Chapter 18 Eliana #2
He’s not alone. There’s another guy with him—shorter, stockier, with dark hair and an easy smile. Both of them are shirtless, sweaty, and, God help me, so freaking ripped.
Bastian stops when he sees me. Mid-stride, like someone hit pause on his forward momentum. His friend, noticing the sudden halt, stops, too, though he keeps jogging in place with the energy of a golden retriever.
“Eli—er, Ms. Hunter.” Bastian’s eyes sweep up and down my mortifying outfit, then up to the building behind me. “Everything okay?”
“Fire alarm,” I explain. “Someone probably burned their popcorn again.”
“Ah. Right. Well, uh…” He casts around for something else to say and ends up gesturing to his companion, who’s still bouncing in place. “This is Zeke Bautista. Head chef at Nova. Zeke, Eliana Hunter—”
“The project manager who brought donuts to the kitchen.” Zeke’s grin is warm and knowing in a way that makes me wonder exactly what Bastian’s told him. “I’ve heard about you.”
I blush. “Nothing good, I’m sure.”
“Au contraire!” Zeke’s eyes flick between Bastian and me and his smile ticks one notch wider. “Bash here won’t shut up about you.”
Bastian shoots him a look that could freeze hell and make the devil himself apologize. “We should keep moving. We’re losing momentum.”
“Oh, we’re losing something,” Zeke mutters, but he’s looking at Yasmin now, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet. “Pardon me, miss. I don’t think we’ve met?”
“Yasmin.” She shakes his offered hand, and I notice she holds it a beat longer than necessary. “Eliana’s friend and sous chef for today’s meal prep session.”
“Meal prep, huh?” Zeke’s smile widens, and suddenly, he’s not bouncing anymore. All his energy is laser-focused on Yasmin. “What’s on the menu?”
“Stir-fry, some grain bowls, probably too much chicken because we couldn’t decide between thighs and breasts—” Yasmin stops, realizes what she just said, and goes pink from her collar to her hairline. “The chicken kind. Obviously.”
Zeke laughs. “I’m a thigh man, myself, but in my line of work, you learn to appreciate good breasts.”
Bastian and I groan in unison. I don’t even know this man and I already want to give him a noogie and tell him to shut up like he’s my little brother. Yasmin, though, is positively cackling. I can practically see heart emojis dancing in her eyes.
“We run this route most weeks,” Zeke continues, still focused on Yasmin like she’s the only person on this crowded sidewalk. “Clears the head before the week starts.”
“Same. Well, meal prep instead of running. But otherwise, same.” Yasmin waves vaguely at the building behind us.
“Ah, the magic of ritual.” Zeke nods knowingly. “Bash’s got his sadistic runs in which I am occasionally forced to partake; I’ve got my—”
“Spreadsheet for recipe testing,” Bastian cuts in dryly.
“—incredibly normal and not-at-all-obsessive spreadsheet, yes.” Zeke’s already pulling out his phone. “Speaking of which, if you want actual edible meal prep ideas, I’ve got opinions. Too many, according to Basti.”
“That’s true,” Bastian confirms.
“So if you ever want some that actually taste good reheated…” Zeke offers his phone to Yasmin. “ … then I’m your man.”
He’s not even trying to be subtle. Just straight-up asking for her number in front of God, Bastian, and Mrs. Byrd in her curlers.
And Yas… Yas is torn. I can see it in her face. She’s nibbling at her bottom lip, eyes flitting between me and Zeke’s phone.
“Yasmin’s always looking for new recipes,” I blurt, ignoring the warning look she shoots me. “She’s the creative one. I just follow instructions.”
“Even better. They say curiosity killed the cat, but nobody likes cats anyways.”
“You’re an idiot,” mutters Bastian under his breath.
I laugh, but I’m also noticing how Zeke grins at Yasmin. It’s so wholesome and uncomplicated that I want to cry. When was the last time someone looked at either of us like that?
She deserves it.
So I’m glad that, after one more second of hesitation, she types her number into his phone and hands it back to him.
“Excellent. Prepare for an overwhelming amount of unsolicited cooking advice and top-shelf memes.” He pockets his phone and does a few lanky jumping jacks that nearly take off the head of a pedestrian passing by.
“Come on, Bash. Your heart rate’s dropping and you get cranky when we don’t hit our target zone. ”
“I don’t get cranky—”
“You absolutely do.” Zeke waves at us. “Nice meeting you both! Don’t let Bash work you too hard!”
They jog off, and I absolutely do not watch how Bastian’s shoulders move in the midday sun.
I definitely don’t notice how his hair’s slightly damp with sweat.
I certainly don’t think about how it would feel if that body was pressed against mine, somewhere dark, somewhere private, like, say, a walk-in freezer, where we had all the time to do anything we ever wanted, where he could spin me around and tease down the zipper on my skirt and ask me if I wanted it and I’d moan the only possible answer I could possibly moan:
Yes, Chef.
The moment they’re out of earshot, Yasmin turns on me. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Making me give that guy my number! El, I just told you about Brandon—”
“Brandon is a stalker asshole who deserves hemorrhoids and hellfire.” I face her fully, my voice serious and my scowl fierce. “Zeke is Bastian’s best friend and head chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant. There’s a big, big difference.”
“I’m not ready to—”
“I’m not saying marry the guy. I’m saying maybe it’s nice to remember what it feels like when someone’s interested in you and isn’t a creepy nightmare loser.
” I bump her shoulder gently. “Plus, he’s cute.
In a friendly, non-threatening, ‘I-cook-professionally-so-I-probably-smell-like-garlic’ kind of way. ”
Yasmin laughs despite herself. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m a good friend. And you deserve good things, Yas. Not Brandon’s bullshit.”
The all-clear sounds from the building. We troop back inside, but before we reach the door, Yasmin stops.
“I’m gonna say one thing and one thing only,” she tells me with her serious face on.
I wince, knowing already that I’m not gonna like this “one thing.” But she won’t be stopped, so I just nod.
“That man is into you. And you’re into him. And you’re both doing this weird dance of pretending you’re not.” Her voice goes really quiet and gentle. “You can have nice things, El. You deserve them, too.”