Sincerely, Jaida

mechanic

a/n: it's 12:30. I have class tomorrow. This chapter is the night that Xavier first spent at Jaida's. 

Jaida

He was asking me questions that I couldn't answer. I wasn't physically or mentally ready to share so much with a stranger, yet, I did.

"You said you're eighteen, right?"I hummed yes. "When's your birthday?" 

I smiled. "Sometime in August," I replied blankly.

I choked on my ice cream when I felt his fingers tickling my side. "FINE! FINE! Stop!" His finger stopped, and I was able to save the tub of ice-cream and lick the rest of my spoon. "24th of August, when's yours?" I asked. It was only fair that I knew his, now that he knew mine.

"A healthy boy weighing nine pounds at twelve in the arvo of the fifth of January, 1997," he said grinning.

He's two years older than me. I've always liked older guys.

Yes, Jaida but always sexually and never in a connecting and sappy way. Kick him out. 

Then, a thought occurred to me. "College?" I asked knowing that he's witnessed my side of that. He shook his head no. "School was never my thing," he answered. His hand came around my waist and grabbed the spoon on the counter. 

"Any brothers or sisters?" He asked with his back to me. "Nope," I popped the p, "only child. Parents got divorced when I was young, and mother never remarried," I explained. "Ah, I see," he paused, "did your dad ever remarry?" 

"No," my reply was curt, but Xavier didn't comment any further. 

"I'm using all the cheese," he stated, most likely to change the subject.

I made a sound of acknowledgement that was muffled by the mouthful of ice-cream I was devouring. Xavier was cooking an English breakfast. Well, a version of English breakfast since my pantry was heavily lacking on groceries. Instead of fried bacon and sausages, he had to fry the leftover chicken in the fridge with yesterday's Chinese takeaway. 

I was mesmerised by the way he moved in the small space. He was so focused on his cooking yet, every now and then, he'd return his attention to me when he didn't know what was behind each blue cabinet. He'd asked me questions when he backed away from the stove and handled the ingredients on the cutting board.

"Why Corona?" He was handling the frying pan like a professional chef.

I smiled. "Did you know the brand began 93 years ago in Mexico?" He didn't seem to mind the lack of answers on my end. Better yet, he'd follow my direction of the conversation and my subject changes.

"Impressive. What does that have to do with your reason to drink it?" 

"Well, it's interesting. But I drink it because it's the best I've tasted." 

"Do you smoke?" He surprised me with that one.

I turned to look at him, patiently waiting for my answer. He had put down the frying pan and was blindly stirring the contents with a spatula. "Why do you ask?" I asked a little too defensively.

"You like being occupied, but you fidget with your hands rather than your foot, you also have chewing gum laying all around your house. The biggest giveaway is the taste of nicotine gum in your mouth," he explained, pointing towards the numerous packets of strawberry gum that were laying in the kitchen and the coffee table in front of us.

He was observant, I'll give him that.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "Yeah, I quit a while back," I paused, "how do you know what the gum tastes like?" I asked since I kept my only pack of nicotine inside my bag. 

"I quit smoking a while back too." He seemed like the last person I'd bet to be a smoker. I wanted to ask him about it but, I don't pry into the lives of guys like him.

A comfortable silence filled the room as he went back to his cooking. I abandoned the empty tub of ice-cream on the marble counter and stalked to the fridge to grab a glass of water.

His swift-moving form's expert food handling faltered when I came near him. I filled the glass and brought it to my lips, I could see him watching me from the corner of his eyes. He shook his head and looked away. I placed the glass on a coaster and walked up to him.  

"Xavier," I whispered as sexily as I could. He didn't look at me but cleared his throat and hummed yes. I reached my hand out to his forearm and left light touches trailing up. "It smells really good in here," I basked in the satisfaction of watching his body tense and his hands stop slicing the chicken. 

Everything happened so fast.

His hand flew to the stove and turned the heat to simmer. His body turned to me, and he grabbed my wrist, tugging me towards the fridge. With his other hand, he grabbed another tub of ice-cream from the freezer and a spoon out of the drawers. 

I reckon I let out a moan because his eyes shot to mine, furiously. 

H to the O to the N-E-Y, I'm ready to be the cat that got all the damn cream.

He walked faster, and I followed him just as eager to the couch. He grabbed me by the waist and plopped me on to the couch, grunting when his hand touched the bare skin that my rumpled shirt didn't cover. 

"You stay here," he said jutting the ice-cream into my face. I looked at him confused, "I told you no sorts of fuckery when we've both had such a long day," his tone was warning me to behave. 

Officer, I don't need to see a search warrant for you to barge in through my wet doors. Cum the fuck in, Xavier.

I kept my mouth shut and smiled knowingly as I took the tub out of his hands. He nodded approvingly and stormed off into the kitchen, but not before I got a glance at the growing tent in his jeans.

I turned in my seat and propped my elbows up on the couch head with the ice-cream in hand. 

I smirked as his eyes met mine and he blew a frustrated breath. He ran a hand through his hair and my grin grew even wider. "You're too beautiful for your own good. Or my good," he muttered the last part.

"It's in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the ride of my breasts, the grace of my style. I'm a woman, phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me," I recited, gliding my hands across each part of my body. His eyes followed my movements and when he reached back to my face, he looked starstruck.

"Yes, you fucking are," he breathed.