Roses & Ruin

Chapter 25 (Lexi)

"What can I do?" I offered to help. Anthony glanced over his shoulder, which brought my eyes to his muscled bare back. He looks very good without a shirt on. My goodness.

"Do you like to saute or would you rather season the meat?" He asked me. I decided I'd take over on the stove top and cook the garlic, onions, and the veggies he'd quickly and expertly diced.

"Do you cook often?" I asked over my own shoulder now. I could hear him moving around behind me, but I didn't want anything to burn so I kept my eyes on the stove.

        "I've lived on my own for a while. It just came naturally when having to feed myself all these years" he said with no real emotion attached. On his own? For how long? How come? My gut clenched when I realized I wanted to know these kinds of details about him. I usually don't give a shit about people's stories.

I can't let myself get stupidly attached to the first dick I rode. I won't let my hormones trick me into thinking this is anything more than a passing experience.

But who knew someone as hot as Anthony would also be a decent person. It would've been easier if he was an asshole.

        "How old ar- ah shit" Anthony almost asked me my age, but dropped something and cursed. I don't want him to know my age, so I knew I had to distract him fast.

I lowered the stove and walked up behind him to wrap my arms around him. Planting a kiss on the middle of his back he hummed in satisfaction. I let my hand wander down to the front of his pants, his muscles jumped beneath my touch.

Anthony turned around with my arms still around him and bent down to kiss my lips. This all suddenly felt domestic and out of place. Still I wanted to distract him, so I ran my hands up his abs and kissed the side of his neck when I came up on my toes. Again he hummed.

I smirked and moved back to the stove, he followed and threw in the cuts of meat. I let him take over.

        "Do you cook any Russian dishes?" He asked me. I thought back to my mother in the kitchen of our small apartment stirring the soup and telling me it was her own mothers recipe she was following.

My mother looked a lot like me. Or rather I looked a lot like her. She was a hardworking woman. A tender woman. She taught me not to take anybody's shit, but also to be compassionate with others' struggles. She was a wonderful woman. It's why I can't even think about her often or else I feel split in two.

"Uh, not really. My mother taught me how to make borscht, but it's what I'd call an acquired taste." I gnawed at my lip, but he didn't notice because he was still turned away.

An image of my mother with her very pale blonde hair piled up into a clip while she hummed to some song I didn't recognize while she cooked. She always cut me fruit at random and would have me come sit and eat it while she moved through the kitchen making us dinner. Just the two of us.

        "Why would you call it an acquired taste?" Anthony interrupted the image of my mother behind my eyes. I shrugged. "It's a sour soup. Not everyone would enjoy something like that" I explained to him.

"Sour soup" I heard him mutter back to himself. "Did your mother teach you to cook Italian food?" I asked absentmindedly since my own mother was on my mind. The pause made me realize I'd just gotten personal.

"You don't have to answer that" I let him off the hook. He sighed, but when he shut off the stove he moved the pan and turned to me. The way he leaned back on his palms at the edge of the counter looked hot. His arms flexed. 

        "It's fine. My mother...is a piece of work. She didn't teach me much of anything" he told me. A million more questions flooded my mind, but I knew not to ask them. I nodded and took the plates from where he'd left them on the table to set it.

"She uh," Anthony spoke up then stopped. "I'm not against you getting personal. I only said I don't fancy delving into my own shit" I made sure he understood.

        "My mother spent most of my upbringing chain smoking cigarettes and pacing irretively around the house. She'd argue with my father a lot and disappear a lot. There's no formal diagnosis attached because she's refused to ever see a doctor, but based on research I'm 90% sure she suffers from borderline personality disorder. There's a lot more to it, but as you said, I don't fancy getting into my childhood and my mother" he told me the most he ever had.

When Anthony sat down across from me at his kitchen table we looked at each other for a second and just sat with the information.

"Well...my father might be a sociopath" I broke the silence.

        Instead of that being met with sympathy Anthony chuckled that deep chested chuckle of his that makes me all warm inside. He understood I was bonding over the shared experience of having a mentally unstable parent. I understood him.

We started eating after that and the conversation naturally gravitated to something lighter like we've been doing when we meet up before all the sex stuff happens between us.

"You'll never guess what I dreamt about last night" Anthony shared a crooked grin. His smile made me smile and I knew I was in trouble.

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Author's Note: Thoughts on Lexi and Anthony?