Therapy (27 page)

“New beginnings can heal old wounds.”

—Kathryn Perez

I HEAR BEAUTIFUL chords from an acoustic guitar coming from Kingsley’s house as I walk up his driveway. The windows are open and the evening breeze is blowing the diaphanous white curtains gently, causing them to sway back and forth. His house looks nothing like I expected. It’s small, but quaint. There are hummingbird feeders among the flowerbeds spread out in front of the entryway, and a whimsical wind chime hangs on the front porch along with a white porch swing. I would’ve never pictured this as a bachelor’s home. This house has a woman’s touch.

Maybe his mom helps him out around here or something.

As I get closer to the porch and start up the steps, the breeze blows the curtains aside and I get a glimpse of him. He’s sitting shirtless on a sofa, playing the guitar. He’s wearing a black cord necklace that has a flat, square silver charm on it. His shaggy hair hangs in his face, and his eyes are closed as he picks the guitar strings. He’s so into the music that he looks like he’s somewhere else completely, somewhere other than his living room. The ease with which he plays is soothing and incredibly sexy. I watch as his fingers deftly stroke the strings, and wonder at their agility.

I quickly reign in my thoughts and try to shake off the sexual attraction before pressing the doorbell. The music abruptly stops and I hear his footsteps as they approach.

The door swings open just as Kingsley is pulling on a shirt, and my eyes immediately fall to pants that are hanging oh so very low on his waist. That V, which is so extremely defined on this man, is practically begging for me to reach out and trace it with my fingers. The veins on his muscular body look like a road map to a heavenly place that I’d love to explore. Before my mind can race away with that thought, his shirt is on and hiding the abs of my affection.

Shit! Snap out of it, Jess.

“Hey, you’re here!” He grins. “Come on in,” he says as he motions me in the door.

I briefly scan the room. Again, I’m surprised. I’m in awe of how perfectly clean it is and it’s so well decorated! Very artsy. Kingsley continues to surprise the hell out of me.

“Nice place. It’s really cool here.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, I like it. It’s quiet and it’s a good neighborhood.”

Awkwardness looms as we stand in his living room. I don’t know what to say or do at this point. Thankfully, Kingsley saves me, breaking the tension in the room.

“Well, come on. It’s time to get our cook on!” He reaches out for my hand. I look down at his skeptically and then back at him.

“Oh, come on! I swear you’ll be fine. Not like you’re gonna burn the house down; it’s just pasta.” He grabs my hand, laughing, and literally pulls me into the kitchen.

“Here, let me have your very large purse thing.”

“Hey, I love my bag. Get up off it!” I say playfully.

“Yeah, well you can’t cook holding that thing, goofball.”

I hold out my purse to him and he hangs it on a small closet door in the hallway. He walks over to an iPod docking station in the kitchen and turns it on.

“Music always makes everything better,” he says with a wink.

One Republic plays and he starts taking ingredients out of his pantry. He looks so comfortable in the kitchen as he moves around, pulling pots and pans out and setting everything up.

“Okay, take this pan and fill it up about halfway with water,” he says, handing me a large saucepan.

“That I can do. See, if we keep it simple like this we may actually be able to eat what we’re making tonight,” I joke.

“Oh, hell no! You’re cooking this shit tonight. I told you I’d teach you to cook something and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. You ain’t getting out of it, darlin’.”

Darlin’? What the hell?

He’s never said that to me before. I think I like it, though. No, I think I love it!

“Okay, so we’ll start the water to boil and start the meat. I personally prefer ground Italian sausage in my spaghetti, so that’s what we’ll use. Go ahead and grab it, crumble it up into this pan over here, and put it on a low to medium heat.” He gestures around confidently, perfectly at ease in the kitchen, while I stare around nervously, like a deer in headlights.

I look at him, and then down at the sausage.

How hard could that be to screw up? It’s just putting something in a pan, right?

“Alrighty, let’s see if I can do that without burning it,” I mutter.

He shakes his head back and forth as he pulls the pasta out of the box.

“You’re such a dork, Jessica. This is not rocket science. Have some confidence! Own this motherfucking kitchen. Tell yourself that you’re gonna make some good-ass ‘sketti, and then be proud that you did it.”

I’m still standing and so is the house! The sausage is done, the pasta is done, and all we have to do now is add the meat to the sauce. Garlic bread is in the oven and it smells great in here. I had no idea making garlic bread was so simple! I’m feeling pretty damn culinarylistic at the moment. And yes, that is a word. I just made it up, thank you very much.

“Here, you wanna taste it?” he asks as he dips a spoon into the sauce and holds it out to me.

I look at the spoon and an odd feeling sweeps over me. Him attempting to feed me something feels very personal, very sensual. I lean in toward him and open my mouth a little. He puts the end of the spoon inside my mouth and I get a small taste of the sauce. At that very moment—of all things to happen—I sneeze! Sauce goes everywhere! Everywhere on him and on me! I’m mortified. I cover my mouth with my hands, wishing I could dig a hole in the floor to crawl into.

“Oh my God, Kingsley. I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”

I look at him, expecting anger or annoyance, but he’s smiling this huge, stupid smile, his face covered in pasta sauce. He starts laughing, like really laughing, and I start laughing too. I laugh harder than I have in a very long time. He reaches out and swipes some sauce off my cheek and licks his finger.

“Pretty good stuff, darlin’. I didn’t expect to be wearing our supper, but hey, that’s way better than burning the place down. I think you pass your first attempt at cooking.”

I’m still smiling and laughing like an idiot as I reach out and copy what he did. I bring my finger to my mouth and taste the delicious sauce, closing my eyes to savor it. When I reopen them, our eyes lock. Suddenly, our laughter quiets and something very different fills the space between us. I lick my lips and he steps in toward me.

“Jessica, I know I’ve never made a pass at you, but I’m gonna kiss you right now if that’s all right with you,” he says while looking intently into my eyes.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

I’m not quite sure, so I don’t say anything. I just nod. This may be a huge mistake, a very big mistake, but I close my eyes and let him kiss me anyway.

Kingsley kisses me; he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. It’s more than a kiss, it’s like he’s starving for me, like he needs this kiss more than he needs air to breathe. He has his hands in my hair, holding my head, directing every move, every entwined motion of our mouths in a slow, steady, controlled pace. It’s the most passion-filled kiss I’ve ever felt. I allow my body to relax into his and I let him kiss me, I let him kiss the living hell out of me and I love every second of it. It feels amazing and in this moment, I know things are changing, shifting for the better. Something very big is happening between us and I know our friendship will never be the same again.

He lets go of me and the kiss slowly ends. I’m not ready for the weird after-the-first-kiss moment at all.

“Damn, just damn!” he whispers, shaking his head slightly.

I look at him and feel heat creep across my face. I know I’m blushing and there’s nothing I can do to hide it. He can see that I’m embarrassed.

“You’re so adorable.” He smiles before grabbing a washcloth and reaching out to clean off my face. The gesture is sweet, so endearing, so I don’t move. I just let him do it. And it feels good.

Really good.

“This is Ruffino Chianti,” he says as he gestures to the wine he’s carrying. “It goes great with Italian food, but I probably should’ve remembered I had it while we were eating,” he says while pouring me a glass of wine.

“That’s okay. I wouldn’t really know; I’m not a wine drinker. I wouldn’t think you’d be, either,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows and smiles widely. “I’m full of cool surprises, don’t yah know? I’m a cool fucking dude! But I’m not holding out my pinkie finger while I drink the shit. That’s where I draw the line.”

We both burst out laughing and I relish the moment, feeling freer than I have in such a long time. Being here with him, right here, right now, feels so natural, so comfortable. Like an old T-shirt I’ve worn all my life. It’s full of holes and tears, but it’s the most comfortable thing I own. I think Kingsley is my new favorite old T-shirt.

I take the glass of wine and he sits down beside me on the sofa. “So are you, umm, okay with what happened in there?” he asks.

Shit! Why does he have to ask? Why make it all weird?

“Uh, yeah it was fine,” I say shyly.

“Just fine?” he asks with raised brows.

I roll my eyes.

Men!

“I mean the fact that you kissed me is fine. The kiss itself was much better than fine, Kingsley, but don’t think I’m gonna help inflate your ego by going on about it,” I reply dryly.

He smirks and reaches out, setting his glass on the end table. Then he grabs his guitar and props it up on his lap.

“That’s what I like about you. You just say it like it is.” He strums the strings a few times and shifts his eyes back to me.

“You ever try playing?” he asks.

“No, I have no idea how to play any musical instrument,” I admit. Though I love music, I’ve never thought I’d be particularly good at learning how to play it, other than on my iPod.

“It’s not so hard. I bet you’d take to it fast. You love to write poetry; I bet you could even write songs.”

I shake my head and take a sip of the wine.

“Nope, I don’t think so.”

“Here, let me show you a few chords, see how you like it.”