Chapter Ten #2
He’d notice, his eyes heating. Then he’d tease me again, letting his hand travel higher, his fingers edging closer to where I was desperate for them. My lace panties would be drenched, and no matter how I shifted, I wouldn’t be able to ease the ache that bloomed between my thighs.
I could feel my breathing shallow, see my legs part in invitation, his eyes still holding mine like we were the only two in the room as his fingers grazed my panties—
I sprang from my seat and scrambled out of the booth.
The fantasy hadn’t been real, but my heavy breathing was. Gabe was half out of the booth with me, an alarmed look on his face.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I spun from the table before he could respond and weaved into the shuffle of people, grateful for their cover.
Gabe seeing me get turned on while I imagined him fingering me under the table was bad enough.
I did not need him asking concerned questions while I tried to compose myself enough to come up with an excuse that didn’t mortify us both.
“Oof!” My shoulder connected with someone in front of me, and I reached out to steady us both. “I’m sorry! Are you all right?”
The man lifted his head, and the fevered mess of nerves and arousal burning through my body instantly snuffed out.
He drew himself straight and smirked. “If it isn’t Aubrey Witter.”
“Christian.”
My ex-coworker looked half a tube of hair gel away from earning his supervillain badge. His brown hair was slicked back enough to withstand a hurricane as he stood in a stiff leather jacket he couldn’t quite fill, his skin extra pale in the restaurant’s low lighting.
I was surprised to see him here. Pépère, where Jase and I used to work, was open on Wednesdays, and since Jase had left, Christian was the head chef.
Then again, Christian had never had half of Jase’s work ethic. He probably had whoever the new sous chefs were running things all but two nights a week.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, making a show of looking over my shoulder. “Is Jase here too? That’s all you do, right? Follow him around wherever he goes?”
I smiled back, well-practiced at not reacting to his bullshit.
He would have jumped at the chance to slap me with a “hysterical woman” label at the first sign of frustration, and earning respect as a woman in a professional kitchen was tough enough without the sexist stereotypes.
“Just here to enjoy the food. I’ll let Jase know you miss him, though. ”
He gave a sharp laugh. “You do that. Be sure to let him know I won a James Beard Award too.”
Ah yes, Pépère’s Outstanding Restaurant award. It was honestly a miracle he’d held that in this long.
“I saw the article. Congrats.”
His eyes narrowed with skepticism.
“I mean it,” I said. “You must have done a great job cooking Jase’s menu.”
His smirk dropped. He didn’t deny it, which told me everything I needed to know.
In more than a full year since Jase and I had left Pépère, Christian had yet to improve upon Jase’s menu or find a way to make it his own.
Any success he might claim was still only a result of Jase’s actions.
First, the menu Jase had created, and then, Jase’s decision to leave.
Christian would still be a sous chef if he hadn’t.
I was all too aware Arden Catering was my opportunity to do what Christian hadn’t. To step out from Jase’s influence and contribute something of my own.
I wanted it, and I didn’t. Wanted to make something impactful, to uplevel my craft, but I had no interest in notoriety if it meant standing on a pedestal alone.
All Christian cared about was the pedestal.
“It won’t be Jase’s menu I submit to the Flavor of Philadelphia Catering Competition,” he threw back. “I heard your little Arden whatever applied too. You don’t stand a chance.”
It made sense that Pépère had entered. Most of the names on Jillian’s list were heavy hitters—well-established restaurants run by big groups with multiple locations or celebrity chefs partnered with five-star hotels. Pépère fell in among that crowd more than Ardena did.
Not that it would stop me from wiping the floor with him.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
His lips thinned when I didn’t take the bait.
“Let me guess,” he said, sweeping his gaze over of my appearance.
It made me want to jump into a bath of sanitizing solution.
“You’re here to get Chef Garis to help you with the menu.
You really think he’ll give you tips if you bat your lashes and put on a slutty dress?
Or is it that Jase won’t screw you, so you’re after any chef who will? ”
I laughed. I shouldn’t have, but I did.
Not only because the idea of me pining after Jase was hilarious but also because no chef in this city would believe I slept my way anywhere. The fact that Christian had gone there showed how desperate he was to get under my skin.
“Enjoy your meal, Christian.” I made to step past him, but he blocked my path.
“No, answer me.” His voice sharpened at the edges. “At least admit to throwing yourself at Jase so he’d make you his little pet.”
I leaned away, trapped in the sea of bodies. He opened his mouth—
“There you are, babe,” Gabe said, emerging beside me, a wall of sex and muscle. He handed me my glass from earlier and dropped a kiss to my neck, his free hand settling on the small of my back. “I got your drink.”
A delicious thrill shot up my spine, made sweeter by watching the smirk fall from Christian’s face.
Painting me as a pathetic man chaser was a little hard when I was here with who could easily be argued was the best-looking guy in the bar.
The satisfaction was yummier than the sugar that rimmed my drink.
“Who’s this?” Gabe asked, turning his attention to Christian. Gabe towered over him by a good five inches, and it brought to mind the image of a shoe crushing a bug.
Christian puffed out his chest and extended his hand. “Christian Grady. I used to be Aubrey’s boss.”
“He means equal. We were both sous chefs,” I clarified for Gabe. And Christian, apparently. Not that “equals” was a concept he’d ever fully grasped.
I expected Gabe to do that intimidating handshake thing where he gripped Christian’s hand tight enough to crush it, but he didn’t bother. He didn’t move to shake Christian’s hand at all. He just stared at it like he had no idea why it was hovering there until Christian finally lowered it.
Gabe glanced at me. “Ready to eat?”
I beamed up at him. “Yup.”
“See you around, Kevin.”
“It’s Christian,” Christian said, but Gabe showed no sign of hearing him. He guided me by the waist, putting his body between Christian and me as we made our way back to our table, both protective and possessive at once.
I liked it way too much. His confidence as we walked. His hand resting on my lower back, solid and warm against my skin. The way he supported me, strong but not macho, like we were on the same team.
It made me feel bold. Like I could channel his confidence, turn around, and kiss him. And after that, I didn’t even know.
Except I did know. I knew exactly what I wanted to happen next.
I wanted to slide into our dimly lit booth and guide his hand under my skirt. To go somewhere more private and crawl onto his lap. To wrap my legs around his waist, grind over his hardness, and relish in the impressive bulge I felt briefly on New Year’s.
I wanted to have sex with him. Just to know what it was like.
To explore all my body’s sensations when I was around him and maybe experience a sliver of the kind of sex I’d missed out on with Patrick.
To hear the filthy words Gabe might whisper in my ear as he bent me over my kitchen counter and drove my body to new heights of pleasure.
To know what it was like to experience the kind of sex that came from being so turned on your brain stopped working.
To know what it was like for sex to feel good.
To not still feel like a virgin at twenty-eight even though a) I’d already had sex and b) virginity as a concept held as much basis in reality as Christian being my boss.
And Gabe had kissed me back.
I’d jumped him on New Year’s Eve, and he’d let me. He’d pressed me against the wall and pulled my body against his with his hands on my ass, urging me on. I’d told myself it hadn’t meant anything, but maybe it did.
Maybe it meant he’d liked kissing me. That there was a chance he was attracted to me the way I was attracted to him. That he’d let me kiss him again.
Maybe he’d let me have sex with him too.
It’d be like the New Year’s kiss—him helping me with something that was no big deal to him. He probably had sex all the time. It wouldn’t have to mean anything.
If he didn’t get the money for the gym in time, he’d likely end up leaving again anyway, to whatever new adventure in boxing awaited him. We’d go back to texting, and I’d be better equipped to navigate the world of sex on my own.
And if he did get the money and ended up staying, we’d just be friends who’d slept together a few times. Nothing two mature adults couldn’t handle.
We reached our booth, where Gabe waited for me to sit before rounding to the other side. That mouthwatering scent of his hit the back of my nose as he slid close, and I decided.
Tonight, I would ask Gabe to have sex with me.