Don’t Touch

by Wylder, Penny

  Tears fall easily with a single blink, rolling down my cheeks and dropping onto the white board. They splash against the words, causing the marker to melt down the surface. I can't breathe. The room around me waxes and wanes as oxygen becomes scarce and crying takes over.

  “Aw,” she sings out. “Poor baby. The truth hurts, doesn't it?”

  “Why? Why would he do this?” My words are all weepy, bleeding together with desperate breaths for air. “Why would either of them do this?”

  “Because of this right here.” She circles her finger in the air, gesturing at all of me. “When you're not good enough, family will make you believe you are.”

  I don't want to believe her, but what she's saying is making sense. My brother pushed me into culinary school. He's been my test victim for new dishes and new techniques. Maybe she's right. Maybe he didn't want to hurt my feelings and tell me I suck.

  But why Monroe? Why would he risk his name to hire a newbie like me?

  Money talks.

  And my brother has plenty of it. He's done well for himself. I'm sure he made him an offer that was worthwhile. One that would void any mistakes I might make.

  Holy shit. . .

  That night at dinner, Monroe got all weird when I brought up my brother. It makes sense. Fuck, it makes sense.

  What if the food critic is a lie too?

  Could it be true? Could he be lying about the magazine article and they're all in on it?

  I feel like a damn fool. How could I not see this for myself? I'm fresh out of school. I have no experience in the restaurant field at all. I've never even waited tables before. Obviously, Cheryl would be the shoe-in if a food critic were visiting.

  This is just a game, and I'm the only one wearing a blindfold.

  I'm crying so hard my chest hurts. I need to talk to my brother. I need to find out why he would do this to me? Why give me this false confidence?

  Cheryl is still smiling as I dig my phone out of my purse and try to call my brother. His phone goes right to voicemail. I try again. Then I try again. I call his phone almost ten times, but it goes to his voicemail each time.

  Shit, Tom! Why the hell is your phone off?

  Throwing my phone back into my purse, Cheryl chuckles. I give her an angry glare as my lips turn razor sharp.

  “Why are you telling me this anyway? Wouldn't you get more out of it to watch me from behind the curtains?”

  She shrugs her shoulder, her smile never fading. “I thought about that, but this, this right here, this is why.”

  I'm so angry I'm ready to punch her in that stupid face of hers. My hands ball at my sides, and the tears become hot as boiling water as they sizzle down my cheeks. “You're a fucking asshole.”

  “I might be an asshole, but at least I'm not an ignorant little girl. You should be thanking me. While they're laughing behind your back, at least I had the guts to tell you to your face.”

  “You find this funny. You're getting some kind of sick pleasure out of this.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn't make you anything less than a hooker chef.”

  Screw this. I don't need it. I don't need any of it.

  I snatch my stuff off the rack and storm down to Monroe's office. He's still in the back, but I'm not even going to waste my time. I pull a piece of paper from the printer and grab a pen off his desk.

  If he thinks he can just play me this way, if he thinks for one second I'm just going to stand here like a fool, he's wrong.

  Putting ink to paper, I tell him exactly what I plan to do. Leaving the paper on his desk, I walk right past Cheryl, through the kitchen, and out the front door.

  I'm better than this. I don't need any fucking handouts.

  9

  Monroe

  Monroe,

  I thought this was my chance to make something of myself. I thought that working here was the perfect job. I thought that all my dreams were coming true, and everything I never really knew I wanted was falling at me feet. I was wrong. I was blind to the truth.

  I'm going to make this easy on both of us. I quit. . .

  I can't even finish reading her letter. I crumble the paper up into a ball and throw it in the trash. What the hell happened? What went wrong?

  I push back from the desk and rub my temples. This doesn't make any sense.

  Things were going good, great actually. So why is she walking away? Why is she abandoning this job? Why is she choosing to abandon us?

  “Everything all right, Monroe?” Cheryl asks. There's a note of concern in her voice, but it doesn't sound real. It's fake, just like her smiles and laugh. It's not hard to see, she's terrible at playing pretend.

  “No, everything's not all right. Arisa just quit.”

  “She quit? Really? But why?”

  This girl can't lie for shit. She doesn't give a rat's ass about Arisa.

  My eyes steady on hers for a moment. Reading her, trying to figure out what she knows. But I'm not the type of guy who's going to play the telephone game. I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.

  “I don't know, but I'm going to find out.” Pressing my hands against my knees, I stand up, and grab my keys off the desk.

  I'm halfway to the door when she asks, “Wait, you're going right now? But—”

  “This can't wait. I need to talk to her. She needs to tell me this herself, not through a note. I won't let her do this without hearing it for myself.”

  She grabs my arm and walks with me. “I'm sure she has her reasons. But does it really matter? She left, she walked out, and you don't tolerate that, remember?”

  I flick my eyes down to her and tug my arm free. “I can change the rules any time I want. I'm the boss.” Shoving the door open, I hop into my car and start it up.

  Cheryl might be right about my no tolerance policy, but this is different. This isn't just about another employee who's a no show, or someone who shows up late constantly. This is about a girl who somehow inserted herself in my life in a way that I could never have seen coming.

  I can't just let her go like this. I need more than just some words on paper. I need to hear it directly from her. Let her tell me this to my face. If this is what she really wants, then I'll let her have it, but not until I know why.

  Bang bang bang, I pound her door with my fist. “Arisa!” I call out, slamming on the door again. “Arisa, open up!”

  The door cracks open, and she peeks out at me. “What do you want, Monroe?”

  “An explanation, that's what I want.”

  “I gave you one in the note I left you. What more do you want me to say?” There's a quiver in her voice as if she's trying to stop herself from crying.

  “Open the door, let's talk about this.”

  “I don't want to talk.”

  “I deserve a real explanation, Arisa. Open the door. I don't think it's too much to ask.”

  She pulls the door open and fans out her arm. “Come in,” she says.

  I take a long step inside, and she shuts the door behind me. Exhaling a heavy breath, I run my hand through my hair as I look at the ground.

  “Why? Give me the real reason you're quitting. Because what your letter said doesn't make any sense. I'm confused where this is all coming from. You were smiling at me this morning, and then you're just gone.”

  “It's just not working out. There's really nothing else for me to say.”

  “Bullshit,” I bark, jerking my head up and glaring at her. “It doesn't make any sense. I thought you loved working at the restaurant. I thought things between us were going pretty good. What changed?”

  Arisa sighs loudly, ripping her eyes away from mine and looking everywhere but at me directly. “I don't know what you want from me, Monroe. I told you why.”

  “No, you gave me questions. You made it sound like I did something. What did I do? I want the truth. Tell me the truth, tell me the real reason. Because that note you left me was a bunch of shit. I don't believe you for one second that you don't want this anymore.”


  “Monroe—”

  “No,” I snap, cutting her off. “No more lies, Arisa. No more of this ‘it's not you, it's me’ garbage. Why are you doing this?”

  Tears spring up over her eyes and her bottom lip starts to tremble. “I'm sorry, I just think it's better this way. I want to take my career in a different direction. Your restaurant just isn't for me.”

  Shaking my head side to side, I take a big step forward and grab her hand. “I know you're lying to me. I can see it in your eyes. This is the last chance I'm going to give you. Tell me the truth or I walk out that door and you'll never see me again.”

  She's peering up at me with big, glassy eyes. I know she's trying to stop herself from crying. Her breathing is quick, and her hands are clammy. Tears are bubbling up, threatening to burst if she dares to blink once.

  I hold her hands tighter. “This is your only chance to be honest. Take it. Don't let it walk out that door.”

  Her eyes shift between mine. Blinking, she sets the tears free, and they fall down her cheeks in streams. “I know what you did,” she says, her voice wobbling. “I know exactly what you did. I didn't want to do this, but I had to.”

  “What the hell does that mean? What did I do?”

  “Don't pretend like you don't know. Cheryl told me everything.”

  “Cheryl told you what?” Tears flow like rushing water down her cheeks, but she isn't answering me. “What did she tell you? Because I'm blank, Arisa. I really have no clue what you're talking about.”

  “Oh no?” she asks, tilting her head into her shoulder. “You don't know anything about the money my brother paid you to hire me?” Sniffling, her voice hiccups between inhales.

  “Money? What money?”

  “Stop acting stupid, she told me all about it.” Arisa rips her hands free from mine and takes a step back. “I know my brother paid you to hire me. I know I'm only here because he offered you enough to make it worth your while. How much am I worth? How much was enough to let me into your kitchen?”

  My lids lower as confusion fills my expression. “Money? Tom never gave me any money to hire you. Why the hell would you even think that?”

  She rolls her eyes, wiping her cheeks. “Yeah, okay. You expect me to believe that? Do I look that gullible? You might be used to being able to talk your way out of things, but not this. Not with me.”

  “I'm serious, Arisa. Your brother never gave me money to hire you. That's not how it went down.”

  “Oh, so you're admitting that I'm not a genuine hire?”

  “No, that's not what I mean.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tip my chin into my chest. “Look, the truth is yes, I've known your brother for years. Long before he started his liquor business and I had my restaurant. That's true, we're friends.”

  “All right, you've known him for years. Tell me how that doesn't explain why you hired me so easily. Tell me that he played no role in you giving me my job. Cheryl—”

  “Cheryl doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. She's jealous of you, can't you see that?” Arisa folds her arms, tucking her hands against her ribs. “Look, the truth is I did owe your brother. I owed your brother big time. He saved my ass.”

  “Okay, so I'm an indebted hire. You owed my brother a favor and here I am. That makes me feel so much better. It really changes things, makes me feel like I earned it alright.”

  “No,” I say, letting out a long breath. “Look, years ago when my father was still alive, your brother and I were at his restaurant. I was working, and your brother came in to grab dinner. Your brother saved my ass, Arisa. This drunk guy was mouthing off and getting really aggressive. He tried to attack me, but your brother jumped in and stopped the guy. The cops got called and the guy tried to say that I assaulted him. Luckily your brother was a witness and was able to validate my story.”

  “That's it? He saved you from some drunk asshole, so you gifted me a job?”

  Groaning under my breath, I rake my hand through my hair. “He stopped me from getting arrested and possibly charged with assault. I wouldn't be where I am today if he hadn't done that. My father would probably have lost his restaurant because of legal garbage, and I'd never be able to work in this town again, let alone own my own restaurant.”

  “This isn't making me feel any better. This job is still fake, I didn't earn it. I want to earn what I get, not have it given to me on false pretenses.”

  “That's where you're wrong. You did earn this. You earned all of it. Your brother asked me to give you a chance, and I agreed. But he didn't do it because he thought you couldn't do it for yourself. He did it because he knew you belonged there. I offered to give you a chance, and you showed me what he already knew. You showed me that you’re an amazing chef. That you deserve to be by my side. That you deserve a pedestal to stand on, because you're a rising star.”

  Her eyes dance around mine, lips crinkled in thought. “Really? You really think I belong there?”

  “Why do you think you're the one I chose as my sous chef and not Cheryl? It has nothing to do with me owing your brother a damn thing, and everything to do with you showing me how amazing you are.”

  “I just—”

  “You just let some girl get in your head and make you think things that weren’t true. Stop listening to other people and go with what you feel. Do you feel like you don't belong there?”

  “No,” she says softly.

  “Do you feel like you don't deserve it?”

  “No.”

  “Do you feel like I gave it to you blindly?”

  “No.”

  “Do you feel like you want leave?”

  “No. I don't feel any of those things at all. I feel like I belong there, it feels right.”

  “Then don't leave. Don't leave because someone told you something that wasn't true. Because I don't want you to go. I want you there. I want you by my side. I can't go a second without thinking about you. You're on my mind all day and night. It doesn't matter what I'm doing; cooking, sleeping, watching television, you're all I can think about.”

  She cocks her head and peers up at me. Her eyes are still glossy, but they're clear as day. “You really mean what you're saying right now?”

  “I do. I mean it with every ounce of my soul. I don't want to lose you, at the restaurant or in my life. Just the thought of it kills me.” I reach out and take her hands, pulling her in closer. “So, will you stay?”

  Her eyes flick between mine as she inhales a couple deep breathes. “Yes, I'll do it, I'll stay.”

  I scoop her in my arms and pull her in close. “You're what I need, Arisa. I really mean that.” My hands sweep up, capturing her face.

  Arisa exhales a sharp breath, her hands clasping around my wrists as she stares into my eyes. Her thumbs rub back and forth, sending electric pops up my arms. My stomach knots up tight as I lick my lips.

  This girl is so much more than a good cook. She's fun, she's beautiful, and she has a great sense of humor. She's everything I could ever want, and I want her to know it. I want her to feel it when I touch her. When I hold her. When I kiss her.

  I kiss her slow, but firm. Pressing my lips to hers, she opens. My tongue slips in, circling hers as she breathes out a quiet moan. Her eyes close, and she gives herself to me. Her body falls forward, and her hands ride my arms all the way up to my shoulders.

  She feels perfect in my arms, as if she were made for me. She fits in that nook between my arm and ribs. Her lips fit mine as if they were made together and separated until we finally found each other.

  Growling, my lips change from soft to fierce. I release her face and wrap an arm around her waist, yanking her in until there's no space left between us. I hold her as close as I can, and it still doesn't feel close enough.

  I dig my hands into her ass, lifting her off the ground. She wraps her legs around me, her lips frantically stealing kisses of their own.

  “Bedroom?” I ask.

  “Door behind you.” Her lips are still kissing as she spea
ks and points with her eyes.

  I spin us in the other direction and walk her to her bedroom. I drop her down on her bed and climb on top of her. She moans as my lips find her neck and I plant kisses down her throat.

  God this woman drives me wild. I've never felt so alive, so free, so full in my entire life. She's more than enough to make me feel complete in so many ways.

  Her back arches, forcing her tits against my chest. Firm, hard nipples beg to be licked and sucked. I slip my hand under her shirt and up over her stomach. My fingers tickle her quivering belly as her hips begin to gyrate.

  “Fuck me, Monroe.”

  “Not this time, Arisa. This time I'm taking it slow. I want you to feel every inch of my cock. I want you to feel each thrust. And I want to watch as you take it.”

  She smirks. The speckles in her eyes turn dark gray, with flickers of gold mixing in the silver pools. “Take me then, take me and see what you do to me.” She bites her bottom lip as she rolls her hips, grinding them against my bulge.

  “Gladly,” I say, my voice husky as I rip the button open on her pants. She lifts her hips as I guide them down, taking her panties with them.

  Her pussy is glistening, wet and juicy as she rocks her body. I help tug her shirt over her head, throwing it behind me. I want to see all of her. Every bit of her naked flesh. Her cheeks are flush, and her breathing is already picking up, and I haven't even started yet.

  But it's the prettiest fucking sight. The way she's wiggling and moving beneath me, her desire and need visible as her nipples bead and her pussy drips, waiting for me to be inside her. Her hips buck up, and her hands touch her body.

  Arisa runs the pads of her fingers up her ribs and over her tits. She gently rolls the stiff peaks between her fingertips, making them perk up even more. Goosebumps explode across her skin as I place a kiss in the center of her chest. I keep moving, dancing around her tits and close to her nipples, but never touching the tender peaks.