Getting herself together, she put away her I-phone and made a conscience note not to use her audio books ever again in this house. Then suddenly, she had a taste for cookies. She’d probably eat Nestle baked cookies for the rest of the week. Opening the refrigerator door, she looked inside.
By the time that she got upstairs to clean, Mitch was fully dressed. He sat in his bedroom at the desk with a pencil clenched in his mouth and another one behind his ear. The lamp beside him illuminated his damp, brown curly locks of hair and the mole on his neck.
She tapped her knuckles on the door and waved after she’d stared at him for a while. “Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey.” He smiled shyly.
“Sorry about that, Mitch. I’ll do a better job of making my presence known in the future.”
“My mistake, really,” he said, turning around in his seat. He stood up and waved her inside. “Are you ready to clean in here?” He barely made eye contact.
“I’ll come back. I know that you’re working.” She clung to the door entry.
“Are you kidding? I need a break. I’ve been at this for like twelve hours already.” He extended his hands out, plated his fingers together and cracked his knuckles.
LaToya tried to avert her eyes away from his pants. His perfect muscular frame was always hidden under micro-plaid, long sleeve shirts, curled up to the elbows and khakis pants that hid his long, bow legs. While she could always tell that he had a body, she didn’t know he had a body. She was impressed and depressed, having never had a man that looked like that before.
“I made you a peace offering,” she said, pulling a plate of cookies that she’d just baked from behind her back.
“Did you?” He walked over to her. The smell of soap and cologne filled her nose as he approached. He looked down at her and smiled only inches away from her. His green eyes warmed her heart. “I’m going to go and get another cup of coffee. Would you like one?”
“No, thank you,” she said, taking her eyes off him. Who was she kidding?
“Alright,” he said, taking a cookie from her plate. Tasting them, he brought attention to the perfect curl of his lips. “Umm,” he said in a deep, erotic growl. “These are delicious.”
She smiled and gazed back up at him, unable to help herself. He looked better than the cookies. Her heart skipped a beat. At the moment, he looked better than anything that she could think of.
“Thank you very much, LaToya.” His voice was low and soft.
“You’re welcome. Just keep your clothes on, okay.”
“I’ll remember that.” Remembering himself, he stepped past her. “Sure you don’t want some coffee?” He raised his brows.
She shook her head.
He looked down at the floor and smirked. “Well, I’d better leave you to it then.” Excusing himself, he left her alone in the room.
As she went over to his nightstand to pick up his multitude of half-full coffee mugs, she noticed the divorce papers sitting under the light with a huge coffee ring on the front page.
Not your business, she thought to herself. Quickly, she turned to get back to work. Picking up a pile of clothes to take to the washroom, she wondered what type of woman would divorce a man like Mitch. He seemed nice and more importantly normal. His list of sexable qualities where numerous:
1. She loved his accent. It was like butter.
2. All words rolled off his tongue like a romantic French love song.
3. He was responsible. Every once in a while, she’d accidentally look at the bills that he left thrown on the desk. Never once was there a past due notice. That was one of her pet peeves. If you could make the bill, you could pay it on time.
4. He also never had a house full of people and had not once had a woman over. So, he wasn’t a whore or a poor planner.
5. He was incredibly handsome.
6. He was a gentlemen.
7. He had a package from hell.
8. He seemed to be a good father.
9. He was ambitious.
10. He was easy to talk to.
11. And he was understanding
She put the dirty clothes in the hamper in the washroom and hit the dial for cold. Did it really matter how long his list was anyway? Mitch O’Keef was not interested in LaToya Jenkins. That she did know.
When she was done with the upstairs, she headed back downstairs to find Mitch at the kitchen table asleep.
Snoring lightly, he cradled his head in his arms with one hand still on his coffee cup. She knew that he had been working hard and felt a twinge of pity for the poor guy. A man of his age should be out enjoying himself, not spending every waken moment working or worrying. A smirk formed on her lips. So should she for that matter. As she moved the coffee cup, so he wouldn’t knock it off the table, he stirred.