Must Date The Chef

|| 50.

I jerk at the rapid series of knocks coming from the front door. The shirt in my hand joins the folded pile in my bag, I straighten up and tiptoe to the entrance of my room. I cough. My head pokes out of the door, I cast a tentative glance at the parlour which is visible from my position here and wait.

Bright lights flood the parlour, I eye the sofa closest to the door as if expecting it to move. A sigh escapes me, I should never have taken back my invitation from King, now, look at me. I groan, my fist connects with my thighs twice. He could have spent the night, nothing would have happened. I let out a deep breath. I am in better control of my emotions and hormones, I love Paul too much, I would have been able to resist him.

Images flash across my mind, memories of him thrusting into me on my office couch blinds me for a moment. I release a shaky breath and take one step out of my room, I did the right thing. With that perpetual air of arrogance and confidence hovering above him, anything could have happened. He knows his way around a woman's body.

I push those thoughts aside, he is not worth my future with Paul. I heave a sigh, if only the big head isn't so annoying, I won't be desperate for company. My palm presses flat on the wall, my legs ready to retrace my steps back inside should things go awry.

Crippling fear lingers in the air, I bite my lip and wait but the knocks don't resume. I press my fingers to my temples and massage the spot, it has to be in my head, it always is. Sometimes, I hear them, voices eerily similar to Mike's, he blames me for his death. I hear Mary too but she never speaks loud enough for me to decipher her words. Sparing one last look at the door, my shoulder sags and I return inside my room to resume packing. I need to leave this city.

My eyes scan the length of my room, settles on the wardrobe I left open. The hangers are empty, most of my clothes are folded inside the black travel bag on the floor of the wardrobe. I run my fingers through my hair, I need to wash off the gel, I also need to call Chi, to inform her I arrived home safely. But I don't want to do any of that, I don't want to switch on my phone, I don't want to talk to anybody. I want to curl into a ball and rock myself to sleep. My head moves from side to side, if only it's that easy.

Sleep now feels like a luxury to me but I am getting better, I should return to my usual sleeping pattern once I get home. I skip to the parlour to get my purse, I don't want to but I have to let her know I'm home, I owe her that much. Paul too, I should let him know I leave in the morning. Tracing a line on my collarbone, a sigh escapes me, I was going to do that but we never got a chance to speak. It is his fault, always is. We never catch a break, forever on a rollercoaster.

Locating the purse on the centre table, I retrieve my phone to switch it on and a knock sounds from the door. My head jerks in that direction. I am sure I heard right, it can't be my imagination. Someone is behind that door but who? A look at the wall clock shows it's late for a visit, I gulp. Holding my phone like it is a weapon, I take tentative steps towards the door and exhale slowly.

"King?" I call out with my hands on the key.

The door opens to reveal someone else, I let out a sigh and wave. Relief floods my vein, I almost run into his arms but a reminder of how long he kept me waiting stifles that need to be in his embrace. Blocking his way in, our eyes meet and my breath catches in my throat. He is too handsome. I shake my head and sink my teeth into my lip, I need to be angry with him. I should be upset.

"King, huh?" he mutters.

His eyes centre on my taut nipples straining against the lace singlet I am wearing, I gulp and grow conscious when his gaze travels to my exposed skin. My hand smoothens the imaginary creases on my bum short before returning to my waist and my chin raises in defiance. He is the one at fault, not me, I can't let him get away with his bad behaviour because I heard his sweet voice.