Temptation

13 - Madden

I am slightly intimidated by the massive and muscular black man standing alongside Hero. I introduce myself and I manage to get a smile from him—DJ; I wonder how many other massive men escort Hero around in public. I assumed he is here as a precaution and I don't mind. If anything, I feel even safer now. DJ drives us in a tinted black Ford Escape. Recognizing the roads that we are turning on; I see we are entering the 'rich neighborhood' of Vancouver. Hero's apartment is only a short 20-minute drive from mine, yet the community is completely different. The apartment is gated; DJ punches in a code to get us to the front of the building.

Once we are in the parking lot, DJ lets us off at the front door and reminds Hero that he has to be on set tomorrow for 3AM instead of 4AM. It's already close to 10PM now so I am assuming this will be a shorter night than the other. Hero enters multiple codes before we even enter the apartment: a code for the lobby, a code for the elevator and a code for the floor, then unlocking his door with his set of keys. When we enter the apartment, it is more like a condo. The 'apartment' is modern, whited out completely. In comparison to my apartment, it's like a 5-star hotel and mine is a trash pit.

He seems to be a little bit on edge, much different from the other night. "I'm sorry I didn't text you until today. I just wasn't sure—" he cuts me off. "Don't apologize. I understand where you're coming from. I'm just not sure what I should make," he chuckles. He must want to ask me if I even want to eat, but lately my appetite has been coming back slowly. I eat very little, but I'm starting to eat again. I suggest to him that we make something together, something simple. I feel comfortable enough to raid his cupboards and fridge and together we find pasta sauce, penne noodles, mushrooms, chicken and green peppers. "Looks like we're making chicken penne!" as I grab the noodles from the cupboard.

I can tell by his reaction, he isn't 100 percent on how to make this dish, but I assure him that I'm here to help. "I was supposed to cook for you." He says disappointedly. Behind the disappointment, I sense relief for two reasons: one, that I'm willing to eat with him and two, that I know how to cook.

I used to cook all the time with my mother. Everything I know in the kitchen is because she taught me; I've been her sous-chef since I was 6 years old, watching her cook the most delicious meals. I knew how to cook a pasta dish by the age of 10, so this is a no brainer for me. It is funny how I go from being so passionate about food to barely eating any. Hero on the other hand is obviously very uneducated in the kitchen. As I chop the mushrooms and the green peppers, he watches my hands to ensure that I do not hurt myself. As I place the noodles in the boiling water and watch the sauce simmer, I get him to toss the pre-chopped veggies into it. "Good job" I say with a little wink and a hint of sarcasm.

Being with him, in his kitchen—his kitchen for a few months—just feels right. His body against mine as I stir the noodles into the sauce is warm and intriguing; I want to turn around to face his lips in this very moment. I want to feel his lips against mine again. Most of all, I'm worried that I won't be able to resist this man as he holds my boney hips close to his upper thighs.

As I place pasta onto each plate, he puts out forks, white wine and two glasses. He directs me to sit at the table and hands me my plate as he sits across from me. I imagined myself to be very insecure while I ate in from of him, but instead he distracted me from what was on my plate and we spoke of his day on set and how his co-star was driving him mad. Before I knew it, my entire plate was empty, and he was going for seconds. While he eats his second plate, I take the bottle of wine and pour each of us a glass. "Are you even of age?" He asks. "Ya, I am. I'm a few months older than you, actually." I say with too much pride. He laughs at me asking me when my birthday is because he already knows I've googled him and there is no chance he can google me. "February 11th," I tell him. He's disappointed the date has already passed and his birthday is only 2 months away now, November 6th. "Looks like you have to stick around until next year, so I don't miss your birthday," he says with little sarcasm.

By the time it's 12AM, I'm ready to go to bed but I don't want to leave his side. I wish I could just sleep with him without him thinking I'm a whore.