Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance) (22 page)

My heart stings. “No, I was only kidding. It was rotten. Sorry.”

“I’m just happy you’re here, Warren.”

She wrings the oven mitten in her hands, looking to the fridge. The magnets. I knew it. Crayon colored pictures.

I take a seat at the large island in the center of the kitchen, swiping a pencil from the drawer. A flipped-over electric bill. My hand just moves. My heart just gives her an old memory and new one. No chocolate milk or avoiding homework. Just Lilla working to cook her dinner and my grown ass sitting here, scribbling nonsense.

“Honey-girl, shit. My stomach is doing jumping jacks for you.”

She chuckles. Poppy passes her dishes. I keep moving a pencil, blowing on the paper when I press too harshly and lead gathers.

“Do you see this boy, Lilla?” Poppy is watching me. I don’t look up. She’s my mom. I know her eyes and how they feel.

“As many times as I’ve questioned why God wouldn’t allow us to have another child, I have understood. There is no way I could ever love another son the way I love this boy. Though, a daughter would have been nice.”

I swipe away loose lead particles.

“Are you saying you’d divide your love if I had a sister?”

“I’m saying I would have loved to tie colorful ribbons in midnight curls.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Bug. Truly.” I flip the paper around, sliding it towards her. “You’re stuck with just little old me.”

Her eyes appraise the sloppy sketch, looking at it like I gave her the greatest thing ever. She flips it around, extending it towards Lilla.

“This is what you look like to him. Did you know that?”

But the grey isn’t Lilla at all. Not her face. Not what she was doing. It’s just swipes and nothing. It’s an old bill scribbled over by a child to any other pair of eyes.

Lilla tries. She searches it with all she has. But, it wasn’t supposed to be obvious. I didn’t draw it for her. I just wanted my mother to know I was okay. I wanted her to know I learned how to dance. I found love. I love to love and I love her for teaching me how.

“It’s beautiful.” Lilla reflects grey sloppy swipes in her eyes, explaining silently the same shit I sketched.

“I thought you didn’t understand art, L-Child?” I poke.

She smiles and goes back to plating her Chicken Alfredo.

***

I bring Lilla the last dirty dish from the dinner table, obeying her request to wash everything and not have my mom or dad help.

My arms wrap around her, swaying side to side as she works.

“Other than you, that was the best thing I’ve ever tasted, Honey-girl.”

“I hope your parents liked it.”

“Do you see any food on these plates?”

She laughs lightly, placing a clean dish aside. I put my mouth to her skin, the curve of her neck.

“I want to show you something upstairs.”

“Cash, your parents are here. I’m not having sex in their house. Sorry.”

“Amazingly, Lilla, I wasn’t referring to sex. It does have everything to do with me being naked, but nothing to do with sex. Promise.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

After she finishes cleaning up, I take her hand, leading her towards my childhood bedroom again. This time, I find a book inside of my closet before sitting on the bed. A skinny piece of red string holds the cover closed, wound around a silver button.

I unfasten the tie and flip slowly through my childhood, pausing when I find myself at age nine. My hands were much older, but age nine drew this memory. Age nine remembered it all.

“This is what love looks like. This is the day I learned how much someone could love you. This is how I looked at age nine. This is how I know how to love you, Lilla. This is how I’ll always love you. No matter what—this remains a constant. My heart remains a constant. It’s my impossible denial. It’s my whole heart.”

I hand her over the book, watching as she gathers it carefully into her hands. Brown eyes explore the colors and love of a true mother.

The day Poppy yanked me from an orange plastic chair and cursed for the first and last time. The day a paisley blue dress had mud smeared across the hem because she got on her knees, equaling our relationship when she stared into my eyes.

A short fingernail pointing to me, making me hear. Making me focus. Two tears swiped from her rosy cheeks as she told me who I was. Who I wasn’t. Who to obey. Who to ignore. Who to chase.

“Who loves you, Warren Valentine?”

She did.

I want Lilla to know that kind of love. The kind of love that never leaves or abandons.

Fuck the store.

Fuck Adam.

Fuck ideas.

Fuck whatever happens.

Dance.

I’d twirl Lilla, forever.

She looks up at me, light bright within the deep brown. The flush of her shy. I put my kiss between her brows.

“And now it’s yours.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“This is a trippy fucking song for being on the radio,” I say to Hattie. “Goddamn I love it. It should be Lilla’s theme song. Listen to the words.”

I crack two eggs, Hattie bobbing her head, tugging two slices of bread from the bag for me.

“I think my fetus is imitating a belly dancer.”

I spy Lilla’s smile from the corner of my eye, watching us.

“Hands to yourself, L-Child. I’m making you breakfast. Hattie will make sure I don’t mess it up. Promise.”

“He’s just covering for me,” Hattie bumps her hip to mine. “I’m really just raiding the fridge.”

Lilla sits at the counter. “Do pregnant people really want to eat all the time?”

“Pretty much every second you’re not throwing up.”

“You feel sick?” I ask, pausing from my cooking duties.

“I have a human being growing inside of me. I’m sure that is perfectly normal, Cash.” Her mouth grins, tearing a piece of bread. “You should know all about being inside of a woman and her wanting to vomit, no?”

“I’m only going to cook you breakfast because I get it’s your hormones speaking and not my real friend whom I have beat up endless assholes for my entire life.”

“Fine, you’re a magical dick slayer between the sheets. Or whatever you claim.”

Lilla’s head turns towards me, watching silently the verbal game of ping-pong.

“You know, Honey-girl, you could speak on my behalf. You could stick up for me. You could tell Hattie the wonderful person I am and the endless reasons for loving me you have in your heart. You could do that.”

Shy roses bloom on her cheeks.

“I hit my husband and dislocated my finger. Clearly Cash is the bee’s knees.”

I grin at Hattie. “The bee’s knees. She thinks I’m the
bee
’s
knees
.”

“
I
think you better hurry along with that French toast making, Stud. You know—before my fetus eats your face.”

“It would be equally as delicious.” I dunk the slices of bread into an egg/milk mixture, than lay them down gently on the griddle.

“
Oh
, you’ll never guess what I saw this weekend, Cash.”

“There is an endless list of things I could fill in that blank with. Speak quickly.”

“Tatum Brander has
Shadow Box Five
on her arm.”

My head lifts, finding Hattie nodding to my expression. “Big-ass black tattoo, right here,” she taps along her upper-arm. “I bet you can guess who put it there.”

“What did I ever do to her, Hattie? What did I do so bad to deserve her shit? Tell me. I treated her fucking golden.
Perfect
.”

Hattie giggles, biting a piece of bread.

“Yeah, except for all the cheating.”

“I was sixteen, seventeen. We were not in a committed relationship. She fucked around with other people, too.”

“Well, she’s
still
fucking you. Tattooing your stuff on her clients.”

“Victory will get hers. Karma is mother.”

I flip the French toast. Make a face at Lilla when it’s perfectly golden brown. Get kisses on my arm before she starts making coffee. “Speaking of bitches—how is Trent taking the news?”

“Don’t call him that. He’s … taking it like a man.”

“A man who mans the fuck up and takes care of his family, or, a man who acts like a punk and blows you off?”

“He’s dealing,” she says.

“Being a punk. A bitch.”

“Not everyone is Cash-perfect.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

“A size twelve shoe and a big fucking trunk.”

“You’re not killing my boyfriend. I’m a big girl, Cash. I can take care of myself. It’s half my fault anyhow.”

“That he’s a punk-bitch?”

“That I’m pregnant. I know how to use a condom. I chose not to. I’ll handle what happens now. I told you I’m not your problem.”

“
Problem
? Is that what—you’re not a problem, Hattie. You’re my friend. Aside from Heath—my
best
friend. Where do chicks get these fucked up notions from?”

A little Lilla voice with a cup of coffee as she passes by, “Fucked up men.”

Hattie nods, pointing to Lilla, “What she said.”

“I have a dick. I’m a man. You’re not a problem. Trent is gonna have a real goddamn problem if he doesn’t learn how to find
his
dick.”

“I think the problem
started
when he found his dick, but yeah, I get it, Cash. I get it.”

The problem?

The problem:

There isn’t a grown woman sitting in front of me. Skinny-ass Hattie, purple-blue eyes with blonde hair and my mother’s brush. I watched this girl eat Cheerios at my counter every morning, Poppy making sure her hair was clean and pretty.

She wanted a daughter. She got close.

She needed a mother. She got close.

The problem?

The problem:

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, staring down to her bread. She pinches off a piece and glances up. Hattie purple-blue eye, “Don’t look at me like that, Cash.”

The problem.

“Like what?”

The problem:

“Like I’m still a little girl. I’m going to have a child, I’m not one. You can let go. It’s okay to let me go.”

“You still think like a little girl, Hattie. You still think like you deserve to be treated a certain way. That it’s your fault.”

“Your mom still does your laundry.” She picks another piece of fluff from the white bread. “Don’t talk to me about being a little kid.”

“Then don’t let people treat you like one.”

“Not everyone had Valentine-parents, Cash. Sorry.”

“I’m not gonna apologize for my parents being good people. They always loved you, too. Never treated you any different. Cut the fucking cop-out shit. It’s weak.”

“I loved them too. Your mom is an angel.”

“Poppy is totally going to steal your baby. I hope you are aware of this.”

She smiles. “She’s not stealing my baby.”

“She will. She’ll tie it down and force it to endure ribbons and endless cookies.”

“What makes you think it’s gonna be a girl?”

“When do you find out?”

“They said a few weeks.”

“What do you want it to be?”

“It’s cliché, but
healthy
. I just want my baby to be healthy.”

“I hope it’s a girl so Poppy will leave me alone and I don’t have to buy a monkey named Rufus.”

She sputter-laughs. “
W-what
?”

“Long story.”

I plate the French toast and kiss the shit out of Lilla’s neck. My eyes watch Hattie, but my lips whisper to Lilla.

“You need to tell this girl how to find a bee’s-knees sort of man who will make her French toast and think of nothing other than kissing her toes while she eats it, L-Child.”

“Oh Jesus,” Hattie rolls her eyes. “I think I feel baby vomit on the rise.” She dry-heaves until I take a seat.

We chew in silence, enjoying our food until …

Problem:

“What is that noise?” I ask, looking around.

“What’s-what noise?” Hattie’s knee-deep in peach-covered French toast.

“No,” Lilla cuts in, “I hear it too.”

Soft scratches. The sound of a …

Problem:

“Is that a fucking cat
mewing
?”

Lilla laughs. Her finger points.

“I think it’s by the door.”

I scoot back, walking towards the door and give it a tug.

Problem:

“What in the actual … Georgia … you have to be weirdest neighbor of all goddamn time, chick.”

She puts her mock-paws out, sitting on the floor like she’s a motherfucking cat. Paws at my goddamn knee.

“
Mew
.”

“Don’t mock-paw touch me.”

“
Mew
.
Mew
.”

“I said don’t mock-paw touch me.”

“
Mew - mew. Mew.”

I jump back from her finger swipes.

“I am fluent in pussy, but I have no idea what this fucking means, Georgia.”

“I think she’s asking for French toast,” Hattie hollers from the table.

Georgia jumps up, wandering into my apartment.

“I’m glad someone around here gets me. A girl might starve otherwise.”

I close the door.

“When did my house become a soup kitchen?” I pull Lilla from her seat, into my lap and offer her my breakfast, allowing Georgia her spot. “The only person who truly needs a home is Honey-girl. Everyone else is just taking my new-found kindness for weakness.”

Lilla turns to me. “I’m looking for a place today. Promise.”

I take the fork from her, stabbing several pieces of bread and shove it towards her mouth.

“You’re speaking words I don’t hear, Lil. Clearly you need to refuel.”

“I have an appointment with a lawyer at ten, too. I need to get dressed.”

She is about to place a syrupy kiss on my mouth.

The problem?

The problem:

Georgia is lapping peach sauce from the plate, purring. Pulling back she starts cleaning her mock-paws, washing them over her face before rotating … hands?