Chapter Eight #2
With her eyes on his smug face, she took a tentative bite.
The skin was so crispy it literally crackled and popped when she bit into it, while inside it was succulent, flavorful, and fall-off-the-bone tender.
It took everything in her not to close her eyes and emit an orgasmic whimper.
If this man could do this to the wing of a chicken, she could only imagine the magic those gifted hands could perform on her legs, breasts, and thighs.
She chewed until her libido was under control, licked her fingers, and in a voice as casual as mentioning the weather, said, “That was all right.”
Rashad burst out laughing. “Girl, you’re tripping. You know that’s the best wing you’ve ever tasted in your life.”
Jamilah watched his confident stroll to the serving tray filled with the appendages that helped birds fly.
He exuded authority and confidence, as though he owned the place.
Jamilah wondered if some of that confidence could rub off on her.
Then she imagined other ways the two of them could rub together and quickly looked away before that train of thought could leave the station.
“For the record,” Rashad said, unaware of Jamilah’s racy thoughts and temporary discomfort, “what I did is called the twice-fry method. But don’t worry. I only made a few like that so you could taste them. The rest are the average kind that you get by following that book.”
“Average? Blair would cut you for that comment.”
“I’ve met her, and I agree she’d try.”
They laughed.
“I can blend those cooked to perfection in with the rest, or put some sauce on them so they won’t be so—” he snapped his fingers “—crispy, juicy, tasty, delicious. Or I keep them to the side so you can enjoy them later on, while deciding how to tell Blair that the new cook has a better recipe. Matter of fact, don’t worry about that either.
Next time I visit Leon, I’ll tell her myself. ”
“Set them aside so what we serve is uniform.” And so later on I can gobble them up.
Jamilah changed the subject. “You hang out with Leon? That’s an unlikely friendship.”
“I don’t know many people here and, honestly, probably don’t want to know too many.
” He walked over and dipped a spoon in a large stainless steel prep bowl.
“He’s quiet and geeky as hell, but he’s a video gamer and a hip-hop head.
What’s not to like? Besides this bland-ass potato salad,” he half murmured, half mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Their young, brunette and bubbly server Shasta arrived.
Jamilah made introductions. She and Rashad enjoyed an effortless working rhythm while disagreeing about everything—from gas versus electric to cooking totally from scratch versus adopting boxed and canned conveniences and everything in between, especially food.
If asked, they’d probably disagree on whether grass was green and the sky was blue.
Even so, the two worked together in a natural flow and were ready on time for the Friday lunch crowd.
Just after unlocking the door and flipping the Open sign, Jamilah tasted another of Rashad’s “twice fry” wings and admitted the truth. It was amazing.
“I didn’t have to tell you it was delicious,” she said after admitting as much. “You already knew.”
Rashad smiled, a simple act Jamilah felt should come with a Danger sign.
“Helps to hear it, though.”
“In time, maybe after your ninety-day probation, we can do a few pop-ups and test out the new recipes. But not now. There’s too much riding on what happens this month.”
“Heard.”
There was the occasional hiccup here and there, but overall, the first night of service with the new chef went well.
A few customers noticed the change and asked about Blair but were quick to add that the food tasted great.
Cleanup was smooth, accompanied by the even smoother sounds of singer and guitarist George Benson, one of her dad’s favorites.
During service, the stove wasn’t the only hot spot in the kitchen.
The new cook had Jamilah feeling the heat.
She believed Rashad felt the energy, too.
An accidental touch here. A lingering look there.
Jamilah covered this attraction with denial, Rashad with professionalism.
One thing was for sure, she finally admitted: A hot pot like this could only simmer so long before it boiled all the way over.
After the bulk of the work was done and everyone else had left, she said, “I’ve got the rest of it, Rashad, so you can leave. Tomorrow’s a long, hopefully busy day, so be ready.”
Rashad walked over to where Jamilah stood. “Are you sure it’s safe to be here by yourself?”
Was it just her or had his voice gone low and sexy? It had to be her imagination. Damn, she needed someone to scratch her sexual itch. Like him. Like now. She cleared her throat to force the thought away.
“I’ll be fine. You did good.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
She broke contact while squeezing her cootchie muscles together. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”
Rashad left. Shasta and the busboy, Caylen, too. The streaming station changed from George Benson to Norman Brown, a guitarist from Kansas City. He played a Janet Jackson cover.
“That’s the way love goes,” Jamilah sang as she danced around the room.
Running the place without Blair had gone better than she could have imagined.
Rashad fit right in with Shasta, Caylen, and the guests.
There was only one problem: her father. He wouldn’t be happy she’d hired someone with Rashad’s background and would be disappointed that she had defied him.
If the stars aligned and the gods were kind, he’d forget about her hiring someone new. She sure as heck wouldn’t bring it up.
A few minutes later, her cell phone rang. Dad. She hesitated only briefly before answering the call, ready to take the conversation anywhere except near the man who’d just left her kitchen.
“Hey, Daddy! How’s it going? Are you still at work?”
“Just finishing up some paperwork at the station. How’d your interview go?”
“Interview?” Jamilah parroted the word as though she spoka no English.
“Yeah, the one with Rashad White. I hope you haven’t hired him already. That young man is six feet of bad news.”