn’t look separated enough,” Gene said from his perch at the bar.
“I’ve seen and done this a million times. It’s separated enough,” I retorted with a bit of an edge.
Shrugging his shoulders, he went back to reading the Times-Picayune. Ever since he’d arrived, he’d picked at my nerves. It was wonderful having a man present in my bed and to curb my loneliness, but Gene had something to say about everything. In his mind, he was an expert at everything. He’d already made comments about the type of foundation I used on my face, the way I wrapped the foil around the potatoes before I put them in the oven, and the way I was grilling the steaks. Taking the lobster tails out of the steam tray, I decided that I was simply going to agree with everything he said. Hopefully, my humbleness would get on his nerves and he would see how it felt to be aggravated.
Opening the oven, I tested the baked potatoes with a fork. Taking them out, I set them on plates along with the steak and lobster tails and brought them over to the table. I walked back to the refrigerator and brought out the condiments. Sitting down, I bowed my head in prayer before digging in and dipping a chunk of the lobster tail into the “not-separated-enough” clarified butter. It was delicious. Cutting off a small piece of the steak, I popped it into my mouth and savored the taste as it melted away. I had really outdone myself.
Looking across the table at Gene, I saw from his facial expression that he was enjoying the food. But I also knew that in a second or two, he would find fault with something. He wanted fucking surf ’n’ turf and I’d made it to the best of my ability. Still, not good enough for him. To test him, I silently began to count. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi—
“If you would’ve wet the potatoes and made a slit in the foil, they would’ve baked easier and been moist,” he said, scraping some of the flesh from the skin.
I knew it! I didn’t even get to complete the count of five and he was complaining. What really burned me was the fact that he had yet to stop chewing. He was handsome and educated but he had such an immature, small mind.
“So, which courses are you teaching this semester? I’m scheduled to instruct an African-American lit cla
ss that you would be great at teaching,” I said brightly, changing the subject to something that would allow peace between us. “Can you believe the semester begins in just a few days?” Putting down my wineglass, I braced myself to listen to yet another of Gene’s antic stories about his job. Oh well, no one can ever call me a lousy listener.
The shrill ring of the telephone shook me from my soft field of sleep. Beside me, Gene snored lightly and wasn’t awakened by the ringing.
“Hello?” I queried sleepily.
“My, don’t we turn in early,” a male voice joked.
Looking at the alarm clock, I saw the face read 10:30. Gene and I had come upstairs after dinner and I had been disappointed to learn that instead of sex, he merely wanted to sleep. I still had on my day clothes but felt like it was morning.
“Sometimes we do. Who is this?” I asked.
“This is Larron. You met me earlier at Albertsons.”
“Oh!” Sitting up, I walked with the phone into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Didn’t think I was gonna call, did you?” he asked with a laugh.
“I knew you were going to call sooner or later. I think I left a lasting impression on you.”
“Confident aren’t we, Miss Adu?” he said.
“Sure I am. So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”