Just Sex

by Kristen Flowers

  “Of course I’ve never had to be on the wait list,” she prattled on. I didn’t have a clue what wait list she was talking about. For a brief moment I thought it was about the bar where we met until she said, “If I don’t land the purse on my own I know people who’ll make it happen. And that’s all it’s really about, right? I mean these purses aren’t just about their price point, they’re a symbol of status.”

  I focused on the humming sounds of other people’s chatter to avoid hearing anymore about her silly measurement of ‘status’. I watched her slender fingers sweep back the bangs of her nearly platinum blonde hair and I instantly pictured grabbing that hair as she finally used her mouth for something worthwhile. I sneered and took a sip of my drink, savoring the smoky flavor of the aged brandy. I made it a point to flash my expensive gold watch as I drank. I knew dear Lizzie would get wet over that sort of thing. She was a one-hundred percent material girl. If she was into status, it made sense she was into me.

  “…And her eye shadow had cracked, opened, and spilled all over the inside of the purse! It totally ruined the lining. Like, oh my gosh, can you believe? I couldn’t even feel that bad for her, really, because who is so careless? I don’t know. She tried to act like…”

  I made an “mhm” sound to make her think I was listening to the world’s most boring story. With the brandy glass placed to my lips, my gaze lingered at her breasts for the umpteenth time that night. If I was going to survive this date to get her back to my condo and see how those tits looked naked, I had to keep myself entertained somehow.

  “So the new line is coming out in the fall, of course, and she asks if we can go together. I mean, we can, but I don’t know if I want to. Everyone who’s anyone knows all about her little makeup mishap and, like, I don’t want to be the laughingstock? I don’t know. I don’t think that’s really mean, you know?”

  “Right,” I responded in an obviously bored voice, but she was so wrapped up in her pointless rambling she didn’t even notice.

  She just continued on about some kind of pop-tart show (or at least that’s what I heard) and I zoned out again. I looked at the way her breasts moved when she spoke and then looked around the restaurant. There were plenty of other people on dates; I wondered how many of the other men there were as bored as I was. I looked at the table behind dear Lizzie and saw a guy talking enthusiastically. His date was listening intently. They seemed to be having a real and interesting conversation. I leaned back and wondered what that might be like. I never seemed to find a decently interesting woman but, then again, it’s not like I was ever really looking for one.

  “So they were, like, all so beyond. It was like, hello? Calm down? I mean, yeah, you’re hot and to be honest you look so much better in person than on the billboards, but still. They need to have some dignity, my gosh.”

  I ignored her, giving her a half smile before continuing to look around the room. I couldn’t stare too long at the same couple or they’d think I was some weirdo. Besides, it’s not like I was super interested in how into each other they were. There were plenty of other people for my people-watching entertainment. I chuckled behind the palm of my hand when I processed the bit dear Lizzie had said about dignity.

  We’ll see how much of that dignity you keep up when I have you bent over at my place.

  I briefly paused my scan of the room to think about how I wanted to fuck her. Having her bent over with that round little ass at my fingertips and a good view of her naked tits would be a mouthwatering sight.

  “Oh my gosh! I haven’t even told you what happened to Lauren when we went shopping this last time!” She let out a high-pitched laugh, which I only appreciated because of the way her heavy breasts fell over the table when she leaned forward.

  I smiled and, of course, she thought I was laughing at whatever she was saying. The moment she sat upright and continued to talk I started to look around.

  My gaze settled on another couple. They seemed more comfortable than the first ones. They had probably been together for a long time. I was curious how each of them still managed to be so interested in what the other had to say. That really got me wondering what finding an interesting woman would be like. If a woman had more to talk about than the vapid topics dear Lizzie covered (which pretty much summed up all of my dates) would I want to see more of her than just how she looked naked?

  Our waiter arrived with our food and carefully sat our plates down. I glanced at my date. She still hadn’t stopped blabbering even though the waiter was at our table. She didn’t even acknowledge the man.

  “Do you guys need anything else?” The waiter asked. She completely ignored him.

  She held up her purse and prattled on about how wonderful it was, cooing over how much designer makeup she could safely stuff inside of it. The entire time the waiter simply stood at the side of our table, waiting for the moment he could repeat his question. I looked up at him with an apologetic look and mumbled that we were fine. Lizzie paused mid-sentence, looking affronted. I arched one of my brows.

  “What’s the problem, doll?” I sneered as I thought of her as more of a sex doll than the pretty little pet name she was likely to think of.

  “I mean, like, I was here telling you about my top of the line purse and you totally talked in the middle of what I was saying.”

  I shrugged before tearing into my food. I knew her type well enough and even if she acted offended, I still had a huge chance of fucking her at the end of the night. After stuffing a forkful of lobster macaroni and cheese into my mouth, I hummed in sweet satisfaction. It was every bit as delicious as I had imagined and then some. I swallowed another large mouthful before looking up at dear Lizzie.

  “This lobster macaroni and cheese is fucking fantastic,” I said with a mouth full of food.

  I was pointing down at my plate with my fork and she looked at me with a disgusted face. At first I thought it was because I was talking with my mouth full of food but then she said, “Lobster in mac and cheese? Uh, that is SO gross.”

  I stuffed another forkful into my mouth and thought of how I was going to stuff her later that night. I chewed slowly, watching her full lips moving at lighting speed; I thought of the mouthful I was going to give her for an after-dinner specialty. I was going to fuck her extra hard that night and never call her again.

  As she rambled on about superficial nonsense, I took another bite of my lobster mac and cheese and wondered who had cooked such a delicious dish. I looked over in the direction of the kitchen, curious about the chef, but I couldn’t see too well across the dining room and through the kitchen window. I leaned forward and stared until I saw a young woman for a brief moment. It seemed like she was shouting orders to the kitchen staff. I wondered if she was in charge.

  Despite her disheveled look and slightly panicked attitude, I couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. Her dirty blonde hair was a mess under the hairnet, not to mention she looked a little worn out and disheveled, but she had that natural kind of beauty that worked even with a sweaty forehead. I chewed my mouthful very slowly and finally looked back to my date when the chef disappeared from view.

  “Delish! I honestly thought it was going to so not be yummy but you helped me discover a new little spot,” dear Lizzie exclaimed.

  I forced a smile but only thought, Oh, I’ll help you discover a new spot, alright.

  I pushed my plate forward and threw my cloth napkin on top, gaze turning toward the kitchen again. The chef was nowhere in sight, but I had already decided I needed to know who she was. I assumed she made the delicious lobster mac and cheese. It was easily some of the best food I had ever eaten. The waiter came to clear the table and ask for dessert, which Lizzie had rather impolitely declined. I looked at her for a moment, wondering why she thought it was okay to be rude when she went on and on about status and class.

  I decided to disregard her because, in the end, it didn’t matter; her tits would be no less fun to play with just because I thought she was a stuck-up bi
tch. I glanced back over at the kitchen as my date and I headed for the door. I caught another glimpse of my cute mystery chef. I wondered if she was the one in charge. I couldn’t tell, but something in her demeanor gave me the impression that she was. I made a mental note to come back another day to find out exactly who she was.

  I placed my hand on the small of Lizzie’s back, feeling the slight curve of her ass, and decided to focus on the plans I had for the rest of the night. There was no way I had just sat through a grueling hour and a half with this ditsy blonde to have no payoff.

  I slid my hand over her ass and gave a subtle squeeze as she climbed into my car. She didn’t even flinch, but the look she gave me when I slid in after her was all I needed to know. I was going to fuck her until she had even less sense than she had now; if that was even possible.

  Then I’d dump her and never have to hear her blabbering nonsense again.

  The kitchen was stiflingly hot and even though it wasn’t nearly as busy as it was Saturday night, there was a lot more tension in the air. The jokes and laughs that filled the room during the chaos of filling orders had quickly dissipated. If it wasn’t work related everyone stayed silent. It was Wednesday evening and the dinner rush was starting to trickle in. But this time I wasn’t running the kitchen and that made all the difference.

  “We leave you in charge one night and now you think you can just call yourself boss,” I heard the familiar and glaringly unpleasant voice next to me. I curled my fingers around the handle of the knife I was holding, knuckles turning white; it was the only way I could keep it together. Mr. Little, my grade-A asshole boss, was standing next to me fuming in anger. I could tell he was gearing up to tell me off about something stupid. It was so stupid in fact I almost couldn’t believe he was actually going to make a scene over it.

  “You make it perfectly clear I’m not the boss, Mr. Little,” I shot back through clenched teeth. I could feel everyone within earshot slowing their movements to overhear our exchange.

  “Your smart mouth better not get nastier now that you think you’re boss,” he jeered. “Your attitude needs to be cut down, girl, but don’t think you can use my chef’s knife to do it.” He pointed one of his fat and chubby sausage fingers at the knife I had in my hand.

  I shut my eyes and took a deep breath before looking down at the knife I was holding. It was indeed Mr. Little’s knife, but I hadn’t even realized it was still at my station. That meant he hadn’t done any work today, but I knew better than to bring that up. He was already being loud enough that people working on the other end of the kitchen could probably hear him and I really didn’t want to risk him getting even louder so the guests in the dining room could hear. As much as I hated it when he went off like this, I didn’t hate it nearly as much as ruining the dining experience for the customers.

  I held the knife up by the handle and extended my arm, handing it to him without making eye contact. I just knew seeing his protruding pouty lips and bulbous nose sitting under his squinty eyes would send me over the edge.

  “Here’s your knife, Mr. Little.” I emphasized his last name because I couldn’t figure out what exactly was little about the man.

  He was tall with broad shoulders and a giant gut and a flappy neck. The only thing bigger than his body was his ego. I held back a laugh. Maybe there actually was something little about him. Maybe that’s why he was angry all the time—compensation. Or maybe he really was just an entitled asshole who thought his great credentials and admittedly high-level skill gave him a right to walk all over everyone. To me, however, it had pretty much stopped mattering how good of a chef he was. I was ready to quit.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Little cross his arms. “You think that’s the way to give a knife to anyone, not to mention you superior? You’ve really got no shame, girl.”

  I felt my ears grow hot with anger. I hated the way he complained about me and how he called me ‘girl’ in his condescending tone. He was easily one of the most vile men I had ever met. Sometimes I wondered how I ever allowed myself to work under him. He was getting louder with every word that came out of his mouth. It needed to stop. I turned to look at him straight in the eyes, handing the knife over to him. My blood boiled when I saw the smug satisfaction in his face.

  “Atta girl,” he sniggered. “Too bad you–”

  The kitchen doors swung open and slammed against the cabinets beside us. The dining room manager, Jamie, came storming into the kitchen, “You two need to quiet down now! Someone is about to walk back here!”

  “Why?” Mr. Little sounded borderline pissed, as if the person heading back there was Jamie’s fault.

  “I tried to stop him, but the guy insisted on meeting the chef and stormed past me!”

  Mr. Little had absolutely no time to respond before the guy walked in as soon as Jamie finished speaking. He strolled right past the swinging doors and into the kitchen as if he owned the place, surveying every person in there.

  My breath stopped short. He was tall and fit with a jawline so sharp I could use it to cut food with; and then gladly eat off of it. His dark, golden brown hair was neatly swept back from the side-part. He had a casual three o’clock shadow that looked prickly to the touch. He looked like a walking cut out from a men’s magazine, with blue eyes that popped against his sun-kissed skin. It wasn’t just how good-looking he was that made me instantly smitten by the guy, but how confidently he strolled into the place.

  I placed my hand on the stainless steel countertop beside me and took in a breath. He turned toward my direction and the longer I stared at him the more familiar he looked. Then it hit me—he was Remi Parker, the guy on all the obnoxious gym billboards plastered all over the city. He was known around the city as the ‘multi-million-dollar playboy’. Just like that, my intense attraction for the man who evaporated. The only feeling I had left was the gut wrenching disappointment at having found him so attractive in the first place.

  “Sir,” Mr. Little finally piped up, “You aren’t allowed back here.”

  I noticed my boss was struggling to sound strong, but professional. Surely he had to know it was Remi Parker. Everyone knew Parker wasn’t the kind of man you treated poorly at a place of business. To me, that was the only redeeming quality Parker had for the moment; even if it was a small one. I lived for anyone that could make the Little asshole squirm.

  Remi didn’t even bother looking at Mr. Little. Instead, he cleared his throat and loudly asked, “Who was the chef on Saturday night?” The room remained quiet for a second. Nobody was sure if it was a complaint or not. Of course, Mr. Little was unwilling to step forward as the head chef and risk catching flak. “The lobster macaroni and cheese was fantastic!”

  “I am the head chef,” Mr. Little finally spoke up, the vanity heavy in his voice.

  I stayed quiet. I glared at Mr. Little as he tried to take credit for my work. Until he had mentioned the dish, it hadn’t totally clicked in my mind that it was me Parker was asking about. I looked over at Remi Parker; he looked skeptical about Mr. Little.

  “I didn’t see you back here on Saturday night,” Remi said, the was clear in his tone of voice. Remi took a step forward, “I looked back here and there was no sign of you so how does that work out?” He was bordering on aggressive in the way he spoke to Mr. Little.

  I was loving it.

  “It was me,” I declared. The moment the words left my mouth Mr. Little turned to look at me and made a small ‘shush’ sound. I just shot him a glare. It was definitely not acceptable for him to take my credit, much less for the lobster macaroni and cheese. That dish was my specialty and there was no way I would allow him to take the credit from me when I was the one who put it on his menu. I let him get away with a lot of bullshit, but stealing my recipes was way too far. Remi was looking directly at me now and the weight of the situation was starting to make my knees feel weak.

  “You may have been in charge that night,” Mr. Little uttered quietly, “But you know what you owe to me
.”

  “I’ve learned a good amount from you, but I’m the only one responsible for my specialty dish.”

  I could see the flame of anger in his eyes and his forehead was starting to glisten with beads of sweat. He opened and closed his mouth stupidly a couple times, but said nothing. He didn’t even make sputtering noises; he was at a loss for words. I naively took it to mean I had won. I turned to look at Remi again, but that was when Mr. Little finally managed to speak up.

  “And you think you can just do and say anything now, don’t you? I was right about you,” he sneered. He leaned in toward me, his gut practically grazing my arm. I was done dealing with his shit.

  I didn’t care who was in the room anymore. I had to speak my mind. “If you mean you were right about hiring me because I have talent and potential then I’d have to agree.”

  Mr. Little scoffed and looked up at the ceiling saying, “Alright. You think whatever you want. You are the most arrogant, insufferable, little…” He trailed off sensing whatever choice words he had for me were highly inappropriate. Even Mr. Little was smart enough not to go that far, especially not in front of so many people.