Appetite
APPETITE
KeKe
“Golden Opulence Sundae?” I look up, drool, swallow my tongue, and choke all at the same damn time. My gawd today! The man is fine as fuck! Even in his chef garb. The face matches, the swag, the bow legs, the shoulders and the height. It should be a crime for a man to be so damn fine.
“Um yes, that’s mine,” I reply instead of the can I ride your face that I am thinking.
“How was your dinner tonight ma’am?”
“It was delicious. My compliments to the chef,” I tell him, and I mean it. Everything was superb.
“Thank you. I am Chef Tomás, I take pride in ensuring everything I do is done to perfection and you are left satisfied,”
I am not so sure we are still talking about food anymore—well actually I’d forgot about the food, and the wetness between my legs is proof. “And I bet you do a damn fine job,” I tell him, pulling the spoon from the ice cream, bringing it to my mouth, and licking the cream off of it like I would like to do to him, never breaking eye contact. I smirk a little when I notice him shift from foot to foot. “Hmm delicious,” I proclaim, pulling the spoon from my mouth.
Clearing his throat, he spoke. “I am pleased, but if you’ll excuse me, I have other tables to check on. Enjoy your night but please do not hesitate to let me know if I can do anything else to enhance your satisfaction tonight…” He pauses, giving me the opportunity to provide him with my name.
“Keke.”
“Keke,” he repeats. With that, he gives a little bow before heading to another table. I’m fucking him tonight! I think with glee, practically kicking my feet under the table. I've been in need since my husband left me and tonight, I am going to get my needs met come hell or high water. Having made that up in my mind, I enjoy this over-the-top desert because it truly is magnificent.
“Excuse me,” I called out to the server.
“Yes ma’am.”
“What time do you close?”
“In about an hour,” he tells me, scurrying to the kitchen presumably to grab someone’s order. The reservation was a later one and I have been here longer than I realized. I finish up my desert and my server come over to clear the table and leave me the bill.
“There seems to be a mistake with my bill,” I tell Daniel.
“Ma’am?”
“The sundae was comped?”
“Oh yes, the chef and owner took care of it for you.”
“But why?”
“I can ask him to stop by your table if you would like to ask him,” Daniel says looking flustered by my questions.
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” I tell him, sliding my card into the check presenter and handing it to Daniel. As he goes to run my card I think back on the brief interaction with the chef and my body has another reaction just from the thought of him. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise, causing me to look around to see what is causing it and lock eyes with the man of my dreams or should I say X-rated fantasies. He’s talking to another guest but looking directly at me, the wolfish smile he gives me sends a full-body shiver through me from across the packed restaurant. I was having second thoughts about fucking this man but the look he gave me pushed me right on over the fence to hell yes! I am .
My husband crosses my mind and I ruthlessly shove his ass to the back because once again, He. Left. Me! So why should I feel guilty for what I’m thinking about doing? Because I still love him that’s why, despite what he has done to me, but fuck that! He will not hold me hostage, and I will not sit around like a wounded bird, writing affirmations, and journaling to heal. I am going to heal like they did back in the day. If you want to get over one man you get under another one! And I have locked in on who I will be over, under, in front of, and behind and any other position we can think of tonight. Daniel returns with my receipt and card. I sign, leaving him a cash tip, slide out of the booth, and head to the restrooms before I take the almost hour-long trek back home.
As I zig zag through the tables I notice that the restaurant has cleared out a lot and only a few patrons remain. Good, I won’t have to wait long for him to leave. Hopefully, I will be going home with him, or a nearby hotel, but if not, I will drive home and have a lackluster night with my battery-operated boyfriend.
The bathroom is beautiful and clean, each stall is complete with its own sink, like several mini bathrooms. Just as I close the door my phone rings. Hurriedly I fish my headphones out of my clutch and slide one in my ear. “Hello,”
“Where are you?” the voice asks.
“EJ?”
“The one and only,”
“I’m out to dinner,”
“With Henrique?”
“Fuck him,” I reply before I can stop myself. I haven’t told my friends or family that I came home to a dear Jane letter.
“Huh?” She is obviously confused by my response.
“Nothing,” I say as I relieve my bladder.
“Keke, are you and Henrique okay? I never heard you say that about him,”
“It is too much to talk about,”
“Please don’t make me ping your location and roll up on you! So, make it easy on yourself,”
Ugh, I hate her. But I know it’s a lie as soon as I think the thought. “Well... I guess if you are not going to let this go, I’ll just tell you.” And I proceed to tell her what has been happening in my life in the past few weeks. And just like I expected her to, she cussed me out.
“I really should pull your location and come beat your ass! For one of the smartest people I know, you are really dumb sometimes. You didn’t have to go through this alone!”
“I know that EJ, but I needed a moment okay, before I had to explain and have someone make me go back over my marriage with a fine-tooth comb to try to figure out what I did to drive my husband away. I needed a damn minute!” I am breathing hard when I go quiet and EJ is just as quiet on the other end of the phone.
“Have we hit sixty seconds yet?”
“I think I am still at fifty-seven,”
“Gotcha. Dinner?” She changes the subject.
“The new restaurant,”
“Is it open? Damn I wanted to go for opening weekend but I forgot to make a reservation,”
“You snooze, you lose,” I tell her.
“That is so selfish! Your greedy ass could have called me, but nooooo you only look out for yourself.”
“I can bring you a doggy bag,” I offer laughing.
“Fuck you and that doggy bag!” she says and I burst out laughing. I sit there talking to EJ, catching up. Since I came home and discovered Henrique was gone, I secluded myself, not talking to anyone. EJ and I have been friends since college freshman orientation when we realized we were roommates. We were like each other's other half, but where I had to work my way through college, EJ’s trust fund took care of hers. For all intents and purposes, she was slumming it with us. She had gone to predominantly white private schools her whole life so going to a HBCU was a treat. Many times, she would say that going to Langston Hall College was the best decision she ever made, she finally felt like she was at home... like she belonged. We pledged Alpha Eta Psi, and became a Pearl together, and when she got her PhD and job offer as Hedge Fund Investment Manager at Apex Quantum Strategies, I was the first to know. She was the one who used her trust to pay for my wedding dress and everything else I needed when I married Henrique and it was EJ who got my feet through the door at Vanguard. I started as an entry level management consultant and worked my way up to senior level consultant, making seven figures a year plus bonuses. Overall, she’s my best friend, my ride or die and the sister I never had. Now if I could only get her married, but that heffa said one man couldn’t handle a woman like her.
My ass is numb by the time I set the phone on the counter of the sink, freeing my hands to wipe and flush. Rummaging through my purse I pull out wipes and tidy up.
I flush, wash my hands, check my makeup, hair, and clothes. EJ’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Well look, enjoy dinner, I got some shit to handle tomorrow but let’s meet up the next day,”
“Sounds good, I’ll text you tomorrow,”
“No, you’ll text tonight to let me know you made it home safely. I don’t care what time it is.”
“Yes ma’am,”
By the time I make it out of the bathroom the restaurant is cleared out and it appears to be empty. I don’t even see a server, patron, just... nobody; but there are still lights on so there has to be someone here. I call out but don’t get a response, so, I head back to the front of the restaurant hoping I’d run across someone or find the door unlocked. I would have just left but the door is locked with a key and even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to just walk out and leave the door unlocked so that anyone could walk in. Remembering a door in the hallway to the bathroom that was open a crack, I make my way back hoping that someone is in there. I had this whole plan for tonight but after talking to EJ, I am not sure if I am ready to sleep with someone else, so it’s probably best if I just go on home. The door is still cracked, swinging open when I knock, to reveal an office. It is clearly a man’s office, all dark wood, colors, and heavy furniture. Except for the desk, it's a gorgeous live edge L-Shape, epoxy table. The wood, dark green, gold and white epoxy is gorgeous, it is an elegant statement piece and it takes up almost half of the room. It's so large. I run my hand along the surface stopping when I realize, Oh, it’s the Chef’s office. There are several pictures of him on the desk and credenza behind it, and if I thought he looked good dressed as a chef he looked downright sinful in the suits he’s wearing in the pictures. I am so caught up in looking, I don’t hear the person walking up behind me and I almost jump out of my heels, literally, when the deep baritone comes from behind me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the Chef from earlier says, a deep frown settling across his face.
“I uh, I was in the bathroom and then no one was here and I couldn’t get out so I was looking for someone,” I ramble out the word vomit as he stands there looking at me like I am an intruder.
“I swear, I was just trying to get out of here,” I start but trail off when I literally watch his eyes go from irritated, to suspicious to something else.
“So, you decided to snoop in my office when you couldn’t get out?”
“I was hoping someone was in here who could let me out.”
“Did you check the kitchen?”
“Uh?”
“I mean it is a restaurant: I would think it would make sense that if the dining room is clean and everyone is gone the kitchen would take longer to clean.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“And you still decided to come in here and invade my space?”
“I was going to check there right after coming in here, but–”
“But you got too nosey,”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Oh really? Then how would you put it?”
“I was just trying to get out of here,” I say deflecting his question.
“I saw you when you first walked into the restaurant.”
“You did?” I gulp
“I did. Don’t act surprised, you came here looking to be seen.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t act coy now. You stepped in this restaurant with that dress wrapped around that body; you damn sure wanted to be seen.”
“How was I supposed to come out looking? Like a homely school Marm?”
“Oh, I am sure you could have found something somewhere in-between,”
“You know what, just unlock the door so I can go home,” I snapped at him. Did I wear the dress to be seen? Yes, but he didn’t have to call me out.
“Before I let you out, I just want to ask you a question,” he says, moving back to let me walk past him.
“What’s that?”
“Are you hungry?” he asks as I am walking past him, making me pause.
“What?” I ask, thinking back on all the food I ate and how full I still am and I am thoroughly confused. “I...” start and pause again. When did he move?
“Let me rephrase the question,” he says standing close enough to me to feel literal heat coming from his body and he isn’t even touching me. “Is she hungry?”
My eyebrows scrunch in confusion, until it clicks who the she is that he is referring to—making my lips take on a comical O shape seconds before it hangs open in shock.
“I think I better go,” I say, hating myself for being a coward.
“I see, so you got dressed in this dress, just to be seen,”
“And if I did?”
“Then I’d say mission accomplished,” he murmurs, his voice a warm, low rumble that lingers in the air. He steps beside me, his hand lightly brushing my elbow as he steers me toward the front door. The distance feels unfairly short, and before I’m ready, we’re standing at the threshold.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal tonight,” he says, his tone polite but maddeningly restrained. I watch as he fishes his keys out of his pocket with practiced ease, the faint jingle breaking the silence. He slides the key into the lock, the soft click of the tumblers a finality I’m not ready to face. As the door creaks open, he steps aside, holding it wide for me, the gesture gentlemanly, but distant.
Coward. The word snarls through my head, my inner voice sharpening its claws. Y ou talked all that big talk, and when you had your chance, you folded. You tucked tail and ran like a scared little mouse. He. Left. You .
I hover in the doorway, my pulse pounding louder than I’d like, the warmth of his presence a few inches too far. I take a deep breath, then let the words tumble out before I lose my nerve.
“What if she was hungry?”
His lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile, one that dances dangerously close to cocky. “Then I’d very happily, very thoroughly feed her,” he says, his voice darkening to a honeyed growl, “until she’s completely satiated.”
A thrill races through me, and before I can think better of it, I taunt, “Bold words for someone who doesn’t even know if he can deliver.”
The air between us thickens, his expression sharpening with challenge. He doesn’t move, but somehow, he seems closer. The space between us hums with unspoken energy.
“I have no doubt,” he says, his voice steady, commanding. “And if you doubt it…” He pauses, his gaze locking onto mine with such intensity that my breath stumbles. “I can show you better than I can tell you. I’m an overachiever—always have been, always will be. When I set my mind to something, I don’t just accomplish it. I excel.”
His words are a promise, heavy and unyielding. I shift on my feet, suddenly hyper aware of the weight of his gaze, heat rising to my cheeks.
“Where’s your car?” he asks, his hand sliding to the small of my back. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through me, and I let him guide me past the door. His hand steadies me, a subtle, possessive pressure that makes my pulse quicken.
I take a few steps forward before digging my heels into the ground, halting abruptly. The sudden stop catches him off guard, and he stumbles slightly, his balance faltering just enough to spark a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Whirling around, “we’re both hungry,” I say in a rush. The heat in his eyes is enough to scorch the earth, as a smile creeps across his face.
“Have a good night,” he says, his tone calm but loaded, his words hanging in the air like a challenge.
“Wait—what?” I stammer, confusion knitting my brow… again.
He leans slightly closer, his gaze steady, unreadable. “I said, have a good night.” The corners of his mouth twitch in what might have been a smirk. “You’ve been uneasy ever since I caught you poking around in my office.”
“I wasn’t going through your office!” The protest tumbles out, mortified and defensive all at once.
“Oh?” He arches a brow, tilting his head. “Then what would you call it?”
“I was just... observing. You know, looking at the things that were out in the open. Going through implies opening drawers, rummaging around—I wasn’t doing any of that!” My voice wavers as I scramble to justify myself, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck.
He grunts, a low, throaty sound that vibrates in the air between us, and for a beat, we just stand there. His eyes—sharp, penetrating—never leave mine, and the weight of his scrutiny presses down on me. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to remember who I am. I don’t chase. I don’t beg.
Snapping out of the moment, I spin on my heels with purpose, fishing my fob from my purse. The quiet chirp of the car unlocking feels like a small victory. I reach for the handle, determined to leave with my pride intact.
But before my fingers touch the cool metal, his hand engulfs mine. Warm, strong, and undeniably commanding.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low, edged with something I can’t quite name. A question? A demand?
I barely have time to register his words before he’s pulling me back, his grip firm yet gentle, his steps confident. The world narrows to the sensation of his touch and the heat radiating from his body as we retrace our path to the restaurant.
I hastily hit the lock symbol on my fob, hearing the answering chirp letting me know the doors are locked once again, seconds before the restaurant door clicks shut behind us, and with a flick of his wrist, he locks it, the sound of the bolt sliding home reverberating in the quiet space. The lights go out, plunging us into a dim, shadowy world. His presence seems larger in the darkness, and my breath catches as he guides me back to his office, each step deliberate, each moment steeped in tension.
I should say something—demand an explanation, assert control. But my lips won’t move, and my body seems to have a mind of its own, drawn along in his wake, anticipation curling low and tight in my belly.