His face clouded. "I didn't know you were such a romantic. Be careful what you wish for." He got a faraway look on his face.
I didn't understand him. What was wrong with him?
"You're just like Olivia," I said. "Too pragmatic. Now pass the moo shu pork."
Chapter 3
Maddie
I walked into cooking lab with a certain nervous anticipation. And though I hated to admit it, Seth was the main cause of it. So maybe I was one of those girls who wanted a guy just like dear old dad. Or in this case, just like dear old older brother.
I'd been thinking about Seth for two days, wondering how I could be the tiniest bit attracted to him. Telling myself I wasn't. And yet I Facebook stalked him. Just to find out whether Kayla was his girlfriend or not.
His profile said he was single. Could I trust that? Maybe. But, you know, people lie on social media. For all kinds of reasons. He had some selfies of him and Kayla. And a few more pictures of him with her and a bunch of girls at the sorority house. When I checked out Kayla's profile, it said she was in a relationship with a guy named Eric. There you have it. My first impression of the two of them being a couple was wrong. If he was in a secret relationship, it wasn't with Kayla.
For all my nonchalance, I was still excited about seeing Seth in lab. And way too disappointed when I walked in and he wasn't there.
Lab was in a commercial-grade kitchen just like you see on the cooking reality shows on TV, but with a teaching station in the center of the room. The teaching station was a large stainless steel prep island with a sink and a mirror over it. There were four student prep stations around the kitchen, smaller versions of the teaching station, minus the mirror.
I was one of the first to arrive.
Chef Steven greeted me. "Pick a station, any station. You have your choice. Four people per."
I chose one near the door. It was closest to the refrigerators, proofing ovens, and salamander.
Chef Steven winked at me like he approved. I'd heard stories about him. He was self-effacing, humble given his considerable talents, but a perfectionist and taskmaster. A tireless worker. People swore he never slept.
His kitchen catered most university events. As part of the class, we were required to work a minimum of thirty hours during the semester. Semester after semester his kitchen put out five-star-quality food with a staff of new students. He just got them trained and the semester ended and he started over. The myth of Sisyphus in action.
We'd had to buy a white chef coat embroidered with our names, and black chef caps. The black caps signified we were students learning the craft. The tall white hat had to be earned and was reserved for trained chefs.
I'd pulled my hair into a ponytail, as required for class. But I'd applied my makeup with special care again. Primping for a guy who was not the one. But would be delicious to flirt with anyway.
I stuffed my ponytail under my cap. I was sliding on my chef's coat when Seth walked in. He grinned when he saw me. I smiled back, my heart beating way too fast in response to a guy who shouldn't have held my interest at all. I knew too much about him from Zach. Had heard too many funny stories about Seth and the Double Deltsies and his exploits with the girls.
Seth was a love-them-and-leave-them guy, according to Zach. A player. And I did not need a player. Or a hookup. Or a heartbreaker. Even though it would be a lovely sort of rebellion and I was tempted. What was it about bad boys, or even slightly naughty boys, that turned our heads?
He came right toward me. I was flattered. Right. Who wouldn't be? He dumped his backpack on the floor by my feet at my lab station. I'd been half afraid he wouldn't show up. And half afraid he would.
He gave me a slow up-and-down that would have been totally sexist if his eyes hadn't been full of appreciation and it hadn't made my toes curl with the sensuality of it. "Nice outfit."
He grinned and showed off that single dimple as he pulled his chef jacket out of his backpack and slid it on. Seth Butler. I don't know why I found the name monogrammed on his chef jacket so appealing. If I got the urge to scribble it on my notebook over and over, I was going to have to punch myself.
As he reached for the buttons of his white jacket, he looked at me like he'd suddenly just realized something, gasped, and made a look of mock horror. "Oh, no! Fashion faux pas." He leaned in so close that I caught a whiff of his cologne. "We're wearing the same outfit. You're going to have to change."
I laughed and pointed to my name on my chest. "No. Mine's a different label."
His gaze lingered on my chest. I guess I'd asked for it.
"I see the difference now." He laughed as he covered his thick, wavy hair with his black chef's cap. "How did you get here so fast? I have an eight o'clock. I ran all the way and you still beat me." A lock of his hair stuck out and his hat was cocked at a rakish angle.
I reached over without thinking, straightened the cap, and tucked that errant lock beneath his floppy felt chef cap. Like I would have for Ian. "There. Better."
Was I flirting with him? I wasn't sure. I'd acted on impulse. I looked away and pulled my roll of knives out of my backpack and set them on the stainless steel table in front of me. "This is my first class of the day."
"Okay, then. You get seat-saving duty."
Before I could respond, two other people—a guy and a girl, fellow hotel and business management majors that Seth knew—completed our cozy station of four.
The bell rang. Chef Steven called the class to order and began our first lesson, ordering us to the fridge to get a selection of carrots and fresh vegetables.
"These will be your stations and your partners for the rest of the semester. A good kitchen staff learns to work together as a team. Your grades will reflect your team's efforts.
"First lesson—how to use the knives. How to chop and slice like a master chef." He pulled out a bunch of carrots and demonstrated while we watched him work in the mirror above.
I was clumsy with my chopping. Seth sliced and diced like a pro. I couldn't believe I was being out-sliced by a guy.
He kept glancing at me, looking like he was dying to help me. Like I was a chopping embarrassment.
Finally, he set his knife down and came up behind me. "Here. Let me show you how it's done." He put his arms around me, and his hot hands over mine. "Curl your fingers so you don't chop them off." There was a grin in his voice, and his breath tickled my ear in the most delightful way.
He positioned the knife properly in my hand and guided my slices until I got the hang and the flow of it. Which I made sure to do extremely slowly. I wasn't usually a slow learner. But in this case…
"Very nice." He let go and stepped back to his place beside me.
I immediately missed the heat of his body next to mine and the way he'd had his arms around me. "And here I thought you were a short-order cook, not a master chef. That's what Zach told me."
"You were listening to a guy whose best dish, whose only dish, is scrambled eggs with cheese." Seth picked up his knife and rinsed it in the sink. "You can't believe everything Zach says." He stared at me like he meant about much more than cooking.
I was beginning to think Seth was right.
"What's your best dish?" I asked on impulse.
"I'll have you over to the apartment and show you sometime."
Crap, I felt myself glow with the thought. Here he was practically commanding me, acting as if I'd jump at the chance, and I didn't mind at all.
"Okay, best dish at the sorority house." I concentrated on slicing the onion before me and trying not to cry. It was a strong one.
Seth was watching me as, embarrassingly, my mascara began to run, and I fought to avoid touching my eyes.
"Breathe through your mouth, not your nose. You'll cry less." He was slicing his onion tear-free.
I mumbled something about mouth-breathers, but deep down, I was impressed. He knew a ton more about cooking than I did.
After slicing the vegetables, we moved on to "fabricating" a chicken,
a fancy term for butchering a chicken. Taking a chicken apart seemed pretty much counterintuitive to me to the usual meaning of fabricating, which was to make something. Seth, again, had no problem. He knew how to cut and what pieces to make. I, however, had always been more of a baker than a cook. I winced when I had to snap the bones apart.
"Don't tell me you had to fabricate chickens at the sorority house, too."
Seth shook his head. "No. I left that to our cook. Dad taught me."
"Your dad is the cook in your family?"
His expression became blank, like he was trying to hide the pain of something. "It was just the two of us. It was either him or me."
Okay. He had no siblings and his mom was out of the picture for one reason or another.
I glanced at the clock just as Chef Steven ordered us to clean up. "That's all for today. Store your fabricated chickens in the freezer. We'll be making stock out of them next week."
As we washed our knives, the four of us at our station joked around and exchanged phone numbers. At Seth's suggestion. So we could get together and study if we needed to. For a cooking class? If I had been vain, I would have thought Seth was looking for a way to get my number without singling me out. I wasn't vain. But I still hoped that was the case.
Seth walked out of class with me. "Have plans for the weekend?" He sounded too casual, almost prying.
For an instant I got my hopes up that he was going to ask me out.
"I'm going country swing dancing with a group of friends at Bourbon Beach." I could have just said I was going dancing. But I added the location in case he wanted to find me. That was stupid.
"You like to dance?" He made a face like dancing wasn't his thing.
"You don't like to?"
He shrugged. "I'm not a big country music fan."
I didn't know why I felt so let down. It's just, I'd given him an opening and he hadn't taken it. Which was fine by me. Really.
"What are you up to?" I tried to sound casual, too, but I was curious about him now.
"The usual." He gave no clue what the usual was as he held the door open for me and we broke outside onto the sidewalk. "I'm headed this way." He pointed in the opposite direction I was headed.
"That way," I said.
He smiled. "Have a good weekend. See you in class on Tuesday, Maddie." He headed off without a backward glance at me.
Leaving me disappointed in his wake. What was up with him? Was flirting just a sport with him? I'd hinted that I was going dancing and even told him where. And he walked off like he wasn't interested. After he'd looked for a way to put his arms around me in class. I was sure he had. An enigma. A player. A player wrapped in an enigma.
Seth
I had a change of plan. At the last second. I was about to ask Maddie out when it suddenly seemed smarter just to show up at Bourbon Beach and ask her to dance. Wow her with my swing skills. The girls at the house loved dancing. They dragged some combination of Zach, Dillon, Paul, and me along to Bourbon Beach at every opportunity. For protection. And to assure that they had enough dance partners. I'd managed to avoid country swing for about a year now. I was thinking it was time to lift my embargo on country music.
Bourbon Beach had a different theme every night. The girls liked country and East Coast swing best. I'd gotten pretty good at both. Thanks to the girls and their tutoring. They weren't going to be embarrassed by a houseboy. And they claimed that dancing with someone who didn't know what he was doing was no fun. So the four of us became pretty decent dancers out of necessity.
The trick was convincing a couple of guys to go with me. You didn't show up at Bourbon Beach alone. Everyone traveled in packs. I probably could have convinced Zach and Alexis. But Zach was proving to be the worst wingman in the history of wingmen. I got lucky. Paul called and begged me to go with him and a group of the Double Deltsie girls. He didn't have to twist my arm too hard, though I made him work for it.
"Come on, man," Paul said. "You bail on me at semester. Leave me to train two newbies. The least you can do is help me escort half a dozen hot girls to the bar on a Friday night. Like that's tough duty. Why am I begging? They're not off limits for you anymore, dude. Man, I envy you!"
On the surface, it seemed like he was right. I was in the enviable position. But after spending several years in the house, most of the girls were like sisters to me now. The pledges, the new ones, seemed too young. Like baby sisters.
"Buy me a beer," I said, negotiating.
Paul swore beneath his breath. "Dude! One, or all, of the girls will. You know that. They have plenty of cash to throw around. They always treat us well."
"Yeah, but country swing?" I had an image to maintain. Country music wasn't part of it.
Paul swore some more. "Come on, man."
"All right. What time?"
"The action never starts until ten." The relief was evident in his voice. "Meet us at the house at nine thirty. Wear your cowboy hat, dude."
Chapter 4
Maddie
Country swing night was only on a Friday once a month. The other three weeks it was on Thursday night. I was a good little studying girl, which cut me out of it most Thursdays. Plus almost every semester since freshman year I'd had a Thursday night lab that conflicted.
I was excited about going dancing. Olivia and I dressed with care in tight boot-cut jeans, sparkly tank tops that bared our midriffs—dancing was hot business—and cowboy boots. Hair loose, long, and straight. Skipped the hat. It wouldn't last past the first dance. I was hoping some of the guys who knew how to dance would show up. There were a couple partners we all coveted.
By the time we arrived, the dance floor was crowded. I scanned the crowd for our faves. Cowboy Jake, as we called him, hadn't shown up.
"Robbie's not here, either," Olivia yelled to me over the music.
Crap, the two best dancers around hadn't shown up.
"Let's get something to drink." I headed past the dance floor to the bar.
There was a trick to being asked to dance. First, you had to make your presence known. Make eye contact with the likely candidates.
Olivia and I found a table. She was immediately asked to dance. I couldn't get the attention of a waitress to save my life. And I really needed a drink.
A commotion at the door caught my attention. A group of six or eight Double Deltsies arrived, accompanied by two guys. My heart fell into my stomach when I recognized Seth. So he hated country music, did he? Except when a group of hot blondes invited him out with them. So this was the something usual—hanging out with the girls from the house.
My face flamed. My stomach burned. I felt toyed with and in no mood. He was dressed in boot-cut jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt. The boots made him a couple inches taller. And he was plenty tall to begin with. He was even wearing a cowboy hat. He looked cowboy enough to me. And too hot for his own good. He wore cowboy well for someone who professed it wasn't his thing.
At that moment, I hated him for playing me. Flirting with me in class and then blowing me off like I was nothing. Stuck-up Double Deltsie former houseboys, anyway. Zach had been right to warn me off him. Though I didn't know why I cared.
The girls were laughing. He led one of them to the dance floor. I watched them with morbid curiosity. I knew I shouldn't have been looking. I knew I could have been caught in the act. But I couldn't look away.
Crap. He was a good dancer. Correction. He was an outstanding dancer of the caliber of Robbie or Cowboy Jake. Why hadn't I noticed him before? How could he be that good without being a regular?
I watched as he and the girl did the pretzel like they'd been dance partners since birth. They anticipated each other's moves. I felt myself turning a sickly shade of envy. Seth was smooth. When he dipped her, she laughed and smiled, obviously and totally trusting of him. When he lifted her in an aerial over his head and she struck a pose, the dancers around them cleared space and watched in awe.
Crap, every good female dancer in the crowd was suddenly eyein
g him. He wouldn't have to ask another girl to dance all night. They'd mob him.
When he pulled her down from overhead and swung her out, she threw her legs around his waist and rode him like a bucking bronco. I should have turned away. But, of course, I didn't. Because you can't look away from a train wreck.
As soon as the dance ended, one of the other girls he'd come with claimed him. She wasn't as good a dancer. But they were still fun to watch. I guess I liked tormenting myself.
Finally, I looked away. Olivia didn't return to the table. I saw her out on the floor. She looked like she was having fun.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a mirror over the bar. I was glaring, looking like an angry bitch. No wonder no guys had approached me. I looked like I was ready to bite their heads off.
Fine. I didn't need Seth Butler, anyway. I was acting like a petulant child who wants something she doesn't really want, just because. I took a deep breath and reset my face, making myself smile.
I still hadn't gotten a waitress to take my order, but a beer arrived as if ordered out of thin air. The cocktail waitress set it in front of me and pointed to a big, ugly drunk guy at the bar. "Compliments of that gentleman."
She walked off before I could refuse it or send it back. And he walked over, uninvited. I really hate it when drunks invade your personal space and get right in your face with their stale breath. I also hate being sent random drinks, as if I should be flattered some douche has sent me a cheap beer.
The douche took Olivia's empty stool next to me.
"Hey, beautiful." He slurred the words. He had two words to say and he couldn't get them right. The crappy night just got crappier. "You're the prettiest girl I've seen here in a long time."
And alone and separated from the herd, I thought. An easy mark. So he thought.
He was older, maybe thirty, and already working on an epic beer gut. Probably not a student, like most of the guys in the bar. Probably a local. But not university staff, from the looks of him.
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