My thoughts alternated between, Oh, my God! And Oh, my God, we’re at Lilou!
Then his head disappeared between my legs, and I stopped thinking altogether. He turned me into nothing but feeling and sensation and pleasure.
He was as relentless with my body as he was with everything else in his life. He demanded. He pushed. He took what he wanted. But he gave, too.
He gave so much.
By the time he walked me to my car, I was fully sated—and completely, utterly wrung dry. And so far gone for this man that I didn’t know if I would ever recover.
Derrek had convinced me to love him with tempting possibilities and groundless promises. They hadn’t lasted. They hadn’t been enough. Even without the abuse, Derrek and I wouldn’t have made it. He wasn’t what he said he was. He didn’t live up to everything he offered.
He was less than.
He was empty.
Killian was the opposite. He didn’t convince me to love him; he’d given me so much of himself that the only thing left to do was care about this man. He’d proven himself time and time again to be the man he said he was, the man he wanted to be.
The man I needed.
He hadn’t asked me to trust him; he’d just always been trustworthy. He hadn’t needed me to need him. He was just the man I needed every single day. He hadn’t manipulated me through sugar sweet lies and baseless compliments I wanted to hear. He told me what I needed to hear and left everything else up to me.
He kissed me goodbye one last time, and I drove home with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. For the first time in a long time, I knew who I was, and I knew who the man I loved was.
Love.
Maybe it was only the beginning of love. Maybe the roots were still shallow, and the feeling was still new and green, but it was love.
And it was love for a man I thought I would only ever hate. A man that was my complete opposite in every way and the opposite of everything I thought I wanted.
Thank God for that.
Twenty-Three
The next three weeks passed in stolen make-out sessions behind Lilou and morning phone calls that lasted hours. For as much as I’d fought for a place in the food industry, I was starting to hate being a chef.
Or at least, having the hours of one. And Killian’s were worse.
We loved what we did,but officially hated working. I wanted a date. A real one that didn’t involve either of us cooking. I wanted to laugh over dinner and cuddle during a movie, and then I wanted hours and hours to explore his body and finally—finally—take our relationship to the next level.
I was ready. So. Ready.
Which honestly surprised me. Sex with Derrek had been an obligation I fulfilled because I was scared of the consequences if I didn’t. The intimate part of our relationship had been another aspect of my life to control, to assert dominance. It had been enough to scare me away from sex for eternity.
And yet with Killian, I couldn’t seem to hold onto those same skeletons. The ghosts of that traumatic time slipped through my fingers, bone turning to ash, tangible fear disappearing in the wake of trust. Actual trust.
I didn’t fear Killian. I didn’t fear what he would turn sex into or how I would just become another object to use.
It was hard to believe. Especially after so many years, convinced I didn’t need or want sex ever again. I had been happy to ignore that part of me, the part that wanted, desired and hoped. That was easier than imagining opening myself up to a man again. So much easier than letting myself be vulnerable not just physically, but emotionally as well.
Before Killian, the thought of intimacy with any man made me physically ill.
With Killian? With Killian, I couldn’t wait to discover what it would be like, what he would be like. When we kissed, I only wanted to keep kissing. When he touched me, I only wanted him to keep touching me—to never stop.
Because of trust. Because he had opened himself up to me first. Because he was honest and sincere and intentional with me and my heart. Because he had cultivated my confidence, gently at first, then deeper and deeper and deeper until I knew I trusted him. I could trust him in everything. Including a relationship.
He wasn’t Derrek.
He would never be Derrek.
And I would never be the girl that dated Derrek. Never again.
“Hey, V,” Molly greeted as she stepped inside Foodie. She brought a cool breeze with her, and I stood frozen still, trying to get the most of it.
The end of September had brought a change in the weather. The leaves on the trees had started changing color and began to crisp. The evening breeze now smelled like campfires and football. And I wasn’t drenched in sweat by the end of every night. Still sweaty of course, just not completely soaked with it.
“Hey, Molls.” I spun to face my best friend as she put her stuff down and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, fiddling with her bangs so they didn’t get swept up with the rest. “Guess what?”
“What?” she asked around the hair tie in her mouth.
I held up the money pouch for her. “I’m going to pay you tonight!”
She blinked at me. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because you’re here practically every night and you deserve at least minimum wage.”
She snorted a laugh. “Well, as flattering as that sounds, no thank you. I don’t need money. I’m here because I want to be.”
“No way,” I argued. “I’m paying you. I’ve totally taken over your life since I’ve been back in town. I keep you from your other friends and fun Friday nights. You don’t even date anymore, and it’s because of me.”
“Please, I don’t have other friends. At least not ones that mean as much as you. And I don’t want to date. That has nothing to do with you. I’m sick of dating boys playing dress up as men.” She dropped her hands to her hips and held my gaze. “Plus, I don’t want to be anywhere else but here. That’s enough payment for me—that you’re here and you’re happy. And that you’re far, far away from Chef Douchebag.”
My heart hiccupped with the mention of Derrek and the relationships I’d damaged when I was with him. It was hard for me to forgive myself for not coming to Molly sooner or being honest with her. I hadn’t been the only one going through something at that time. Derrek had shut me away from my friends and family, but Molly had lost her best friend too.
It would have been easy to blame everything on Derrek. And don’t get me wrong, he was responsible for a lot. But I also had to own up to my part. I had to be honest with myself about what I’d let him do and say and turn me into.
If for no other reason than to make sure it never happened again.
“Well, I’m still paying you,” I told her smartly. “So just accept it.”
Molly pushed the stool over and sat down next to the open window. “I won’t. It’s like stealing from a charity. I feel too guilty.”
“Are you calling me a charity?” I couldn’t believe her.
She avoided my eyes. “You only just got back on your feet, Vera. I’m not taking any of that away from you. You deserve every penny.”
My eyes misted with tears I refused to let fall. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Molly. I probably couldn’t have come home if you weren’t here.”
“You would have come home for your dad,” she chided. “That’s not even a question. How is he doing by the way?”
It was so like Molly to steer the focus of the conversation away from her. She hated being the center of attention. And she hated whenever anyone made a big deal about anything she did. Which was why she was a graphic designer instead of an artist.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He’s okay. He finally gave into surgery. So that’s scheduled for the end of the month.”
“I thought he wasn’t going to do it?”
Swallowing through a lump of emotion, I said, “Vann and I have finally convinced him to stick around a little while longer. He’s doing it for us.”
> She nodded, absorbing the information with thought. “And then more chemo?”
I mimicked her head bobbing. “Only if the surgery doesn’t work.”
Reaching out she squeezed my hand. “He’s going to pull through, Vere. He’s too strong to let this defeat him.” I hoped she was right. “Oh.” Molly sounded so disappointed that for a second I panicked thinking her sudden emotional shift had something to do with my dad.
“What?”
She slid off her stool and walked to the back of the truck. “You have a customer.”
Sure enough, I did. Ezra Baptiste approached the window looking like an editorial for GQ. He fiddled with the cuffs of his crisp white oxford, tugging one in place above a matte black watch. He appeared bored and casually aloof, and so handsome it hurt to look directly at him.
Molly had scurried to the back of the truck like a scared church mouse, and that left me in charge of the window. But my feet refused to move. Ezra was the most intimidating man I would probably ever meet.
Almost as much as Killian had been at first.
He didn’t wait for me to walk to the window. His shrewd gaze focused with laser-like accuracy over me in a quick, assessing glance. “Vera, right?”
I finally mustered the courage to walk over to him, wondering if this had something to do with Killian. “Yes.”
His expression remained serious. “What’s on your menu tonight, Vera?”
Narrowing my gaze, I tried to figure out if he was for real. He wanted to order from me? “Cubano and duck fat fries.”
His eyes flickered over the truck, the front, the signage, the inside through the windows. He took his time deciding whether the dish sounded appealing or not. Finally, with a sharp nod and another tug on his sleeve causing his cufflinks to wink in the light coming from the truck, he said, “I’ll take it. One, please.”
This had to be a joke. “Are you Killian’s spy tonight?” I asked, mostly kidding. Killian stopped sending his version of secret shoppers a while ago. There was no need when he stopped by every night to tell me his opinion in person. He’d also helped me craft the weekly menu option, so his opinions were a lot more positive recently.
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “Killian’s spy? I’m not sure what that means, but I can assure you, no. Killian didn’t send me. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be the happiest if he knew I was here.” He held out his money, and since I had no idea how to respond to that ambiguous explanation, I took it.
Attempting a confident smile, I pointed to the other window. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it ready for you down there.”
He nodded, taking a step back. His gaze once again inspected the inside of the truck, absorbing every inch he could see through the windows. The second he found Molly hiding out in the back, his frown turned into… more of a frown. He glared openly, not seeming to like seeing her at all.
I threw her a questioning look, but her attention was firmly on her feet.
Ignoring all the weird vibes coming from everyone, I started his order.
“What does he want?” Molly asked in a low voice so he couldn’t hear her outside the open window.
I chuckled dryly, not believing it was true. “The Cubano.”
She huffed a disgruntled sound. “He’s so pretentious. I don’t know how Killian works with him.”
“They grew up together,” I explained. “I think he’s the closest thing Killian has to a BFF, although he would never admit that.”
Molly let out a wobbly breath that could have been a laugh under different circumstances. “Can you imagine what those two are like together? No offense, Vera, and by the way I’m super happy for you, but I feel like they would just sit around discussing politics and retirement plans. Never smiling.”
My laugh was less subtle. “You might be onto something.” I focused on the food for a few minutes, thankful that no other customers had shown up yet because I didn’t think Molly planned to move from her spot in the corner until Ezra Baptiste had officially disappeared. “What’s your deal with him?” I finally whispered. “Why are you hiding from him?”
She threw me a look that screamed duh! “He has terrible taste in design.”
“Oh. Right. Then do you also hate me?”
Stepping closer to me, she dropped her voice even lower. “You don’t have terrible taste in design. You have specific taste in design. There’s a difference.”
“Seriously, Molls, what is it with him that’s got you all flustered?”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at the same time—the universal body language for back the hell off. Of course I didn’t. I paused what I was doing to poke her in the arm.
“I just don’t like him, okay? He asked for my opinion on his website when we were at Lilou, so I gave it to him. He didn’t like it apparently, so he picked it apart completely. He didn’t really want my opinion. He just wanted me to tell him what he wanted to hear. When I called him on it, he got even more defensive. We just don’t see eye to eye. And on top of that, he’s super intimidating. He makes me uncomfortable.”
Well, she had me there. He was super intimidating. I finished plating his food and walked it to the window. He stood away from the truck, typing furiously on the small keyboard of his phone.
I hesitated for a second not knowing how to address him. On one hand, he was Killian’s good friend, which made us kind of familiar, right? On the other hand, he was a super important titan in the industry I was trying to survive in, and that had made me spend five extra minutes on his food to make sure it was perfect in every way.
Ezra? Or Mr. Baptiste? Or Mr. Ezra Baptiste?
Just kidding. The last one was overkill. Definitely, overkill.
I cleared my throat and went with my instincts. “Um, your order is ready.”
He looked up from his phone, clicking it off and shoving it in his pocket when he saw me half-hanging out of the pickup window. Closing the space between us in five smooth paces, he grabbed the box from me with robotic efficiency.
As I explained where the napkins and plastic utensils were, he studiously ignored me in favor of checking out his order. He flicked the top of the French bread with his pointer finger, but it stretched in protest, anchored by a heavy amount of Swiss cheese. He made that sound in the back of his throat again and pushed the decadently greasy fries around with the same finger.
When he finished jabbing at his order, he reached for a napkin and wiped his hands clean. Then he lifted his gaze and inclined his head toward the sidewalk. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Uh, sure.” The words were out before my panicked brain could stop them.
Ezra stepped to the side of the truck to wait for me. Molly’s eyebrows were scrunched together over her nose as I gave her a helpless shrug, wiped my hands on my apron and left the safety of my truck.
The cool night settled on my heated skin like a sigh of relief. I inhaled deeply, enjoying all the different smells of the city and the kitchen I could never quite wash off.
I found Ezra several yards away from Foodie, closer to the alley than the street. He’d polished off half the sandwich and fries before I caught up to him by taking gigantic bites that didn’t fit his polished style. He appeared all tailored professional, but he’d just inhaled his order like an animal.
Uhh… I took his voracious appetite as a compliment. Sort of.
Spotting me, he wiped his hands on his napkin again and extended it. “We haven’t had a proper chance to meet yet.”
I shook his hand for the second time in my life and resisted the urge to text Killian and demand he get over here and explain his friend’s bizarre behavior. “Thanks for stopping by the truck,” I told him sincerely. “Killian has spoken so highly of you.”
He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. “Killian doesn’t speak highly of anyone.”
Well, he had me there. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed silent, hoping he would get to the point.
Ezra’s words caught me so off guard I took a physical step back. “W-what?”
“Except you,” Ezra repeated, slower. “He can’t stop talking about you, in fact.”
I attempted a coherent sentence. “Uh, yeah, we, uh… yeah.” And failed.
He stood up taller, squaring his shoulders, his expression shifting from serious to very, very grave. Oh, God, this man was going to make me cry.
Not in an emotional way. But in the visceral, slice me apart professionally way. I could feel it coming, like electricity in the air before a big storm.
“Be careful with Killian.”
What??? “What?”
“He doesn’t care for things easily. It’s even harder for him to care about people.”
My mouth dried out and my chest burned with the need to defend myself from what I was realizing was a warning. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I said, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
In a moment of what I could tell was rare weakness, he ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. On a bitter chuckle, he explained. “I trust too easily. My restaurants can attest to that. But Killian is the opposite. He doesn’t trust people. He doesn’t let them in. Work is his life and, until you, that’s always been enough for him. I just… I worry for him. I’m asking that you’re careful with him. Don’t break him.”
Fire burned through me, engulfing my esophagus with angry flames that spilled out of my mouth. “I won’t. I would never.” What I didn’t say was that I had been broken by someone else. I would never hurt another person in the same way.
Especially not Killian. The person that had healed big parts of my shattered heart. The man that had pushed his way into my life uninvited and demanded that I ask for more, do more… be more.
He stared at me, taking in my furious eyes and firm frown. Seeing something he approved of, he nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” I struggled to explain. “I… what you don’t know is… Just know that I won’t hurt him. I care about him too much.”
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 27
