Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance) (20 page)

“Better. Lilla, do you want kids?” she asks.

“Don’t ask Lilla that kind of stuff. Eat my goddamn nachos.”

“I’m not asking her if she wants to have
your
kid—I couldn’t fathom
anyone
saying yes to that—I’m asking in general.”

“The only thing Lilla’s old womb is good for is cobwebs and spiders.”

I laugh.

Crickets.

Heath’s eyes are gonna pop out of his face.

My eyes squint. “Too much?”

Nods all around.

“I’m sorry. Your womb is amazing and I’d live there if it were possible, Honey-girl.”

Hattie leans in to my ear.

“You better hope your pussy eating is as good as you think, Stud.”

“Mmhm.” I feed her another nacho.

“I’m not sure,” Lilla answers finally.

“Oh come on. Don’t let this bastard scare you. My ten-week-old fetus is more mature than he is.”

“She’s probably right,” Heath nods, stealing a chip.

“I don’t think I want kids. I never really … I just never had that desire. Maybe I’m weird.”

“I never wanted it, either,” Hattie says. “This is a total accident, I assure you, but, oh my gosh it’s like …” Hattie’s hands surround herself. “I wouldn’t ever go back and change it. You just feel like the sun lives in your chest.”

“Stomach,” I correct.

“I’m sorry, are
you
pregnant, Cash?”

I shrug, “I thought you meant the kid.”

“I mean my
heart
. My heart is just so
alive
. It’s just completely alive. A freaking golden ball of sunshine, right here.” She holds her hand over her chest.

I stare at her smile. Give a soft hug before feeding her another bite of my food.

“Trent’s face will be fucking unrecognizable, Hattie.”

She kisses my cheek. “I know.”

Her hands push the container away, towards Lilla.

“I’m sorry—I’m sitting on your man and eating your food. I blame my newfound slutty ways on my hormones I have no control over.”

Lilla smiles. “It’s alright. You fixed my finger. Plus, sitting on Cash really isn’t that great.”

Heath gives her a fist-bump.

“I have evidence to the contrary, Honey-girl. I think last week, around four in the afternoon? Ring any bells, Lilla?”

“I don’t think that would be considered
sitting
,” she grins.

“I’d like to go back to talking about Lilla hitting men and not this please,” Hattie sticks her fingers in her ears.

I tug them away. “Up against the wall in my dad’s—”

“La-la-la-la—”

I laugh and slide her back into her seat.

“I feel bad for little Lilla,” Heath sighs, putting his arm around her. “I mean—” he pauses as I sit forward. “What’s with the look, Money?”

“
Money
?” I say.

“I’m trying out new things, since I’m not allowed to use
Cash
anymore.”

“
No one’s
allowed to use Cash anymore,” Hattie smirks.

Me, “How exactly do two men have a baby anyhow, Hattie?”

Her, “You see, there’s this thing called a
penis
, Cash—I’m sure you have no idea what it is, allow me to explain—”

Heath, “She got you good, man.”

Me, “
You
need to get your goddamn arm off my Lilla before something else gets broken, fuck-face.”

“Seriously,” Hattie interrupts, “Why did you hit your ex?”

“He set her grandma’s flag on fire,” I tease.

“Flag?”

Lilla sighs. “I had a cookbook with all my grandmother’s recipes in it. Some stories, too. The idiot confessed to burning it and then was talking crap about Cash and it all just mixed with years of built up resentment and—violence seemed to be the right answer.”

“Yeah,” Hattie grins, “You and Cash probably belong together.”

Heath tightens his hold around Lilla.

“Yeah, someone needs to show Money how to be a real man.”

I reach, pulling Lilla away from him and to my lap.

“Stop calling me that. It sounds so fucking retarded.”

“Not to be rude,” Lilla begins, “but if ‘
Money
’ and I don’t get to work, that nickname is probably going to be the only type we have. So …”

“What Honey-girl is trying to say is: you motherfuckers need to leave.”

“Shh, young ears.” Hattie hugs her belly and I lift Lilla, following Hattie as she makes her way to the door.

Heath follows her out and I lean into the hallway, hollering after them.

“I’m serious, Hattie. Trent is going to look like he was in an eighties Pepsi commercial.”

She spins, looking back to me.

“Just take care of that girl, Cash.
She’s
your responsibility now.”

“You became my responsibility the day your black-eye knocked on my door, Hattie. Always will be.”

She smiles small, spinning back around and finds her door in our shared hallway. I don’t close my own door until she’s gone. Lilla shyly looks away as I step inside my apartment. I take a seat beside her on the couch, reaching for her hand.

“Number one, Honey-girl: You have no idea how sexy this shit was.” I kiss her fingers. “Number two, Honey-girl: you have no idea how angry I am you hurt yourself.”

“I’m okay. Really.”

“I want to skin Adam alive.”

“We could go back,” she grins.

I nuzzle into her shoulder, kissing along her soft skin.

“You know the whole conversation we had in regards to certain female anatomy and slapping, Lil …?”

Soft laughter. As intended.

“I think enough slapping and swelling has occurred today, but thanks for the offer.”

“It was going to be more of a
promise
.”

Lilla tips her head, dotting her lips to my face.

“You would have been worth breaking all my fingers.”

“No,” I return her kisses. “I’ll never tell you what to do, Lilla, because I’m not that kind of guy—but no. You’re not allowed to break anything—for me or otherwise.”

“Today was so weird.”

“
Phh
, you’re telling me,” I rest my head against her chest, reveling in her scalp massage. “Hattie’s fucking
pregnant
.”

“What did you mean?” she asks softly. “Did someone hurt her … what you said … by the door? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Never mind.”

I roll, lying in her lap. She keeps brushing through my hair with her fingers.

“Let’s just say, Adam would look like a saint compared to the men in Hattie’s life.”

Lilla nods.

“I’m sorry he destroyed your grandma’s cookbook. I’d replace it if were possible, Honey-girl.” I kiss her stomach.

“I printed papers from his computer. It was something about the store. Hand me that box behind you.”

Lilla takes the papers after I hand them over, readjusting to sit beside her. She reads them slowly, flipping through the pages several times before she looks at me.

“We’re gonna need a crap load of paint.”

I smile confusedly. “For?”

Lilla hands the papers to me, a slow creeping smile on her face.

“We have serious billboards to paint.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lilla points to the CD player.

“Is this song serious?”

I laugh, lighting up a cigarette as Lilla lowers the radio.

“As in—do women want guys to lick from the crack to the pussy?” I take a drag.

“I mean—this
truly
is a song just about
that
?”

“It’s a good song in the right situation, Honey-girl.” I shrug, putting the car in reverse.

“Like
when
? When does a song like this come in handy, Cash? In what universe would you need a song about cracks getting … disturbing. It’s just disturbing.”

“Want me to change it?”

“I am practically begging you, Lump.”

“How about ‘Sexual Eruption’? Want that?”

“Can we listen to something
not
about sex?”

“I have ‘Regulate’. I think it’s appropriate. Pass me the CD, it’s in the console.”

        She starts digging in the center console. I roll down the window and flick my ash. “Are you smoking Clove cigarettes?”

“Yeah,” I take a puff. “Why? Does the smell bother you?”

“No.” She keeps digging through my stuff. “Just been a long time since I’ve seen one.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve smoked one, to be honest.”

“
Nate Dog
? What kind of name is that? You kids these days,” she teases, pulling a CD out and showing it to me.

“Yeah that shit. Put that in.”

“I don’t really like this kind of music, Warren.” But she sticks it in anyway.

“Yeah well, you’re from an era when music hadn’t been invented yet … so …”

She gives me the finger and relaxes into her seat. I turn up the volume and press the pedal to the floor, accelerating as we hit the highway.

Lilla laughs and I look over to her, lowering the music some.

“What’s funny, Honey-girl?”

“This song is actually interesting. It’s like a story.”

“Every song is a story.”

“True, but I can’t grasp what the other rap songs on the radio are about. I like this one, though. And my ears don’t feel like they might bleed, despite the volume being above a safe level.”

“Wow, you’re old, Lilla.”

“Shut up.”

“You know why you like this?”

“Mm?”

“Because this song is from the heart. Anything from your heart is impossible to deny.”

“What is the two-one-three?”

I laugh, ashing my cigarette.

“I think it’s a hood. A zip code. I
think
. Don’t quote me. I just listen to the shit and pretend to know what they’re saying. The louder the music is, the more I think I know.”

“So, we’d be from the seven-seven-two?”

My smile widens.

“Yeah, The C-Child and the L-Child. We’re from the seven-seven-two.”

She laughs, looking towards the window.

“I can’t believe you’re smoking Cloves.”

“Who did it remind you of?” I ask.

“My mom. She used to smoke those things when she dropped me off at school. It was the only time she could sneak one.”

“Where is she? Your mom?”

“You could guess better than me, C-Child.”

“You don’t talk to your mom?” My brain couldn’t imagine such things. Not talking to Poppy? Not having oxygen.

My question takes the light from this little brown-haired girl with a weightless smile. Her face dims. My regret swirling along with the cigarette smoke.

I swipe my nose, paying attention to the road.

“Sorry, Lil.”

“It’s alright—I just haven’t thought about Dina in a long time. It feels weird talking about her.”

“You don’t have to—but I want you to.”

“Not much to tell. I didn’t really know her. She gave me to my grandma when I was little. Around six or so.”

And now the cookbook makes sense. “Where was your dad?”

“If I knew that, my mom might  not have left. He didn’t come home one night and Dina just—let’s just say she went looking for him—at least, that’s what she told my grandma. She never came back for me.”

“What in the fuck? Who does that?”

“Dina.” She looks to the trees flying past us as I push to eighty on the speedometer.

I roll down the window, tugging the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, tossing them.

“Remind me to never smoke that shit again. Goddamn this car just got depressing.”

She smiles. “Sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry.” I dig into the center console. “I’m about to break all of my own rules for your simple smile.”

“How?” her light asks, finding its way back. As intended.

“Because this bastard is banned from my speakers.” I shove the CD in and click to the song I want her to hear. “The chorus, L-Child. The
chorus
, Honey-girl.”

***

Poppy is twirling around the kitchen, arms over her head as Lilla and I peek around the corner.

“Ma?” I call gently. Her lips smile and green eyes find us. She keeps swaying. “What the hell are you doing, crazy flakes?”

“This song is so beautiful. Amazing. I feel like a kite.”

“It’s about God. You’re not even religious. Have you been snooping through my old desk drawers? You know that shit’s not oregano, right?”

“It doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful, Warren.” She twirls. “Dance with me, pretty boy.”

I shake my head. “No thanks. Where’s dad?”

“I said
dance
with me. I went through thirteen hours of labor and twenty-four years of push-up bras faking that I had boobs after your belly sucked me dry. The least you owe me is a dance.”

I step towards her.

“I never understand why parents assume their young wanted to be born. Perhaps I was perfectly happy being a sperm.”

She takes my hand. “If you were so happy as a sperm, why did you romance my egg?”

“This whole conversation is vomit-worthy, Lady Bug.”

“Dance and listen to how beautiful this is.” Her head lays on my chest. “Do you remember when you were a bitty boy and I taught you to dance?”

“I remember being twenty-four and forced to dance to gospel music in the kitchen while my girlfriend watched and didn’t try to stop such madness.”

“Do you dance with Lilla? It’s very romantic to dance. You should. All the time. And tell her she is pretty.” Her voice drops. “She is
very
pretty.”

“Yeah, Ma. We dance. This isn’t any creepier after you said dancing is
romantic
. Thanks.”

“A son should dance with his mother. It keeps her feeling loved and love is what keeps you young. Your toes were so tiny. I kissed them every night as you slept. I think that’s why you were a good dancer.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You should. I don’t ever tell you anything that isn’t worth remembering.”

“I’ll remember that, too.”

“I miss my little bitty boy.”