The Sexy Series: The COMPLETE SERIES Box Set

by Z. L. Arkadie

  He releases it, still starry eyed. “Sure.”

  I get to the locker room and open my locker, feeling that my bedazzled new manager might not only let this one slide but will allow me to work in the kitchen full-time.

  Three knocks come at the door.

  “Come in,” I say with uncertainty.

  Rex opens the door. “Forgive me, but I forgot to introduce myself as the new manager.”

  “Figured that.”

  He looks at me, confused.

  I point to his name tag. “Manager.”

  He smiles sheepishly. “Oh, right. So, Gina,” he says in a tempered tone.

  I press my lips together, waiting for him to lay into me for being fifteen minutes late.

  “I need some help today, and I hear you are the one I should talk to.”

  I blink rapidly, wondering if I just heard him correctly. “Who did you hear that from?”

  “Randy.”

  I turn while rolling my eyes. “Does it involve anything other than working the register all day?”

  “Oh, yes. I need help with ordering, inventory, and… I hear you’re quite good in the kitchen.”

  I stop just before swinging my locker shut, wanting to smile. “Are you sure Randy said that?”

  “Yes, he did. Well, not technically. I didn’t talk to him. He left a note saying that you were really good at those things, especially in the kitchen.”

  I slam my locker shut, and I can’t believe my ears. I decide I had better take him up on his offer before I hear something else. “Great! I can start with the inventory if you don’t mind. That’s usually done about this time of day.”

  He opens the door. “That sounds good to me. And I’m really happy to have you on board.”

  Rex walks out, and I sigh, relieved. No register for me today!

  After completing the inventory and writing up the orders for what’s needed, I spend the rest of my shift prepping and baking in the kitchen. Basically, I spend my entire day cooking, and nothing feels as good as this—not even sex. When my shift ends, I’m ready to go home and take a load off. But as soon as I step out of the café, Jeremy’s red BMW drives into a parking stall next to the large, brightly lit overhead sign reading CALYPSO.

  “Shit,” I mutter. I totally forgot. It’s payback time, and he’s here to take me on the first date. I’m exhausted and ready to just relax.

  He waves as he steps out of his car.

  I fake a smile and wave back.

  “Are you ready for dinner?” he asks.

  I sigh hard. I’m sure I look as sour as I feel. “I guess so. Where are we going?”

  He wrinkles his eyebrows. “The Knight’s Table. Have you heard of it?”

  “Yep. It’s a cross between Hooters and Applebee’s.”

  “Oh.” He sounds shocked by my opinion of the place. Actually, by the way he dresses, I thought he had too much class to go to that restaurant, but apparently not. “We can go somewhere else if you like.”

  “Nope. The Knight’s Table is fine.” Especially since it’s not that far away. I want this to be over as soon as possible.

  The interior of Jeremy’s car smells like his cologne. It’s really quite pleasant. Finally, I notice the dark jeans and cream-colored sweater he’s wearing, and they look pretty good too.

  “I’m sorry if I was a bit snippy earlier,” I say. “I’ve had a long day.”

  He smiles while pulling into the parking lot. “No worries.”

  After he parks the car, I reach for my door.

  “Ah,” Jeremy says with a finger in the air. “Just wait a second.”

  My hand falls from the door handle.

  He gets out, walks around the front, and opens my door. “There.”

  I step out of the car, careful to keep a safe distance between us. “Thank you.”

  The restaurant is tucked away in the lower level of a building. We walk side by side down a set of stairs to the street level. We pass through a cobblestone courtyard and enter the restaurant. The host station is vacant. I peek my head around the corner. There are a lot of people in the dining room, mostly couples and scantily clad waitresses. The wooden tables are dressed with teacup candles burning in glass snowballs. They don’t do a bad job decorating this place. The walls are a rustic red and subtle gold, and there are dark wooden accents placed throughout. I turn around and smile weakly at Jeremy.

  “You like it?” he asks.

  I look back into the dining room, reevaluating the scene. Waitresses are milling about, and the seated patrons eat as if they are enjoying the food. If I owned the restaurant, I would probably lose the half-naked girls, but everything else is mildly impressive. I shrug. “Sure.”

  “Good evening, Jeremy,” says a sultry woman’s voice.

  Jeremy and I turn around. There’s an attractive blond with menus in her hand.

  “Your table’s ready,” she says.

  He hasn’t talked to anyone as of yet, but she knows his name.

  “Thank you.” He smiles graciously.

  She beams but only looks at Jeremy. “You can follow me.”

  Jeremy winks at me and waves me in front of him, wanting me to pass.

  The waitress swishes her ass as she leads us through another corridor and past the bar. There is a table in the corner, not far from the bar and very close to the waitress station. I walk toward it and stop, longing for something less busy and with a little better light. “How about that one over there?” I say, pointing near the window.

  Our hostess stops and looks at Jeremy as if she needs his permission to honor my request.

  “It’s just kind of dark over here,” I add.

  He looks at the hostess and nods.

  She smiles at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Right this way.”

  Peeved, I narrow my eyes to slits. I guess tonight I’m the invisible woman as far as she’s concerned.

  We take our seats and begin looking at the menus. Not even a minute later, a dark-haired waitress with plump cleavage and overapplied makeup comes to our table and asks if she can get our drinks.

  “Just water,” I say.

  “Are you sure?” Jeremy asks.

  “I’m sure.” I look back at the waitress and wait for her to give me some good eye contact. She finally does. “Water will be fine.”

  She quickly shifts her gaze back to Jeremy’s face, and he stares at her tits. “I’ll have a beer.”

  The waitress grins, seeming satisfied by his gawking. “I’ll be back with those drinks,” she says, flapping her eyelashes at Jeremy.

  He winks at her and looks down at his menu.

  “You come here often?” I say.

  “Not much. Only every once in a while.”

  “How often is every once in a while? Because the hostess knew your name before you told her.”

  His eyes veer up to my face. “Maybe about once a week or something.”

  I let out a biting laugh. “Just so you know, that’s a lot.”

  Jeremy chuckles. “Says you.”

  “Says anyone normal.”

  He shrugs indifferently “I guess I like the food.”

  I turn to my left and watch our hostess bussing the table next to us. I can tell she’s trying hard not to look at Jeremy.

  “Sure, the food,” I say cynically.

  Jeremy leans back in his chair as his eyes skip across the dining room, following her back into the kitchen. I don’t think he’s been intimate with her because if he had, she would be blowing a gasket about now. But he’s definitely been flirting with her.

  The waitress brings my water and Jeremy’s beer. She takes our order. I request the shrimp scampi dinner, and he has the steak and potatoes.

  “It’s no secret where you’re from,” I say in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood I created by calling him on his lie.

  His face turns red as he stares at the table.

  I hold up a hand. “Sorry. Sometimes I can be not such a funny girl. I’m sure they eat steak
and potatoes all over the country.”

  He looks up quickly. “Are you from Minnesota?”

  “Born and bred.”

  “Humph,” he says.

  “What?”

  “You drive a Mustang.”

  I grin crookedly. “Yeah, my parents hate that about me. They say it’s like playing Russian roulette. But I bought a truck, and now they can rest more soundly and not worry about my winter driving.”

  He stops staring at my tits, which he was focused on the entire time I was talking. “So do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  He cocks his head as if he doesn’t believe me.

  “I don’t,” I reiterate.

  “How does someone as beautiful as you not have a boyfriend?”

  I shake my head. That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. “Is that the rule?”

  “Is what the rule?”

  “Beauty equals bonded to some guy?”

  He grimaces. “Some guy?”

  “Yeah. If you’re beautiful, then you better have some guy who possesses you.”

  He’s quiet, and his eyes keep darting away from my tits.

  The server brings our food. This time, it’s a guy and not one of the starry-eyed waitresses. He tells us to enjoy our meals, and I tear into my salad. For a while, Jeremy and I eat in silence. I may have effectively made him not want to bang me anymore, which is great because now I can relax.

  “So, Jeremy, what do you do for a living?” I shove an over-buttered shrimp into my mouth. I’m sure I can’t hide the disgust on my face.

  “What do you mean what do I do for a living?”

  I’m pretty sure that wasn’t an ambiguous question. “Your job?”

  He frowns. “I’m in finance?”

  “What kind of finance?” I honestly want to spit this out of my mouth.

  He grimaces. “Finance, finance.” He leans forward. “Are you okay?”

  “Um…” I make myself swallow. “I am now.” I put on a smile.

  “How’s your shrimp?”

  I would tell him that it’s terrible, but I don’t want him to insist that I order something else. He seems like the type—but maybe not. I never thought he would pick a place like this to dine at often. He definitely comes here for the T&A.

  “They’re perfectly satisfactory,” I say.

  He smirks. “Are you hard to please?”

  That flirtatious look in his eyes is back in full force. I guess he still wants me.

  “Not always,” I say. “But when it comes to food—yes.”

  He grunts thoughtfully. “I’ll remember that for a second date.”

  “Second date?”

  He chuckles. “You don’t think you’re going to get off that easy, do you?”

  I shake my head, frowning. “Come again?”

  “I get that you’ve been trying to turn me off.”

  I motion with two fingers for him to come closer to me.

  He sets his beer down and quickly obliges.

  “Remember.” I carefully look into his eyes. “I’m not fucking you.”

  He coughs like he’s choking. “Of course not. You already made that clear.”

  “Wonderful.” I sit back in my chair. “So why do the hostess and all the waitresses keep looking at us?”

  He follows my gaze to the waitress station, where the girls are whispering as they watch us.

  Jeremy shrugs. “Maybe it’s because you’re hot and they’re jealous.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh my head off. Jeremy scratches his neck nervously. I honestly believe he thought that sort of compliment was supposed to make me feel better about myself. I’m starting to think he’s a bona fide tool.

  We eat in silence for the rest of dinner. He occasionally sends a text on his phone, and I want to ask him if he’s lying to his girlfriend about where he is or something, but then I don’t want him to think that I care.

  When we arrive at the Calypso, he parks next to my car.

  “I had a great time tonight,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “No, I did really.”

  “Okay,” I say indifferently. “Well… good night.” I clench my purse and grab the handle.

  “Wait,” he says.

  I face him.

  “Um…”

  I lift my eyebrows and wiggle my head impatiently. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” His shoulders slump.

  I smile and wave good-bye. “All right, then. Good night.”

  “Wait.” He moves to undo his seat belt.

  I raise a hand. “No. I can get my door.”

  He stops wrestling with the device.

  I thank him for dinner, get out of the car, and shut the door.

  He skids out of the parking lot before I even start my engine. I’m pretty sure he’s a tool and I’ll never see him again. I turn the ignition, and my car starts immediately.

  “Yes.” I pump my fist. Sometimes the engine can take a while if it sits out in the cold too long, and tonight is extra chilly. On my way home, I think about my insurance rate going up. I’m pretty sure he’s going to tear up our contract and call in the incident. I think I’d rather pay than go on a second date with him. But then maybe not… I grit my teeth, hating the idea of paying the insurance company a dollar more than I already do. Maybe it won’t be so bad if Jeremy decides to call me for a second date.

  5

  It’s Friday night, and I’m at home watching TV. It’s a terrible night for a television show. It used to be a great time to go dancing or to a bar to hang out with friends and have a few beers. But lately, Friday has become an excellent night to sleep. I don’t work tomorrow, nor do I have class.

  I sit on the couch, careful to not spill my cup of hot milk mixed with black pepper, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I settle myself onto the sturdy cushions. My midnight-blue velvet sectional was a good buy. It’s big and comfortable, great for watching TV and falling asleep on when I can’t make my way to my bed.

  I bend over to retrieve the remote from the coffee table. A replay of Thursday night’s Head Chef Total Domination started seven minutes ago. The contestants are engaged in the Lightening Chef round where they have five minutes to make a dish to win an advantage in the episode’s major competition. The winner is also given the power to pick someone to disadvantage. If the victor chooses not to handicap one of his fellow competitors, then he’ll lose his advantage, and it will go to the second-place winner. However, if the first-place winner ends up winning the episode’s major cooking competition, then he or she will win immunity from elimination for the following week. Those are the rules of this show, and I used to hate them. I thought the entire concept made a mockery of the fine art of cooking. I almost can’t believe Randy signed up for this ridiculousness. However, it’s the highest-rated cooking show on TV, and just about all the contestants—winners and losers—have gone on to greatness.

  I have no idea what Randy’s making, but he just added a taste of what looks like sherry to his sauté. The beautiful hostess with a lyrical English accent, Britta Ho, stops in front of him and tells him that whatever he’s cooking smells good, and in typical Randy Cousivan fashion, he winks cockily instead of thanking her. I take a sip of my sweet and spicy hot milk and close my eyes to relish the flavor.

  A strange mood overcomes me, and I look to my left and right as if checking to see if someone’s watching me. I’m rooting for Randy, arrogance and all. The buzzer rings. The chefs are forced to stop plating and put their utensils down and their hands in the air.

  The buzzing stops, but I hear a ringing sound. I quickly turn toward my purse, which earlier I dropped in the armchair as I went to my bedroom to strip out of the day’s clothing and put on a cozy onesie. At this time of night, only one, maybe two people could be calling me.

  “Shit.” I set my milk on the coffee table just as the judges taste the food, and I rush to my purse.

  If it’s
Jeremy, I won’t answer.

  I study the screen and tap the green button. “Hey, Naomi the Stranger,” I say as I hurry back over and flop down on the sofa.

  “I know,” she says contritely. “Things have been crazy busy.”

  A picture of her new, sexy beau comes to mind. “I bet they have. You’ve been crazy busy fucking the sexy professor.” I chuckle, beating back a pinch of envy. My best friend is engaged to Derek Valentine, the sexiest law professor in the entire universe. Once upon a time, even I had a crush on the sexy professor, but he was never interested in getting involved with students. So it was pretty shocking when I saw that he was into Naomi.

  Naomi chuckles dismissively. “So what have you been up to?”

  I snort. “Ah, the master deflector. Are you going to bypass giving me the Derek Valentine report?”

  “There’s no report to give. He’s fine. I’m fine. We’re still together. What about you? Any new loves to report?”

  I think about my date with Jeremy last week, but the thought is quickly banished by memories of making love to Randy, who’s one of two chefs in the running to win this episode’s prize. Britta Ho asks Pablo Diaz, the guest chef who’s also owner and executive chef of Al Rojo in Los Angeles, to declare a winner.

  I rip my attention away from the screen. “Nope. I’m still on the old-maid track.”

  “I doubt that. Listen,” she says quickly.

  I sit up straight. “I’m listening.”

  “How would you like to take the bar on Monday?”

  My mouth falls open, and I stare blankly at the TV screen. Randy lost the competition, but the other chef chooses to go for the immunity rather than weaken another contestant. Actually, he sounds just as brash as Randy, declaring he doesn’t need to disadvantage others to win.

  “I don’t know, Nom,” I finally say.

  Why can’t I just say what I really feel?

  “My dad can get you a seat as an emergency test taker.”

  “I didn’t know they did that.”

  “It depends on who’s asking.”

  I sigh forcefully just as Randy and the rest of the cooks run around in a big grocery store, buying ingredients for the dish they are to prepare. I missed the theme of the entrée, but right now, he and a woman are buying beef.