“Maybe,” cooed Raina.
The silence between us at that moment was palpable, laden with hunger. I wanted to make my move but there was just that hint of nervousness bubbling in the pit of my stomach, causing me a subtle ache, as I anticipated what might happen between us. But I was a leader, a risk taker, a girl who knew what she wanted and I most certainly wanted Raina. Inhaling a deep breath through my nostrils, my hand still resting on Raina’s tummy, I lowered myself closer to her, closing in until our lips met and we joined together in a sweet, sensual kiss.
Raina moaned softly as our kiss intensified. Her arm rose up and she placed her hand delicately on my arm. I was just brimming with excitement inside, so joyous as we connected. I couldn’t help but push myself on her with a bit more force, which she eagerly accepted. This was a scene I was trying to imagine all day as the two of us hung out and now, with the darkened sky of the evening peering in through our large bedroom window, the sweeping lights of Chicago’s Loop vaguely flickering in, I was living my fantasy. Raina and I were coming together.
Offering her a few more swift, adoring kisses, I slowly eased my face back from hers and the two of us opened our eyes up simultaneously. I couldn’t help but smile as she quickly followed my lead. I buzzed with happiness and gave her one more sweet peck.
“That was nice,” Raina said in a low and sultry voice. Her eyes rolled back softly, looking upwards at the pillow underneath her, and stretched out once again, languidly flirting with me with her lissome frame.
“You’re nice,” I said. Raina giggled.
“I’m really happy that we’re friends,” she said. Raina lifted a lithe hand up and gently ran it through my hair. Our eyes were glued together. I adored her green eyes. They implied the faintest hint of a hazel swirl. To the left side of her nose was just one single mild freckle.
“Me too,” I said. I kissed Raina again, our lips lingering together for a moment, humid breath mixing, desire roiling. I didn’t want to press too firmly too quickly, so I forced myself to pull back. After giving Raina an admiring smile, I stood up gingerly from her bed and straightened myself out. “I’m gonna get ready for bed, okay?”
“Mm hmm,” said Raina, nodding at me, naively smiling.
Forcing myself to look away from her, but feeling Raina’s radiance deep in my heart, I sashayed toward our attached bathroom to catch my breath and simmer down. Closing the door behind me, I leaned up against it and steadied myself. My heart was pulsing. I was deeply excited. I wanted Raina so bad. I wanted to taste her. I wanted to feel her. She was driving me absolutely mad with her virtuous cuteness, even though I knew something more conniving lurked inside of her. That thrilled me, too. Just the entire package of her, it gave me goosebumps.
I did my thing. Washed my face. Brushed my teeth. I looked myself in the eyes in the big mirror and considered my budding thing with Raina. It had been a while since I’d been with another woman, my hectic schedule at the restaurant quite often interfering with any potential relationship. And now the opportunity was there with a girl who was totally my type. I felt positively giddy. I was almost shaking, my hand trying to hold my toothbrush steady. I felt a hysterical charge within me.
Once finished with my nightly rituals, I slipped out of my jeans and hung them up from a hook on the back of the bathroom door. I unlatched my bra and deftly fished it out of my tank top, hanging it along with my pants. Standing there in a state of half undress, I was eager to return to Raina for some more kissing and, who knows, maybe even something greater than that.
But I didn’t want to go too far, too soon. I wanted to build something that would last.
Cracking the door open to return to the bedroom, I poked my head out and didn’t see Raina in her bed. I suddenly felt confused. I opened the door wider and stepped out, quickly running a finger through the leg hole of my panties distractedly, looking further into the room when I then found her. Raina was over in my bed, buried under the covers, her head toward me and presenting a docile grin.
“What are you doing over there?” I teasingly cooed, placing one foot in front of the other as I sauntered over toward her. Raina could only return her rolling giggle, that exciting and somewhat geeky modulation.
“Nothing,” she said plainly. Moving a thin, bare arm out from under the covers, Raina took hold of the blanket and swiftly lifted it up from the bed. She revealed herself underneath, now topless, wearing only that little pair of navy panties. She continued with her rolling giggle as I took her in. Raina’s body was small and slim, her chest proportional and fitting with the rest of her figure. Each modest breast was dotted with an equally small nipple.
“You’re so pretty,” I sighed, moving another step closer to her.
“Get in,” she said. “Warm me up.”
“Okay,” I said as I slowly nodded. I slipped into the bed with her as Raina dropped her hold on the blanket, allowing it to fall over our bodies as we collided into an embrace. Snaking my arms around her, I felt the softness and bareness of her skin in my hands, fervently caressing her body and pressing myself against her. Our lips met once again, slower this time, more gentle, more patient. Our noses touched, our bodies coalesced underneath the blanket, bare feet beginning to intertwine. I longingly grappled with Raina, dropping a single hand to her rump and giving it an exalting squeeze.
Raina moaned as I touched her, a sure affirmation that she was interested in more.
Our lust flowed together with an increasingly wanton rush.
TWO
*
IT WAS A frantic afternoon in the industrial kitchen of a catering company, all of us running around trying to complete the charge we’d been tasked with. We had today to prep our dishes, which we would then take on location the following day for an outdoor meal service, a Mexican challenge, for our judges as well as a handful of other integral and noteworthy Chicago restauranteurs. While we had 3 hours for shopping and prep today, we’d only have 1 hour the following day to cook and plate. It was certainly demanding, just as all the challenges had been over the passing weeks.
The field was now down to just 8 chefs, the previous weeks each bringing with them tough eliminations. It was hard to see some of the people go. But you never knew if you might see them again in the competition, the threat of Rebound Kitchen always there to bring someone back that you once feared. Raina and I were still in it, surreptitiously working together, helping each other out, all while our romance blossomed off camera. Even though we tried to keep what was going on between us a secret from the chefs, which were we pretty successful at, the cameras were good at catching anything brewing between contestants.
Raina and I worked together at adjacent stations, diligently putting together our dishes. Behind us we each had a range top with pans frying. I quickly julienned carrots for my slaw as Raina shredded some pork for the stew component of her dish.
The kitchen was alive with the sound of searing, pans clinking, chefs yelling out “hot!” as they passed behind each other with a scalding pot. This was kitchen life. It was always so exciting to me.
Looking over at Raina, she looked absolutely focused on her hands, her knife speedily working through the meat on her cutting board. Her lips were pursed, her forehead slightly wrinkled, lost in thought, in the zone, lightly sweating into the blue bandanna wrapped around her head. Watching her as I cut through my carrots, I almost took off my own fingertip but caught myself just in time.
“Phew,” I remarked, stopping for a moment to regain my composure. “I’m exhausted.”
“You’re not giving up?” asked Raina, grinning as she looked up at me. “We’ve come too far.”
“No, I’m not giving up,” I said with a laugh. “This is just a lot more work than I anticipated in the beginning. I mean, you watch the show on TV and it doesn’t seem that bad. But, man, this is rough.”
Raina just laughed as she finished up shredding her pork, dropping her knife and then transferring it all to plate. Wiping her hands on a small whi
te towel that she had hanging from her apron, Raina stood up straight and stretched, loosening up from being hunched over. I saw her inhale a deep breath and then smile at me.
Then she made a kissy face.
I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and pinched her side, causing Raina to scream out in tickled joy. Some of the chefs looked over to us and made grumpy faces, probably a bit perturbed by our convivial attitudes.
Then the door to the kitchen flung open and in walked Tim Cicerone and one of the guest judges for this Cutthroat. It was Greg Easton, well-known chef and restauranteur here in Chicago, a plump man with short spiky black hair and thick glasses. He had become a big deal over the preceding couple of years, his fame exploding and his high end restaurant becoming almost impossible to get into.
As Raina and I were closest to the door, Tim and Greg approached us first, a cameraman following along with them. There were a number of cameramen throughout the kitchen, getting various shots of every chef chopping or frying or roasting, each one of us looking tired and worn down. I’m sure they caught my pinch of Raina’s side, once I considered it. That would probably make it on TV.
“Ladies,” said Tim as he ambled up to us. Both he and Greg were wearing pristine chef whites, each emblazoned with the Hot Chef logo just as our uniforms were.
“Hi Chef,” I said, smiling and nodding at Tim.
“I know you,” said Greg, pointing at me, smiling, nodding his head. “Have I seen you before?”
“Uh, I don’t know, Chef,” I said to Greg. “I’m from Chicago.” I wiped the back of my hand against my forehead, feeling sweaty, nervous. “I’m head chef of Maison du Faisan.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know the owner, Jean-Claude. I think you and I have met before.” I knew that I had definitely met Greg Easton before but I wanted to play it cool and not seem like such a chef nerd. “The party for when you guys won the Beard.”
“Right,” I said, nodding, grinning. “Hopefully that gets me in your good graces, Chef.”
“I think it means Chef Easton’s going to hold you to a higher standard,” interjected Tim with a smirk. “What are you making, Emily?”
“Right now I’m working on a pickled carrot and pepper slaw,” I began, looking down to my station at my mise en place prep work. “I’m also working on a shrimp broth with green chorizo and crispy shrimp heads.”
“Sounds good,” said Tim. “And how about you, Raina?” he asked, both men turning to face Raina now. She looked up and smiled meekly.
“I’m doing a shredded pork and poblano stew with tomatillos,” said Raina “Along with bay scallops, roasted guava, and habanero.”
“Aren’t you afraid those proteins might clash a bit?” said Greg. “Maybe you’re taking on too much?”
“I wouldn’t worry about Raina,” said Tim. “She’s an acolyte of Hugo Kirshner.”
“Well that explains it,” acceded Greg.
“I think you’ll be surprised,” said Raina softly.
“Everything sounds good, ladies,” said Tim. “The two of you are killing it here in the competition and we’re expecting great things from the both of you.”
“Yes, Chef,” Raina and I said in unison. I looked up and caught eyes with the camera. Even though I saw the camera approach us with Tim and Greg, it all sort of faded away when I had to explain myself. Having lived with the camera in our faces for the past few weeks, it was easy now to forget that it was there recording your every move. You really did have to be careful what you said or did, lest it be misconstrued somehow in editing as the producers attempted to drum up some drama.
“Carry on,” said Tim. He and Greg then left us be, making their way down the line to the next chef to interview.
I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing back and leaning on one leg. The kitchen was particularly hot that day, or maybe I was just flush with desire for Raina. All I knew was that it was difficult for me to keep my eyes on the prize with Raina standing next to me. All I could think about was burying my face in her prize.
“This is getting intense,” I said. “I mean, Greg Easton? Who are they going to bring in next, your dad?” Raina’s eyes got big and she hushed me.
“C’mon,” she said, bringing her index finger to her lips to shush. “I don’t want the cameras to know.”
“Okay, okay,” I said with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
Raina looked at me sternly for a moment and then her lips melted into a smile and she gazed down demurely.
Not more than a few moments later, Dale the producer scurried up to us with impatience. He didn’t even look at me. Instead, he focused in on Raina, placing his hands on the low stainless steel hood hanging over our station.
“Raina,” he said. “Mind if I chat with you in private?” Raina looked up at him suspiciously for a moment, her brow furrowed, her lips flat. I could tell she was unhappy to see him. Of course, he had been a little too forward with her over the course of the show and she had been avoiding him because of it. It’s hard to completely avoid the producer, however, and our contracts stated that we had to follow along with what the producers wanted.
“Yeah,” said Raina. “Okay.” She took up her santoku knife and wiped it off quickly, placing it meticulously back down on her station. Adjusting her bandanna, Raina sighed to brace herself and gave me a gentle, yet sad, smile. Stepping out from behind our stations, Raina followed Dale off to another part of the kitchen.
I watched them as they walked away, feeling shitty, feeling annoyed, feeling angry. This Dale guy was a creep and I was sick of him trying to coax Raina into some sort of messed up sexual thing for just some vague promise of furthering her along in the competition. Couldn’t Dale see that Raina didn’t need the help? She was already smoking the rest of us. She had never once been on the bottom for the entire time, never up for elimination yet. Why the hell would she sleep with Dale?
Returning to my chopping, pushing some peppers underneath my knife, I continued dwelling on the circumstance. I was absolutely fuming, trying to push through the negativity by focusing on cutting my peppers perfectly. But the jealousy was almost too much. I wanted desperately to protect Raina. I wanted to see her to the finale. My heart was blossoming for her. She was already becoming more important to me than the competition itself.
It wasn’t too much longer that I saw Raina trudging back to our stations, her face reddened, obviously upset. Frowning, eyes narrowed, she held her hand over her elbow and gently comforted herself. I looked to her with pleading eyes, with scared eyes, wanting desperately to know what happened behind closed doors.
Coming around back, Raina picked her knife up and grimaced. I could tell she was taken out of the zone by the conversation. I had to know what was going on.
“You can tell me anything,” I said, getting closer to her, trying to offer her some relief.
“That guy’s a dick,” she said with fury.
“What did he do?”
“He tried to touch me,” admitted Raina. “Inappropriately.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “I fucking hate him.”
“He’s so sleazy,” she said. “He won’t lay off. I finally told him I was a lesbian and he just sneered.” Raina shook her head slowly. “He said if I went to bed with him just one time, he’d make sure I got to the finals. I told him to screw off.”
“I’m sorry, Raina,” I said, butting up next to her and wrapping an arm around her. I gently caressed her side with my hand.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just, you know, infuriating.”
“Just don’t take it out on me with that knife,” I said, grinning gently, lowering my eyes to the knife held up in her hand. This caused Raina to break a slight smile. She held the knife up higher and flipped it around as though it were in a stabbing position.
“I’ll stab him,” she said, stabbing the air a couple of times. We began laughing together.
“Let’s just move past it,” I said. “You don’t need him in this competition. You’re t
he clear favorite right now.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s Richard.” Raina considered for a moment, the tip of her tongue sneaking out of her lips just the smallest bit. “And you, of course.”
“C’mon Raina,” I said, leveling with her. “Really?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.
“Just keep cooking,” I said, sliding around her, placing my hands on her shoulders, and moving her closer to her station. “All we can do is keep trying to cook the hell out of this place.”
“Okay,” she said, her spirit lifting. I didn’t want anything with that creep to hinder her abilities. If he got into her head, she might start to falter though I didn’t think Raina would ever sleep with some greasy guy just to get ahead on a TV cooking competition. I wanted her to get to the finale fair and square, even if that meant I didn’t get to go. She was more special to me than all that. And she was definitely one of the most talented people there. Raina deserved it.
*
After wrapping all our prep work up, storing it in the refrigerators and plastic-wrapped racks, our field of 8 chefs headed back to the loft for evening to relax. Nobody was interested in cooking dinner for the group so we decided on Thai takeout and talked frankly about how the show was shaping up. We all sat together on the couches in the living room, picking at our noodle dishes and curries, trying to figure out how the rest of the competition was going to go.
By this time in Hot Chef, we’d all become friends. Sure, there were friendly rivalries, but you didn’t make it this far without some talent and everybody knew that.
“I just can’t wait for Unruly Restaurant,” said Richard, lifting up a bite of noodles to his mouth with chopsticks. Unruly Restaurant was a staple on Hot Chef. It was an episode in which the still remaining chefs had to open a restaurant and do a complete dinner service for a full house of guests, all within 24 hours. The chefs were split into two teams and the worst performing chef on the losing team was the one who was sent home.
Chef Cutegirl: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 6
