by Misti Murphy
“What do I need to say to make you see that it is?” I fold my arms across my chest, and her gaze falls on my forearms.
She licks her lips, and that pink tongue makes me into a liar before I can say anything else. My dick twitches. The same way it always does when she comes onto me. The same way it did any time I’ve thought about her these past twelve months. You have no idea how uncomfortable it is to be standing in the middle of a kitchen screaming orders at everyone when you have wood. Even half-wood, stretching out the front of your slacks. But it’s nothing more than a physical reaction to a pretty girl flirting with me, and sooner or later she’ll get tired of it.
“Why don’t you just admit that you know I’m right?” She glances up at me through her thick lashes. “You know it, I know it.”
“You’re twenty-fucking-two.” I hiss out a breath. “Twenty-two years old, Mandy.”
“Twenty-three, actually,” she corrects. “We haven’t seen each other in a year.”
“Twenty-three, then,” I huff.
“So?” She doesn’t even flinch.
“I’m thirty-six. I’m way too old for you.” I hold my hand up to stop her when she opens her mouth. Put my palm right on her lips and feel her hot wet breath on my skin. “And before you try to tell me that my sister is in the same position with Gabe and Dylan, don’t. I accept the fact she’s dating up because I love my sister, not because I think it’s right. It’s not. You’re naïve, barely out of your teens. You should be having fun with boys your own age.”
“That’s the problem with them,” she says. “They’re boys. I don’t want a boy, I want a man.”
“You don’t know what you want,” I try to reason with her. Sooner or later she’ll get bored with this older man fantasy. She’ll want someone who’s discovering the world at the same pace she is. And there’s so much of it to discover. So many adventures that girls her age should be having. “You can’t know.”
“But I do know. I want you. I’ve waited for you.”
“Well you shouldn’t.” I turn my back and walk away from her. I have to. She’s waited for me? What the hell does that even mean? Does she mean she’s waited these past twelve months for me? Has she not been with anyone in that time? Or is it longer? Or always? And why am I letting her unsettle me? I bite down on my back teeth and grimace. I’m better than this. I’m an adult with a strong hold on himself. I’m not easily swayed, not the type to let a girl like Mandy derail me. I don’t look at her and want to kiss her. My dick doesn’t ache when she tells me she wants me. I’m past that part of my life where a girl like her could ruffle me.
“I’m not going to change my mind. Nothing you can say or do is going to make me that guy you’ve decided I am. That’s you being naïve and immature.” I shove a layer of plastic out of the way and leave her on the other side. Where I can’t see her, and where she can’t see what she does to me. “Show yourself out please, I have to get back to work.”
The minute I hear the door close, I shove my hand in my pants and squeeze my dick. It aches to the touch, hard and leaking. I grit my teeth and give it a few quick strokes. I don’t know how she slips under my defenses so easily. Another yank, and I’m almost cross-eyed. The pounding of my pulse increases in my temples and I roll my neck. Any other girl her age and I wouldn’t have let her down that easily, but Mandy is also Summer’s friend.
I shouldn’t pay attention to the way she looks at me, or the way she flirts with me. I pride myself on not being that guy. The one who wants a piece of tail that’s still so close to being a kid. I’m not into women who barely know who they are, who should be dating guys their own age for the fun of it. Like my sister should have if she hadn’t fallen for two men who are far too old for her. Summer is different, though, from most women her age.
And Mandy is different too.
Mandy is under my skin.
Chapter Five
MANDY
“Earth to Mandy. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Casper clicks his fingers in front of my face. Loudly. It makes me blink. He does it again.
“All right. Okay. What have I done wrong?” I squeeze the contents of the piping bag in my hand. Some kind of pastry, I think he said. Shoe pastry maybe. Though I’m not sure what is has to do with shoes.
“Open your goddamn eyes,” he barks.
So I do. I glance at the trays on the workspace in front of me. Measured circles of yellow pastry lay in neat rows on the first one. That was the one I did before I started thinking about what Sam said to me about my being naïve and immature. The second looks like a kindergartener attacked it and the surrounding counter with Play-Doh. There’s globs and squiggles all over the place. Also there’s a dollop of pastry on my shoe, and another splats the floor as I bend to look at my foot. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up right away.”
“Damn straight you will.” Casper jerks his chin in the direction of the sink. “And then you’re going to take a break.”
“I don’t need one,” I argue as I gather paper towels and disinfectant spray. “I got distracted is all.”
“Distracted? You were practically comatose.” He stalks back to his side of the room as I start wiping up the mess. “I won’t have you in my kitchen unless your mind is on the job. You’re too much of a fucking liability.”
Shit. I’m struck by his words, frozen on the spot with my hand hovering over a messy splotch of pastry. I don’t particularly like Casper, but over the past couple weeks I’ve come to respect his ways in the kitchen. His ability to feed an entire army while barely breaking a sweat. Not to mention the way he mellows when Claire brings groups of kids into the kitchen for cooking lessons. He’s good with them. Encouraging and patient.
That must be why my eyes sting after he calls me a liability. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s rejecting me from his kitchen, after Sam rejected me yesterday, and the day before that. I press the back of my hand to my lips while I try to regain my equanimity. It’s okay. It’s totally fine. I don’t need either of them. I’ve never needed anyone, because there’s always… whatever is next. Once the summer is over I’ll go back to working at the school. I’ll wait for a new man to come along. Maybe he’ll finally be the one.
“Mandy?”
I blink. “Sorry?”
Casper’s dark gaze is troubled, his brows drawn together over his nose as he studies my face. I blink again. Just to make sure he can’t tell that his words got to me. Turning off the burner in front of him, he heads toward me while wiping his hands down the front of his jeans. I don’t know why I watch him do that. Maybe because it’s easier than looking him in the eye. He stops right in front of me, and I’m still staring at his crotch. Glued to that spot where his zip is, and behind that… huge. I know it. I just do.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I can’t. Normally I don’t give him an inch when he’s swearing and carrying on at me like a complete imbecile, but I can’t bring myself to be eye to eye with him now. I don’t like him. I don’t want to see if I’m right about what’s behind that zip. He doesn’t hold my attention at all. But it stings that I can’t make myself necessary to this kitchen. Indispensable.
His fingers move to my face, sticking under my jaw and lifting my gaze to his. A flicker of something crosses his features. Warm points of pressure from his fingertips don’t ease up as he contemplates me, and I have to wet my lips.
“All right,” he says. Then he puts his hands on my waist. Strong, capable arms lift me without asking permission. I don’t have time to make a fuss of his manhandling before he sits me on a clean section of counter. Grabbing the coffee pot he always has ready, he pours us each a cup. “We’re taking a break, and you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s nothing.” I take the drink he offers. And it is nothing. Realistically, I have no reason to be upset over Sam, and even less of a reason when it comes to Casper. Our fingers graze each other as he removes his hand from the cup. There’s a slight tingle under my sk
in that comes from touching him. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with those work-hardened spots on his fingers. The way they rub my more delicate skin. It’s nothing though. Really. Just like it’s no big deal that he doesn’t want me in his kitchen. The same way the finality of Sam’s decision doesn’t bother me. I’m resilient. I bounce back. I’ll find a new dream.
“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t press for an answer as he cradles his cup between his hands and leans on an elbow beside me. He takes a moment to sip his coffee before glancing at my bare knee. “Mandy, you’ve worked under me for long enough for me to be able to tell the difference between your usual sparkling personality and now, when something is clearly upsetting you. So you can either tell me about it, or you can grab your things and head on home.”
“But I’d rather stay.” I hate that he tells me to leave. I hate that it upsets me enough for my voice to become whiny with my plea to be allowed to stay.
“And I’d rather you stay too. Christ knows it’s a task to feed all these kids. Almost impossible by myself.” He stands up and faces me. His eyes crinkle for a flash and then whatever he was thinking is put aside, much the same way as his coffee. “But you aren’t trained, and I’m worried if you can’t concentrate you’re going to end up hurting yourself. You could have slipped in the choux pastry you dropped on the floor. What if I had you working with knives or over the burners or the oven?”
I thought him telling me to go home was bad, but it didn’t make me tear up the way his words do now. I’m crazy Mandy Pearce who always flirts with all the boys and is guaranteed to give you a laugh. Desperate Mandy Pearce to whom men give a wide berth and who couldn’t be more inexperienced if she tried. Cheery Mandy Pearce who never lets anything or anyone get her down because she’s just fine on her own, thank you very much.
Saliva pools in my mouth, and in order to change the subject so I can reign in my emotions, I blurt, “Sam thinks I’m a child.”
His jaw hardens the minute I mention Sam. There’s an audible crack and pop, and his jawline turns sharp as glass. “The guy you introduced me to when we were at Mayhem the other night? That guy is a cock.”
“He has one,” I agree. “But he’s nice. Sweet and charming.”
“Except to you.” He shifts closer, stepping right up to the counter between my legs so I now have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “What did he say to you?”
“He said I’m too young. Too immature and naïve to ever be attractive to a man his age.”
“Is that so?” Casper asks, leaning closer, his palms flat on the surface on both sides of my hips. His face is right in front of mine, his mouth so close I can’t ignore his supple lips as they move. “Is that fucking so?”
I feel like telling him yes, that is fucking so. I bite my lip so I don’t mock him, while I try to ignore the heat of his body and how near he is. Sam was meant to be ‘the guy.’ He was meant to be mine, and I’m not ready to feel whatever this spark is under my skin. Besides, Cas is older than me too, maybe even the same age as Sam. He’s only being nice, and most of the time he can barely manage that. “He’s probably right. I mean what do I know?”
“Mandy fucking Pearce.” Cas’s forehead touches mine, his gaze boring into me. It’s both hard and soft and hot and serious while he strokes my cheeks with his fingertips.
I’ve not met anyone as serious as Cas. I’ve never had my pulse race like this, or my heart pound like this while I wait for him to speak. And then he touches his lips to mine and whispers the words, “If nothing else, you know this.”
My lips fall open to him. A slight breath gets caught between us as his tongue slips through the crack to dart against mine. Coffee and mint flavors his kiss as he slowly strokes and licks at my mouth, and I open more and more for him. My hand finds his shoulder and grips it, shakily holding on while he turns me inside out and upside down with a simple kiss.
I’ve kissed boys before, but not men. I’ve imagined kissing Sam, dreamed of it and fantasized about it. Rubbed myself to the finish line more often than not these past dozen months over the idea of that man’s mouth. But my experience has been with boys. Eager, slobbery boys.
This is something else. Clinging to Cas, I creep my hand up to the collar of the white button down chef’s coat—the one with two rows of black studs that looks so smart hugging his muscular torso, not that I’ve told him as much. What would he do if I told him I find him anything other than grumpy? Would that make him nicer? Easier to work with? I spear my fingers into the dark wisps of hair that curl at his nape, as he sweeps his tongue in hot wet circles that make me whimper.
He catches my face between both hands and takes my mouth, rough and needy, and I’m breathless and writhing desperately against him.
“Fuck, Mandy.” He groans low and raw when he stops and pulls back. Straightening, he wipes the wetness of our kiss from my swollen lips. “You are gorgeous. You would be attractive to a man of any age, and if that guy can’t see how great you are then he’s an idiot.”
My fingers follow his, touching my stinging lips. Cas thinks I’m gorgeous? Is he saying he wants me? Cas, who yells and swears and teaches me, just kissed me. And those words. Does he want to fuck me too? “You mean it?”
“I mean it.” He nods, his hooded eyes full of lust.
“Show me you do,” I say, catching his arm. “Take me home?”
Air whistles in his nose as he snatches a breath. There’s a spark of something sad in his gaze and the way he shakes his head that makes my heart sink. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry?” My voice is squeaky high, weirdly out of place in the moment. The pit of my stomach twists into a sour mess as my skin heats. I’ve made a fool of myself because he kissed me. Of course he didn’t mean it. No one ever means it. I sometimes wonder if I would even know what to do if anyone ever did want me that much. If anyone wanted me at all.
“I can’t.” He yanks at the front of his coat as he crosses the room. The studs pop loudly, and he drags it off and discards it on a hook beside the back door of the ranch house. Glancing back, he hesitates before he drags open the door. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He storms out, the door closing behind him. A few minutes later I hear him calling out to his horse. I shuffle off the edge of the counter and tug at the hem of my black cotton shorts while I glance around the now empty kitchen. His taste is still on my lips, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, or how I’m going to reorientate myself.
Some things are clear though. I need to leave before he comes back. I need to talk to Summer. And I need a new plan.
***
“What’s with the emergency meeting, Mandy?” Summer drops into the seat across from me at Wine About It, and places her bag on her lap before she starts fumbling through it. “I got here as quick as I could. And I brought you a chocolate cupcake.” She puts the small, pink cardboard box down on the table in front of me. “You sounded like you needed it.”
“Thanks for the sugar.” I force a smile as I reach for the treat box and flip open the lid. “What wine do you think will go with this?”
“Moscato or a Dolce.” The server who had his back to us while he took care of the next table turns around to answer my question.
“Both,” I say.
“What happened?” Summer reaches for my hand as he walks away to retrieve the wine. “Is this about my brother?”
“No.” I shake my head and push a finger through the frosting piled on top of the cupcake. “I mean yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Sounds complicated.” Summer hums.
“It so is.” I suck the frosting off my finger and let its sweetness melt over my tongue. “Oh man, I have been fanging for this since…” Since Cas kissed me. Since Sam rejected me. “It’s not about your brother. I’m so over that.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what you said before you saw him again.” Summer glances over my shoulder as the server returns, and I twist to find him holding a bottle of Moscato. In his oth
er hand, he holds a Dolce. She points to the white. “We’ll take the Moscato.”
“Leave them both,” I tell him as he opens the bottle and pours for us. It isn’t until he’s finished and walking away to serve another table that I continue the conversation with Summer. “Do you know how hard it is to give up on your dream man? You couldn’t give up on Dylan or Gabe.”
“That’s a bit different though,” Summer says, picking up her glass.
“Why? Because you were already in love?” I lean forward, plant my elbows on the table. “And you think this is different because we’re not. Yet.”
“Or maybe ever. I’d hate to see you hurt because you hope for something that isn’t going to happen. Sam’s not really great boyfriend material. He’s not good at it. I don’t think I can recall him ever being really emotionally involved with anyone. There’s been long term girlfriends, but not in the way that you want.”
“Maybe that’s because he hasn’t met the right woman. Look, I know you think my plans are crazy, but they’re not. Sam is special. I can tell. He’s worth the risk.”
“And how’s that?” Summer folds the corner of her napkin and sips her wine. “He’s a good man, but—”
“He’s kind and sweet and loyal. That’s obvious with how he treats you. He has some fairly serious hang ups about you and your fiancés, but that doesn’t stop him from treating them like family. He’s charming.” I list my points off on my fingers. Things I decided long ago that I needed in a man to take a risk on falling in love. Otherwise how would I know if a guy was worth my time, or whether a particular scenario was doomed to failure? “He’s witty. I got to see that side of him when he came to see you last time. And he’s capable. He’s running one of the swankiest eateries in L.A, so he clearly has his head on straight and the ability to look after himself. He’s a great guy, Summer. Plus you both look like good genetics run in your family, which is important.”
