Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
He sat down, and she offered him a big glass of cola in a red plastic cup, like the kind they served at the pizza parlors, filled with plenty of crushed ice. With an appreciative nod, he guzzled it. She stood there for a moment, spellbound at how loud his gulps were, and how his limbs put her in mind of tree branches, stretching out to touch the pulse of the world. His fingers were wrapped around the cup, the knuckles alone the length of her digits. Huge hands—especially the span from his thumb to his pinky finger.
She rested her arm on her hip. “You must have a big eggplant. Long and thick.”
He spewed cola from his mouth, and his complexion deepened as he chuckled in obvious disbelief. Getting to his feet, he snatched a paper towel from the holder and dabbed at his mouth, then the mess he’d just made on the table.
“Ms. Aunt Huni, now I hardly think that was appropriate.” He threw the paper towel away, then sat back down, grinning.
“I’m just talking. An observation. Tall doesn’t mean blessed. My late husband was only five foot five, and his was like a baseball bat.”
The man lost it again, falling in fits of laughter. But she was serious. Being satisfied sexually was important, and sometimes a large cucumber was a nice touch. She wanted Poet’s partner to be the thing of dreams come true. “It’s just another reason why Poet should give you a chance.”
“Poet and I talked quite a bit when we first met, and again here at the house. She brought you up a lot. I bet you’re her favorite person in the world.”
She shrugged, but her cheeks warmed. “I might be.”
“No, you are… and if you’re her favorite person, that means you know things about her—more important shit than just her favorite color and song. You know her heart. You know what she wants, and what she needs. Don’t you?”
His smile slowly faded, and his gaze seemed to search her, deep inside. Something about the way he used those eyes of his to beam within the walls of others, dig deep and pull their innermost secrets was rather unsettling. Yet, she let him, for she had nothing to hide.
“I do. She likes you.”
“That’s nice to hear.” He took a sip from his drink. “I like her too, but you know that already.”
“Yes. She likes you a lot. She just won’t tell you.” She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the items she needed to feed this man. Ten minutes prior she would’ve never guessed that she’d be serving lunch to the tall man with sky and cloud eyes. His eyes were so light, the irises almost disappeared against the whites. He had long brown eyelashes, but the tips were lighter, making them appear shorter than they actually were. She placed the white rice on a blue plate, then topped it with the Filipino Chicken Adobo and put it in the microwave.
“What is that you’re warmin’ up?” he asked, looking hopeful and intrigued.
“Filipino Adobo. Chicken.”
“What is Filipino Adobo?”
“It’s my national dish. Braised meat, usually pork, or chicken, sometimes beef. The sauce makes it special.” She held up her finger. “Peppercorns, vinegar, soy sauce and garlic. Very good! I add a lil’ cane sugar to mine, green onion, and just a kiss of chili paste.”
“It sounds mighty fine.”
She brought over a napkin and silverware, and placed it in front of him.
They stared at one another as the plate went around and around in the microwave.
“I must play matchmaker, but you’re like uh animal!” She tsked, shaking her fist.
“An animal? I’m deeply offended,” he said, though he was laughing as the words poured from his mouth. “What makes you say that?”
The microwave beeped, and she removed the plate of hot food. Steam rose from it, tossing the delectable aroma around the kitchen.
“Bad social skills.” She scoffed as she set the plate before him.
“And showin’ me your tatas, then talkin’ about the size of my Johnson is considered good social skills, Ms. Aunt Huni?”
“Yes.” She nodded, barely able to keep her composure.
“Well then, Ms. Aunt Huni, may God bless your twisted little heart.”
They both laughed as if they were old friends.
“I don’t need you to play matchmaker, sweetheart.” He shoved the napkin into his shirt. “I can take care of it myself. I just need a lil’ information is all.”
She sat across from him, watching him slip his fork into the food, bring it to his mouth, and take a bite.
The man’s eyes fluttered then rolled as he moaned deep and rich. His voice traveled to her chest cavity and made it shake like an earthquake.
“This is so, so good. Delicious. You cook this?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“Yes. Big hands.” She pointed at his fingers. “Thumb to little finger… inches of eggplant. That’s how you figure it out. The span ’tween the two.” And then she giggled. He paused to check out what she was talking about, then smiled. “Yeah, that might be accurate. Might just be an old wives’ tale. Never measured it.” He shrugged. “I can tell you what I can count though? The many ways this conversation is makin’ me uncomfortable, and goin’ south.” He winked at her, then heaped more food into his mouth.