Chapter Three #2
Wingin’ It
Kung Pow Platters
Fortune Cookie Custard Pie
“Cute,” she said to no one in particular. “Rashad come up with this creative menu?”
“Sure did.” Anna picked up her card, more than a little pride reflected on her face.
Jamilah fingered the card, two questions swirling in her mind. One, was his cooking as good as his creativity? And two, if it were, could he start this week?
Casual conversation continued until a TDH—tall, dark, and handsome—man materialized from the back of the room. He appeared slightly nervous, which Jamilah found endearing. She found herself leaning forward to catch every word getting ready to flow through a set of kissable lips.
“Um, good evening, everyone,” he said, his deep, slightly raspy voice making Jamilah’s lady parts tingle.
He unconsciously rubbed his hands together and took a breath. “My name is Rashad. I’m the chef. Okay, Monique already said that. Sorry, I’m kinda nervous. This is my first dinner party.”
Jamilah decided nervous looked good on him. Even so, a list of ways to calm him down formed in her head, ways that involved her soft hands running over his hard chest, being wrapped in those chocolate-brown tatted muscular arms with their legs entwined. Yum!
“I’m here to help Monique celebrate her birthday and to help all of y’all enjoy it, too.”
He winked at Monique. Jamilah decided that his eyes were as sexy as his lips. And that his obviously gym-ready body, strong and toned without being swole, gave no reason for the casual observer to be disappointed—from the tips of his shoulder-length locs to the soles of his Air Jordans.
“She says she’s fifty, but until I see proof, I still think she’s lying about her age.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Rashad!” Monique sang out, having taken more than a few sips of her libation.
Her guests laughed while other women commented, creating a low buzz among the tables.
“Just speaking truth.”
He flashed a set of perfectly white teeth that contrasted beautifully with his dark skin. Jamilah’s fingers itched to run themselves along those chiseled cheeks and down the front of the plain black apron he wore over a stark white shirt.
What is he, about six feet, maybe one seventy-five?
Then directly behind that thought, what did his size matter?
Um, height was the immediate and appropriate mental correction.
The word size conjured up other fantastical body parts.
His physicality had nothing to do with how well he cooked!
She forced her attention back to the present, though wayward R-rated thoughts stayed on the back burner of her mind.
“I want to thank my godmother Anna for requesting me,” Rashad was saying when her attention returned to where it should be. “And Monique for taking the chance on me to find out what I can do. Since y’all are all friends of hers, you know she’s bougie.”
More laughter.
“I like him,” a woman at the next table said.
“He’s cute,” said another.
Jamilah told herself she didn’t care that other women were eating him up with their eyes just like her.
She lied to herself and decided he wasn’t all that, too.
There was no time in her life for fantasies that had no chance of going anywhere.
If his food was as good as Anna said, and he became her chef, all of that chocolate and muscle would be strictly off-limits.
“To keep up the classy theme,” Rashad continued, straightening his perfectly chiseled physique to stress the night’s importance, “Monique wants each course announced. After taking a quick course at YouTube University, I’m ready!”
He laughed at his own joke. The room, every female under his spell, happily joined in.
His smile wrapped itself around Jamilah, as warm and snuggly as her favorite cashmere blanket, and reminded her it had been almost a year since the breakup with Walter, and six months since the romp with an out-of-town and convenient friend with benefits that had left much to be desired.
“I’ve got a few courses I could teach him,” murmured the same nearby woman who’d thought him cute.
“If he wants to be taught by an elder,” Jamilah mumbled under her breath.
It wasn’t like her to channel mean girl, and she was glad that it appeared no one heard her snide remark. She refocused her attention to why she was there, on business, to see if Rashad’s skills could work for her.
When a middle-aged woman delivered a particularly scandalous comment, Anna turned and said, “that’s my godson you’re talking about,” in a tone that silenced further conversation.
Not a piece of meat, Jamilah mentally added, even as she stilled her own spicy thoughts and refocused on the words coming out of Rashad’s tantalizingly tasty-looking mouth.
“Tonight’s theme is Asia Meets America. Um, for your first course I’ve prepared a wonton soup with mushrooms, shallots, and a secret ingredient, the barbecue in what I named the Wonton-O-Mo. I like cooking, but as you see, I like words, too. Enjoy.”
Jamilah’s eyes joined a few others’ to follow Rashad’s sure strides back through a set of double doors and undoubtedly appreciate the firm-looking ass that filled out his black jeans.
When it came to whether or not she’d like his food, her confidence soared.
Not only was Jamilah ready to taste his cooking. She wouldn’t mind sampling the chef.