SATURDAY: Light, Full-Bodied & Screwed (Hookup Café Book 6)

by Fifi Flowers

  Walking in through a large opening in a big old warehouse that Deacon had turned into his mega dream gym—D’Gym—thanks to initial financing from his father, I said, “What’s up?” to the dude at the front desk. Then I walked past the basketball court that always had full teams playing, Deacon called them the gym rat all-stars, and went straight to the back wall searching for a bench. They were always taken but I got lucky finding my favorite bench empty and off I went doing chest presses, four sets of twelve with my earbuds playing a mix of heavy metal screamo and heavy rap.

  I was deep in thought when Deacon and some of the regular crew interrupted my workout ribbing me after my college buddy started in on me over my confusion about Darla. He had stopped by for a beer hoping to see Saylor and work her up a bit. When he found out that she wasn’t there, he got me to open up about why I was in a shitty mood. It happened to be because it was a non-Darla Saturday—a rarity that had me fucking missing her. I hated to admit.

  “What’s the problem, you just ask her out,” Morgan said, lifting a hundred pound curl bar. He was a new member of D’Gym thanks to his brother Mason who I met through Vivienne—long story there, and she probably had him bewildered about women too.

  “We kind of work together and she’s doing amazing things for my public relations. Since taking over as the wine rep, she’s billed all of the Cafélicious wine dinners as ‘Come Meet Chef Vin.’ What happens if things don’t work out?” I took a deep breath, ready to bench press two sixty-five, psyching myself up, I finished my thoughts. There was no time to be fucking around with that weight. “I don’t need bad publicity. She’s given me a taste of what could be.”

  I was surprised they didn’t jump on my last words imagining that I meant something sexual, but it was a strictly business comment. She had me thinking more and more about being known as a world renowned gourmet chef. I thought of daily specials instead of set seasonal menus that involved comfort food for the café. I loved it but I was itching to experiment. Things I couldn’t say to anyone until I spoke with Pansie about going out on my own. I also needed to find a spot and line up finances, maybe some backers. I knew I could probably count on Deacon. He might not be great with the ladies, but he did amazing construction and he was a great business man, successful.

  “Well, then woo her with gifts. Something that is meaningful to her.” Deacon’s voice sounded so strange, nothing like his usual boldness, and it had nothing to do with him doing shoulder presses.

  “You guys sound like a bunch of fucking pussies. Deacon, what the fuck is wrong with you? Lost your edge? Your man card?” Strong words coming from Darby Eton, standing around waiting for his time on the bench. He is a professional baseball player, left-fielder with a hot bat that had a multimillion dollar contract with the local Padre team.

  “Fuck you, little bitch!” Deacon shot back. “Why aren’t you in your fancy gym instead of in a real one?”

  “Hiding out,” Darby said, situating himself on an open bench.

  “You worried about the Eye Spied rag trailing you?” Mason, who used D’Gym to train for triathlons, always seemed to be up on gossip—he reminded me of a male version of Vivienne. “Shouldn’t you be at church, setting the example of the perfect family?” Like that right there, how did he know that shit? And from the look on Darby’s face he had hit the nail on the head.

  “You have no idea the shit storm that is brewing in my life.” Darby shook his head and started on another rep of eight, lifting three fifteen. “Let me just say that women are nothing but trouble, in the best way and the worst way… and fuck it, we’re never going to come up with the right solution where they’re concerned.”

  “He’s fucking right on the fucking money, we will never figure them out. But we just have to go after them and make them ours. If you want her get her. Plain. Simple.” Deacon didn’t mince words, he dished them out without thinking, or caring.

  “Deacon, you have an approach all of your own. I refuse to take advice from you.” I laughed, thinking about poor Saylor.

  Done with our shooting the shit session, Mason and Morgan took off for an elevated indoor cushioned track that went around most of the warehouse. Deacon went off to take care of setting competitive schedules for boxing, mixed martial arts, and judo. Darby headed toward the cardio area where there were lined treadmills, stair climbers and elliptical machines along with a mass of bicycles ready for spin classes. I decided to move on to do chest flies on the cable machine before heading outdoors to an area Deacon named the “Concrete Jungle,” his version of muscle beach in the city. The area was filled with freestanding weights, benches, ropes, massive truck tires and more. Another cool thing he had was a rock climbing wall complete with pulleys, ropes and climbing holds attached to a textured material going up the side of the building. I had yet to try it.

  Finally done with my workout, I hit the locker room to shower before grabbing a protein shake at the juice bar—time to replenish my body. That was part of my good eating plan. One that wasn’t comparable to being a chef, but I made it work from the beginning.

  When I first started doing restaurant work, I saw how it could easily start me off in an unhealthy eating pattern due to having too much fun eating and drinking. My first week on the job happened to be around Halloween time—other known as party time in a restaurant bar. Of course, I couldn’t say no to a good time, so I joined in the festivities dressed up like a lifeguard. Those people were hard core party animals—all of them—and I found the girls all over me examining my muscles because I was always in long sleeves. Bare muscular arms had them serving me up shots, doubles, that had me out on a makeshift dance floor shaking my ass with all of them. Thirsty from sweating, I drank at least five large mugs filled with beer that went down too easy and came up even faster as I threw up in the bathroom. When I found out the next day that some of the girls had to walk me up to my door and get me inside, I said no more.

  Once in a while fine but I couldn’t do that all of the time—I have always regarded my body as a temple and I would rather eat a gourmet cheeseburger when I want to splurge. They rarely made me feel like shit the next day, maybe bloated but they never gave me a beast of a headache. I heard my co-workers talking all of the time about going out and partying, I guess I was a bit of a dud for the most part. I was just used to feeding my body what it needed.

  My mind said it needed Darla and I started wondering if she would be okay with eggs and fruit for breakfast or would she be a pancake and waffles girl. I hadn’t even shared lunch with her—chicken, rice and vegetables my usual intake—and I had her staying over. Obviously, she would have to sleep over to get breakfast, right? Or I guess I could mean that I met her for breakfast somewhere but I had never seen her until after our main lunch service. Darla was there a couple of times when I ate my usual dinner of steak and vegetables and she commented about my repetitiveness. Would that drive me crazy? I hadn’t had a full-time girlfriend in my life for so long. I needed to listen more carefully to the café girls that I often tuned out for sanity purposes.

  Walking into the Cafélicious after the weekend, a certain discussion caught my attention immediately. It involved the woman that had been absent from my life for over a week and had me starving for her presence. She hadn’t said anything to me about where she was going or even that she wouldn’t be in, not that she ever told me her weekly plans. I had just gotten used to her sitting in front of me every Saturday. That wasn’t true, I wasn’t used to her, and I wasn’t even comfortable with her gazing in my direction while I worked. And yet, when she wasn’t in her usual spot I was missing her, looking for her. How had she worked her way under my skin? And damn it, why was I letting her absence get to me. Why didn’t I just stroll into my kitchen, away from the girls? Why was I pouring myself a coffee, grabbing a no-no pastry, and pulling up a seat where Vivienne sat?

  “You know, I don’t really think she’s a wine rep, Pansie.” Vixen was saying. “Or maybe that is her main job or side job because she
’s really involved in the romance world doing…”

  “Romance world? What about the la la romance world?” Vivienne’s ears were perked and she was looking up from her tablet—probably checking the latest gossip—and listening for an answer.

  Vixen continued, “I went to a romance author signing last weekend here in downtown and Darla was there at a booth… She is Triple D…”

  I blew my cover of not noticing Darla with a laugh. “She may have double Ds for sure, but not triple Ds.” As the last words left my lips, all eyes were on me and comments were shot back at me in the way of name calling; pig, douchebag, typical man.

  It was official, I was brought completely into their conversation, along with being drilled about why men did what they did—all questions I had no real answers to. I had no idea why we did what we did except to say that most of the things they wondered, we didn’t think about them with any real importance. Men just don’t think like women. We talk randomly about whatever pops up in a conversation, rarely about relationship shit. In fact, I was shocked any time that we ever talked about women at all.

  But I had been thinking about Darla and I remembered her talking to Pansie saying that she couldn’t come in on a certain Saturday. She had to attend an event that was all weekend long and that she would be happy to do an extra Saturday in the month. I had wondered where she was off to, but I refused to show my cards and let anyone know that I was interested in her. But I had to know the big mystery behind her weekends away and I hoped Vixen was right about her going off to events filled with women. The thought of her off with another man for a getaway had my blood boiling. I needed to get to the bottom of things, so I decided to invite myself on a tour of wineries with Darla as my guide.

  Chapter Five…

  “Miss me?” There she was the woman that had shook me up from the first day as she made herself comfortable, center stage, up in my face—assets and all. She was there to do a wine dinner that included the comfort food I usually prepared for the café and for a change it was presented in the dining room to everyone and it was on a more intimate level. Darla had planned to talk to diners as they made their selections. I was a little disappointed to be missing out on her explanations and her flirtations as she had me describe each course.

  However, as the night progressed she called on me to greet people at their tables like I was some star chef. I loved the way she made me feel, like I was important. She spoke of me as if I was part of her world… part of her life… like we were a team. I guess we kind of had become a wine pairing team. Strange that I felt it more as I accompanied her to individual tables rather than to a group, singled out, one on one attention. I liked how she kept reaching out and stroking my arm, patting my back, waving her hand over me like I was a sports car on display at an auto show.

  She made me feel good. I wanted to make her feel even better.

  For once, I wasn’t bothered by Darla sitting on her usual stool as we wrapped up the night with me feeding her and then cleaning up. I actually shared a glass of wine with her when everyone left us behind to lock the doors. Relaxed, I brought up her offer to give me a guided tour of Temecula wineries and I had the feeling that I had her up against the ropes for a change, on the spot. Had she never meant for me to accompany her on wine tastings? She figured that I would never go and that her possible secret would not be revealed? Did she have a something or someone to hide?

  Not letting up, she had no choice but to submit to my request. I did allow her time to set things up and left everything to her. Letting her select which wineries we would tour and where we would eat—I assumed we would be having lunch or dinner or both. I had no idea how long we would be as I didn’t remember much of my last vineyard stomp.

  What Darla planned was nothing like I had imagined and I loved every moment. She only took me to one winery. I should say that she had me meet her at one vineyard where we spent time walking through every aspect of winemaking. I was introduced to the variety of grapes that they grew. I learned when to plant, when to harvest, when the wine was ready. I tasted the fermented juice straight from barrels and watched bottles being filled and labeled. It was very interesting and I loved hearing just how much she knew about every step. She was not a wine fraud and everyone knew her, but I was sure there was more to learn about her. Perhaps her true connection in the wine world, but I let it slide as she grabbed a large picnic basket from a large, elderly man that seemed to be giving me the evil eye.

  Helping her, I grabbed the handle and let her lead the way out into the vineyard beyond where we had looked at a few different grapes. All the while she spoke rapidly, pointing here and there, even up to the sky reciting wine growing trivia about the area: slightly higher angle to the sun than northern vineyards… intensity… a relatively low rainfall region… early growing season runs from March through September… rains don’t usually affect our harvest season, mist often lingers… cooling factors… sun warms the valleys… air rises… low-pressure area… cold, heavier air off the Pacific Ocean twenty-two miles away… drawn inland… moderates the daytime temps… pattern of warm sunny days mixed with cool nights, ideal conditions really… best wine grapes that are grown in premium soil… granite… drainage… highest quality wines produced like Chardonnay, Merlot, Sauvignon Blanc, Viognier, Syrah, Pinot Gris, Cabernet Sauvignon, and even Zinfandel… Pinot Noir, unfortunately, isn’t as easy to grow in this area.

  That woman could talk about wines like no one I ever knew. She was a great wine rep even if she really wasn’t. How I would get to that part of our conversation I wasn’t sure so I just watched her and observed her great ass, encased in tight short shorts, swaying side to side. The way her breasts lifted when she raised her hands upward had them nearly popping out of her top. She was a fucking wet dream in the daylight and I wondered how her long legs were so toned like the rest of her body. She didn’t strike me as a gym girl, for some reason, and I began to think that maybe the vineyard provided her with her hot bod. That also had my mind sorting out where she lived. She had avoided my question when I had offered to drive her home one night and the fact that she had me meet her at Beauclaire Vineyard. Did she live close to the winery or even on the land? I hoped that her wine tour speech would lead to a more personal one.

  “Beauclaire Vineyard was established in the mid nineteen seventies—it’s one of the first—by Claude Beauclaire, my grandfather. His grandfather told him that he had a good feeling about this area as he had studied the region and history of wine growing by missionaries in the eighteen hundreds not far from the Temecula area. The valley, close to the ocean… Told young Claude that he had to find his own way and that he was a lot like him determined to stamp his name on something like he had done, only in America. So with his grandfather’s wishes, financing, and smuggled wine vines, the twenty-seven year old bought this land, built a barn to live in and create wines, and then planted his bare-root grape vines around it. He had brought as many as he could with him and the others his grandfather shipped to him carefully wrapped in clothing as he had done in his own suitcases.”

  “So there is a Beauclaire Vineyard back home?”

  “No, his grandfather sold it and it’s now Pinard Vineyard.”

  “Great wines!” I had tasted a few in some really nice restaurants, expensive.

  “According to my grandfather, his grandfather’s family on his mother’s side had owned vineyards since the beginning of time. But his grandfather wanted his own so he started the Claude Vineyard and when he sold it he suggested that the new owner, Pinard Capet, make it his own as he had, using his first name instead of a family name.”

  “So then Claude, your grandfather, did the reverse and used his last name?”

  “Yes,” she laughed, “I come from a long line of rebellious people… and that concludes our wine tour for the day.” She had stopped, spun around, and then looked at me. “Lunchtime and if you want to take off your shirt and get some sun, I have sunscreen… we should put some on… even if you
don’t take off your clothes… shirt… the sun is intense…”

  “Are you trying to get me naked? Bringing me all the way to this remote area beyond the vines?” I raised an eyebrow and noticed her face turn red, something I had never seen in all of the times she had flirted with me.

  “The view is spectacular from up here.” She turned her attention to the basket and pulled out a blanket that sat on top. I helped her spread it out on the maintained lawn, it was obvious the area was probably used for events. It looked like there was a dirt road that led up to it. “Look at the valley. All of the vineyards. My grandfather really did buy the best piece of land.”

  “Everything looks and smells delicious.” Sitting down on the blanket, I watched her remove several items from the basket and place them on plates, in bowls… Cloth napkins. It was beautifully put together and I wondered if she had made it all.

  “I didn’t make it.” She shrugged her bare shoulders that had my dick twitching. “I’m not exactly skilled when it comes to cooking. My grandmother made everything with love.” I liked the way that word sounded rolling over her tongue, there was a hint of an accent as if she was mimicking someone. Thoughts of her mouth had me wanting to kiss her more than I had ever wanted to kiss someone and I knew it wouldn’t compare to any other kiss ever, not even my first real kiss with someone that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

  Charlotte was that person to me at one time. We had been hanging out, going places with groups of friends, and we had started talking on the phone late at night. I asked her what she would do if I tried to kiss her and she told me to make it special. So I went about planning and figuring when and where and nothing stuck out in my mind until I read a flyer for a dance on campus. Then I started listening to music and paying attention to words and what she sang along to wearing her earbuds. All set, I just had to get her to the dance and out on the dance floor with my requested song. It was later in the evening that I heard the first few words—our song—and pulled her up and out with me. She smiled up at me as we moved slowly, holding each other close as I sang the words to her “see you boo… hearts all over the world tonight… little cutie… talk to me… my sweetheart… glad that you are mine… one of a kind…” and then I leaned down and captured her lips with mine. I thought it was the best day of my life. I thought she was my one and only forever. Funny how things changed when the real one came along and you realized that the first one was just a warm-up.