by K. K. Allen
“And you’re sure that’s a good idea? You’re already busy enough as it is between classes, catering, and the private parties.” His head swings left and right. “Speaking of being busy, where’s Gretta?”
I can’t hide the annoyance that washes over my face. “Not here, which shouldn’t surprise anyone lately. I think I’m going to have to let her go.”
“Oh, man. Really?”
“I don’t see any other way around it. She has too many conflicts lately. I applaud her passion for school and all, but she left me high and dry again today.”
Zach sighs, and I know he understands. We go through part-time employees as fast as I go through laundry detergent. “Maybe it’s time we hire someone for you full-time. Take some of the burden off of you, especially since this television thing seems like something you really want to do.”
Now my jaw drops. “Wait a second. I was fully prepared for you to argue with me about the whole Faye conversation. You’re okay with the show?”
Zach rubs the back of his neck when he gets all bent out of shape, and he’s doing it now. “To be honest, I don’t think I should get much of a say. You’ve been responsible for this place for the past four years. I come and go as I please, but none of this would still be running if it weren’t for you.”
“Thanks, dude.” My chest goes all warm over my best friend’s confidence. I never deserved Zach’s friendship after the way I treated him when we were younger, but I haven’t stopped making up for that time.
“As long as you continue to keep twenty percent of the proceeds going to the charities of our choosing, then I’m happy to leave these decisions in your hands.”
There’s no question that our charity donations continue. That was part of our whole reason for going into business together. “That means a lot, Zach. Thank you.”
He throws up his hand. I knew it couldn’t have been that easy. “But I won’t back down about Maggie. You need to make this right with her.”
“How do you propose I do that? You know she has a problem with Coach, therefore she a problem with me.”
“Yeah, well, she has every right to be pissed at him. He is her dad, and he did a real shitty thing.”
“But Monica got over it.”
“Monica will never get over it, Des, never. But she’s figured out how to start forgiving him, and that has to happen in her own time, just like with Maggie.” Zach stands. “Anyway, just consider going easy on her, please. She’s family.”
My eyes widen as I look at my best friend. “Family, huh? You proposing to Monica any time soon?”
Zach chuckles. “One day, bro. She’s it for me—you know that—which makes Maggie family. Besides, she’s Coach’s daughter, which makes her family already.”
I wrinkle my face. “When you put it like that, you’re dating your sister.”
Zach grabs a decorative pillow from the couch and tosses it at me with his best throwing arm. Only Zach could cause pain with a throw pillow.
I rub my arm. “Shit, dude.”
He points at me. “Watch your mouth,” he warns.
I just grin.
TAKE II
NEIGHBORLY LOVE
“Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” — Henry David Thoreau
Do Not Disturb
MAGGIE
Promo Girl. That’s the official title on my contract with White Water, a local distillery currently promoting their new brand of four-times-distilled organic vodka. I knew approximately zero about vodka when I started this gig a few weeks ago, and now I know far too much.
Basically, the jobs I’ve been tasked with over the past couple of weeks require minimal wardrobe, passing out liquor at twenty-one and up events, and a healthy dose of flirting with potential customers.
Tonight, I’m walking around a high-profile club in Seattle, wearing a skirt that is one bend away from revealing my ass. My mission is to persuade clubgoers to try shots of White Water vodka by plastering a smile on my face and shaking my hips in as many directions as they’ll go.
What my potential employer failed to tell me during my interview was that they’re a huge sponsor of Seattle’s NFL team and therefore attend numerous events surrounding the team. Just my luck. Tonight is one of those events where the players are my prime customers. I’m supposed to prance around the VIP area with samples and encourage them to choose White Water for their bottle service. So much for exiting modeling to avoid being objectified.
When I stressed my annoyance to Monica earlier today, she only made things worse.
“Desmond will probably be with them tonight. Be nice,” she said as she applied her mascara.
She was getting ready to spend the evening with Zach on their first date night in weeks. It was the first night he wasn’t beat up from a game or having to wake up early for practice the next morning.
“What?” I shut off my hair dryer, hoping I’d heard her wrong. “Why would Desmond be with the team? He doesn’t even play football.”
“He’s friends with all the players because of Zach. I think he goes out with them every Friday night. I just didn’t want you to be surprised.”
Disappointed would have been a better word. Things have actually been going well over the past three weeks. I’ve been keeping busy with my job, which has made my relationship with Monica stronger now that I’m not constantly in her face. I work at night and sleep during the day, while she has the opposite schedule. We go for happy hours a few times a week and binge movies on my nights off. And until my sister broke the news, I hadn’t seen or heard about Desmond Blake and his kitchen from hell once in twenty-one blissful days. Now I find myself spending the first two hours of my shift dreading the possibility of his arrival—or eagerly awaiting it. I’m not sure which since I can’t stop thinking about seeing him again.
At eleven o’clock on the dot, Desmond strolls into the club like he’s one of them. He definitely looks the part, with his plain white tee that fails to hide the number of hours spent in the gym and his ass-hugging jeans like those a true Texan would wear. And his long, wavy hair looks like it’s been conditioned and prepped for a magazine cover shoot.
No one would ever suspect that the man spends the majority of his time sporting an apron.
I’m walking toward my prime clientele with a sharp eye and flirtatious smile when I see Desmond’s gaze follow me in my peripheral. Balko, Seattle’s number one tight end, is the first one to walk up to me, but he doesn’t go for the liquor. Instead, he comes right up to my ear and whispers, “Just the woman I wanted to see.”
I smirk at him because everyone knows Balko is the number one man-whore in all of Seattle. And with his dark skin, honey eyes, and long lashes, it’s no wonder he gets away with it. He is one tall, hot piece of gorgeousness that I wouldn’t mind taking home to Monica’s couch. Well, I wouldn’t mind if he’d chosen a different profession.
I would never, could never, date a football player, not after what my father did to our family. I’ve seen firsthand how football can ruin lives in more ways than one.
“Easy, Balko.” I tame him with a gentle push against his chest. “I’m working again.”
“Yes, you are, girl.” He puckers his lips, and they almost look as drunk as his eyes do as he looks me up and down. Clearly these boys started the party elsewhere. “When’s your shift over? Let me take you home.”
“How ya gonna do that?” another player chides. “Carry her on your back? You’ve got a driver tonight.”
“Well, she can come too, dumbass. Plenty’a room,” Balko slurs.
I smile at the guy who attempted to rip on Balko. I don’t know his name, but I already like him. Hoping to change the subject, I raise a shot glass in the air. It’s filled to the brim, and Balko’s eyes follow it with interest.
“You get one on the house,” I say. “Courtesy of White Water, of course. If you like it, just ask your waitress for a bottle.”
A few guys crowd my tray and begin to pass shots a
round until it’s empty. Balko still hasn’t left my side, but he manages to grab a second shot, which he’s currently chasing with a beer. Gross.
The moment he’s distracted, I slip through the crowd, toward the bar, where I’ll refill my tray. A hand grabs my arm, stopping me on my journey, and I know immediately who owns the grip that heats my flesh. I turn, my eyes darting from the hand on my arm to Desmond’s face.
He takes the hint and pulls his hand away. “You know Balko’s bad news, right?”
“What makes you think I’d listen to anything you have to say?”
I can practically feel the frustration rippling from his body at my question.
A moment later, he settles in his stance, and his eyes relax. “You may not listen to me in the kitchen, but I hope you’ll heed my warning now.”
“And you care because?”
Desmond stretches his neck to the side and shrugs. “You’re Coach’s daughter. Just lookin’ out.”
I swallow, trying to maintain my strong frame. Why does he have to bring my father into this? “What are you, my protector now? Did my dad tell you to watch out for me?”
Desmond lifts his hands with a shake of his head. “No, he didn’t. Look, you can take my advice however you want it, okay? At least I can say I tried.”
I nod, tightening my forced smile before pushing past him to the bar. “Okay.” I draw the word out slowly. “I appreciate the advice.”
Desmond can’t know what he does to my insides, how they shake and heat like I’m about to explode. He drives me crazy, and I’m starting to have trouble pinpointing the exact reason why. Between his relationship with my father, his nonchalant arrogance, and the fact that he humiliated me in his cooking class last month, it’s probably a mixture of everything.
After our awkward exchange, I try to put Desmond out of my mind for the rest of the night. My efforts are futile. I swear every time my eyes accidentally meet his, he’s already looking intently in my direction either at me or at whoever I’m handing a shot to. By the end of my shift, I’m more than ready to escape his intense blue-eyed gaze.
I’m cleaning off my tray behind the bar when he takes a seat across from me. “Last call was fifteen minutes ago,” I say to him without looking directly at him. “And I don’t pour ’em anyway.”
He leans forward. “I know that, smart-ass. I’m not drinking tonight.”
I don’t look up as I think about what he just said. Then I realize that not once tonight have I seen him with a drink. My eyes flicker up to his, and it’s like my body can’t help but react instantly. Warmth floods through me. “Why’s that?”
“I drive the guys when they go out on Fridays.” He says it so casually, like it doesn’t bother him one bit to not be partying when the rest of them are.
This time, my eyes stay on him while I speak. “And they pay you or something?”
Desmond chuckles. “They’re my friends. I wouldn’t accept their money. I just do it so they don’t get their asses in trouble.”
“And so you can swoop in on their sloppy seconds,” I say with a wicked grin.
He mirrors my expression. “Every now and then, that might be the case.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” I mutter with disdain on my breath.
“Yeah, well, I think you’d actually be surprised about a lot of things if you opened your mind to them.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and lock eyes with him again. “Let me guess. We’re talking about cooking again, aren’t we?”
He shrugs. “Among many other things.”
I shake my head, not wanting to argue. “Look, you don’t know me. You don’t know why I’m in Seattle, or the type of guys I’m into, or what makes me tick. You know the fraction of the me you’ve seen in your kitchen and on some viral video. You think you’ve got me all figured out? Let me make myself clear.” I lean forward, keeping my tray between us so it dents his chest when I push against him. “You have no idea.”
With that, I leave my tray on the counter, swoop down to grab my purse beneath the bar, and walk out to the street. I open my phone to text Monica so I can get the hell out of here, except my cell service proves to be shit in this area.
Desmond is beside me before I can try to connect to the club’s WiFi. His arm brushes my shoulder without him throwing me a glance. “I’ll give you a lift.”
I may have an adverse reaction to Desmond, but his offer is a kind one. “Thanks, but Monica should be on her way.”
There’s a beat of silence before Desmond sticks his hands in his pockets and leans forward on his toes. “Actually…Monica asked if I could bring you home since I’d already be here.” His gaze slides to me and then his dimple appears. “I know, I know. Trust me, I warned her it wouldn’t go down well, but I’m willing to take one for the team. Are you?”
I cringe and sigh. “Fine. But you realize I’m staying with Monica in Bellevue, right?”
“Yup. Hop in the front. I’ll shove these lugs in the back.” He nods toward a large black Escalade with fancy rims and trim. Desmond smirks as if reading my mind. “It’s Balko’s. He let me borrow it so I could drive his ass around tonight.”
I accept that, slide into the front seat, and buckle in. Next thing I know, a group of large bodies and boisterous voices climb into the two rows behind me.
Desmond makes three stops, the last one being Balko’s house, where he has to practically carry the football player into his home. Then we trade Balko’s SUV for a red vintage car.
“What are you doing with a fifty-eight Ford Fairlane convertible?”
Desmond looks over at me while he pulls open the passenger door. I just impressed him. Who knew it would be so easy?
“What do you know about vintage cars?”
I shrug. “A little.”
Once upon a time, my dad used to have a car just like this one. It had the same sleek body style, cherry-red exterior, and everything. It brings back every bit of nostalgia from my childhood in a simple glance.
I slide into the red seat and inhale the scent of its aged leather like it’s my first time breathing. I slide my fingers along the front dash while the picture-perfect memories compound. My mom with her hair wrapped in a scarf and a smile on her face. Monica and I holding hands in the back seat with our noses to the wind and giggling into the breeze. I still remember the feeling of pride that felt heavy in my chest for having the perfect family—a father who could provide, a mother who was the most beautiful woman on earth in my eyes, and a little sister who was attached to my every move.
If anyone had asked me then if we would stay that way forever, my answer would have undoubtedly been yes. We should have never fallen apart.
I’m inhaling the car deeply as Desmond starts to drive. My thoughts are so deeply buried in the past that I almost forget I’m sitting next to a man I despise. But he doesn’t let too much time go by before reminding me of his presence. Clearing his throat, he manages to pull my eyes to him.
“Humor me with your car knowledge. Help me get to know the girl who hates to cook.”
I smile at that and sink back into the seat, letting my instinctual anger toward the man to my left dissolve momentarily. “My dad was obsessed with vintage cars. He used to take my family out driving every weekend in a car just like this.” A cloud pushed into my mind and hovered over my thoughts, darkening them before I could catch myself. “But that was before…”
Desmond’s hand curled around the wheel, and his almost-smile darkened at my words. “Ah, I see.”
The casual tone of his acceptance stirs something in my chest, something dark and ugly. I should just keep my mouth shut, but of course I don’t. “Not that you’d know what it’s like not to have a father around. After all, you had mine.”
I can feel the tension quickly rising between us, and I hate myself for causing the change in mood. Then again, he was the one that had to offer me a ride. Maybe he’s a glutton for punishment.
“Remember earlier, how you told
me I had no idea about you? Well, you know nothing about me either, Maggie. I guess it’s best for both of us not to make assumptions.”
I snort. “I don’t have to assume much. Monica told me how you used to bully Zach when you two were kids. How my dad saved you both from killing each other and took you under his wing. He put you on his football team and straightened you up. You consider him some kind of hero according to her. But did you know that while he was putting all his time and effort into you, Zach, and the rest of that team, he was neglecting his family? Did you know there were two young girls sitting on the porch every night just praying that was the night their father would finally come home? Spoiler alert—he never did.”
“Maggie stop—”
“No. I won’t.” Desmond has no idea how much pain I have in my heart because of someone he idolizes. “Instead of coming home to his family, he was off starting a new one somewhere else. You want to know how Monica and I found out?”
Desmond is now fuming. “I don’t need to know about his past. That doesn’t matter to me.”
“His past?” I challenge. “At one point, that was his present, and you were right there with him. That might not matter to you, but it sure as hell matters to me.”
“So, then how did you and Monica find out?”
“I found his address and I dragged Monica out of bed in the middle of the night to surprise him the next morning. He wasn’t the only one surprised. That morning we met his new wife and two new daughters. He’d replaced us, just like that.” I suck in a deep breath. “Still want to get to know the girl who hates to cook?”
“It doesn’t matter. Tell me whatever you want me to hear, but it’s not going to change my mind about Coach. What he was for you and what he was for me are two totally different things.”
