by K. K. Allen
“Not anymore,” Maggie growls. Then she makes a jump for the bottle, accidentally bumping her chest against mine in the process. I try to ignore the heat that licks through me at the mere touch of our bodies.
“Excuse me,” she says with a stomp of her foot. “I earned that.”
“Correction. You’ll earn it at the end of your shift when I release you for the day.”
Maggie crosses her arms and leans back against the island. “Fine. But since we’re talking about earning things, what are you even getting out of this show anyway? Do you even want to do it?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Because I have goals for the kitchen that are reliant on the extra income. The show is a quick way to reach those goals.”
“What kind of goals?”
I let out a heavy breath, trying to keep my frustration at bay. “I’d like to expand our offerings. I’d like to hire more employees so maybe I can enjoy a few days off now and then without taking a huge hit.”
“Okay.” She thinks for a moment. “So maybe you need a little bit of cash. Can’t Zach just give you what you need? He is your partner. And according to ESPN, the dude is loaded.”
I snort. “You seem to think Zach’s pocketbook is the solution to everything. That’s not how our partnership works. Zach might have purchased this place, but it’s me who runs it. It’s me who makes the big decisions. And if I decide to expand, it’ll be me who will fork over the dough to do it.”
“Okay, suit yourself. Guess a cooking show is the way to go, then.” She reaches for something on the counter, and I laugh when I see it’s the beer I told her not to drink.
Oh, what the hell? It’s Monday, which means no one else will be popping into the kitchen. I reach into the refrigerator and pull another beer out so I can join her. I lean against the island she’s now sitting on. “So you really won’t be my cohost, huh?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think I can.” This time, she cuts me an apologetic glance, and I can feel her sincerity. “But I’m sure Faye will find you the perfect girl.”
I blow out another breath, feeling the stress of the day slowly decompressing in my system. “I don’t know. You saw some of those auditions. Nothing felt even remotely right.”
Maggie twists her lips. “The cohost thing was Faye’s idea, wasn’t it? What is she looking for exactly? Maybe you can just do the show on your own.”
I chew the inside of my lip while shaking my head. “The network wasn’t into it just being me. Faye actually got the idea of a cohost by watching you and I work together.” I laugh at the memory of how bizarrely well we worked together last Saturday. “You were her inspiration.”
Something in Maggie’s expression has a squeezing effect in my chest. “Faye did make it sound like you needed me desperately.” She smiles softly. “Just think. If I did accept, I’d probably have the money to get my own place and get out of your hair.”
“It’s only been a few days, Maggie. Besides, I don’t think it’s such a bad arrangement. I know you just started, but you’re helping me plenty. And who knows if this show is going to take off. Please don’t try to find a way out of here because you think I want you gone.”
“Good to know you don’t.”
“Good to know you care what I think for once.” I can feel a ridiculous grin on my face and force it into something more professional. “And I’m serious about the beer drinkin’. We’ll make the booze an exception today, but from now on, if you want to have a glass of wine during a class with the rest of the students, that’s fine. Or if you want to crack one once your shift is over, fine by me. But no other time.”
She tilts her head and presses the bottle to her lips, amused. “You realize what time it is, right?”
I look up at the clock and almost choke on my next sip. “Six o’clock.”
“Good thing you don’t pay me overtime.”
I look back at Maggie, who winks, and then I chuckle. “All right, smart ass, you win. So then what are you still doing here if you’re off the clock?”
“Having a happy hour with my new boss. What else would I be doing?”
Ignoring her last remark, I decide to push our newfound understanding a bit further. “What do you feel like for dinner? I owe you a meal.”
Maggie hops off the counter and downs the rest of her beer. “No time. I’ve got a gig with White Water tonight.”
“Where?”
She shrugs and tosses her bottle into recycling. “At some concert venue.”
A new feeling comes over me, something achy, that makes me feel like I might miss her when she’s gone. “I can give you a ride when you’re ready to leave.”
I’m expecting Maggie to decline my offer, but then she turns to me like she’s really considering it and then nods. “Yeah, okay. I need to shower first. Will you be ready to go in an hour?”
“How about you come back down here in forty-five so I can feed you before we leave?”
She grins. “Deal.”
TAKE IV
REMINDER
“Every day is the start of something beautiful.” — Matt Nathanson, All We Are
21
Show Time
Maggie
Desmond is waiting for me at the curb after our quick dinner. The engine is already running and ready for our getaway. Why he’s always so insistent to drive me everywhere is not something I’m going to question anymore, but one thing is as troubling as it is certain—I like it more than I should.
In the back of my mind, I know that the niceties are just that—gestures meant to appease his best friend and my sister more than they are favors to me. I understand that and accept it, but that doesn’t change who Desmond is to me. The cocky chef with an ego the size of the state he was born in. Yes, things are truly bigger in Texas.
It’s all too complicated. It’s also something I’m not ready to untangle.
I approach the passenger door with a fluttering heart and no clue what to do with it. I’m wearing a faded jean jacket over a White Water tank top, black jeans, and white high-top sneakers. It’s going to be a chilly night, so it’s the sexiest I can look while I promote the vodka brand.
As soon as I slip into my seat, I feel right at home. I inhale the old leather like it’s oxygen before I notice Desmond watching me from his seat. I face his curious gaze with a bashful smile. “What?” I’m immediately on the defensive, knowing he just caught me inhaling his ride. Can he blame me? It’s a sexy beast of a machine.
He shakes his head and shifts the car into Drive. “Nothing. You just looked relaxed for a second, that’s all.”
“You say that like it would be a bad thing.”
A smile tilts his lips as he nods. “You’re usually on the edge. You know, hyper, ready to jump down my throat.”
“Maybe that’s because you were an arrogant prick when we first met.”
“I beg to disagree.”
“You can beg me all you want, but you were still an asshole.”
Desmond scoffs. “I recall flirting you under the table the entire first day you came to class. You seemed to like it too. What happened to that girl?”
“Woman,” I correct. “And that was before I realized you have a thing for flirting girls under the table.”
Desmond chuckles. “And you were disappointed?”
“More like disgusted.”
He shrugs. “Well, I’ve known you for a few months now, and you’ve never gotten sick in my presence, so I’d say your version of disgusted is all right by me.”
“It’s not too late. We are stuck together twenty-four, seven these days. Anything could happen.”
Desmond bites down on his bottom lip like he’s suppressing a smile, and I can’t help but do a double take at his long, disheveled hair, bright-blue eyes, and rugged beard. He’s not at all the type I would have ever found attractive back in LA. But for some reason, looking at him now, I can’t help but wonder what those whiskers would feel like between m
y thighs, or what that pouty mouth would feel like on my pink flesh. Desmond may not look like any man I would have ever dated in LA, but he sure as hell resembles someone I wouldn’t mind getting it on with now.
“I’m counting on that,” he says.
For a second, I have to tear my thoughts away from the mental image of him buried between my legs to remember what I said to prompt that response.
Anything could happen.
I choose not to respond and instead reach for the dial of the stereo. I turn it to my favorite radio station. As soon as I hear Matt Nathanson singing through the speakers, I squeal and twist my shoulders to the beat. I’ll always be a country girl at heart, no matter what influence the city has had on me, but Matt Nathanson on the piano is something to be marveled. I’ve loved him since I caught a concert of his at a hole-in-the-wall bar in LA.
“I love this song,” Desmond says, surprising me with an approving nod.
I can feel my eyes light up when I turn to him. “Me too.”
I still forget that he was born in the same city as me. But at moments like these when I catch the slight twang of country that slips off his tongue and notice his flare of Southern hospitality evidently displayed in his kitchen and recipes, I realize what attracted me to him in the first place. Desmond reminds me of home.
He starts to drive down First Avenue and shoots me a quick glance. “You going to tell me where this show is tonight? Key Arena? Showbox?”
“Paramount. I probably could have walked.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I cringe, bracing for his reaction.
He cuts me a look, and that’s the only response I need.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I said anything. I appreciate the ride.”
“Good.” It’s silent between us while we listen to the rest of the song. Then Desmond clears his throat. “How do you like working for White Water?”
I shrug. “They pay me well. The jobs are fun and easy enough for something temporary.”
Desmond’s brows pull together. “You keep using that word.”
I squint in confusion. “What word?”
He throws me another glance. “Temporary.”
“I guess I do. It’s just… weird being here. Clearly, I don’t belong. I’m not sure if I ever will.”
“Well, what are your goals while you’re here?”
His loaded question throws me off balance, and even after I think about it for a few long moments, I’m not sure how to answer. “I’m just… figuring that out, I guess.”
Silence passes between us, and a sort of anger brews inside me. “Why does everyone expect me to have all the answers right now? Why can’t I just live in the moment and figure it out as I go?”
Desmond scrunches his nose. “No one is saying you can’t.”
“Well, it feels like that’s exactly what you’re saying.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s exactly what you’re thinking. It’s definitely not what I’m saying. Live your temporary life. Live it loud. Live it proud. Doesn’t matter to me. I was just trying to make conversation.”
For some reason, his nonchalance only stirs me up more. “Haven’t you ever been through a transition in your life? When you didn’t have all your shit figured out?”
Desmond chuckles. “If you ever meet someone who does have their shit figured out, then I’d love to meet them.”
“You’re such a smart-ass.”
“I am, but I’m not trying to be right now. You’re allowed your little transition period, Maggie. I’m not judging you for it, even though I know that’s what you want to believe. You’re human. You just left a career you’ve had practically your whole life. But most people don’t just live their life in temporary mode. They live in the present. They set goals for themselves to grow and change and adapt to those changes. Maybe you should just stop calling everything in your life temporary.”
I settle back into my seat, adjusting my eyes away from the brawny, rugged man from the South, and direct my gaze out the window. I take in the night lights of Seattle as we cruise down First Ave. Traffic crowds the roads, but we are still moving at a decent pace, only stopping at the red lights while pedestrians cross the street.
Seattle is a truly fascinating place, and that was one of my first thoughts after moving here. It’s a city of blended culture, of loud and vibrant artistic types with wild-colored hair and leather platform shoes. It’s also a place where, when the sun shines, happiness bursts from the city’s pores. Boats crowd the lakes and sounds. Parks are filled with sunbathers and picnic blankets. Music takes over the Seattle Center. Life is celebrated in its most natural form, and I find it completely addicting.
Desmond pulls up to the curb and brakes a little harder than I expect, jerking me forward and back against my seat.
“Thanks for the whiplash.” I smile and bat my lashes at him so he can feel my sarcasm. “I mean, for the ride.”
His eyes aren’t on me, though. I’m not even sure if he heard me. He’s fixated on the marquee of the Paramount, with his mouth agape. It’s all lit up with white bulb lights around the name of the headliner.
“No shit,” he says. “Matt Nathanson’s playing tonight? The guy that was just on the radio?”
I let out a little chuckle. “Yup. Wanna come to the show?”
He twists his face, like he’s confused, or maybe a little stunned. “Just like that? Are you serious?”
I shrug. “White Water gave me two tickets in case I wanted to bring someone. I was planning to find some loner outside the venue to see if he wanted to come with me, but I guess you can have my extra ticket if you want.”
He catches my joke referencing yesterday’s game and narrows his eyes at me. “Do I have to promise you I’ll have a good time too?”
I bite my lip and hand him the ticket. “You set the rules. Now it’s your turn to follow them.”
He snatches the ticket from my hand. “Consider it a deal.”
Grinning, I make a move to open the door. “Guess you better go find a parking spot. I need to get to work, but I’ll see you inside.” I hop out of the car and head straight toward the security guard at the front of the building. I show him my White Water pass, and he shoos me in with a wave of his hand. “Have a good time.”
I give him a smile over my shoulder just as I see Desmond’s red car turn into the parking lot down the street. My confused heart pounds in my chest. “Thanks. I think I just might.”
22
Limitations
Desmond
Maggie is already inside and making her way through the growing crowd with a tray of White Water shots by the time I finally get in. In the time it took me to park and walk back to the entrance, the line to get in had wrapped around the building. Apparently, Maggie has some sort of special access, which makes me reconsider my feelings toward her “temporary” life. The perks of her side job don’t seem bad at all. She has flexibility, a decent payout, free booze, and concert tickets. And she seems to genuinely enjoy it all. Maybe a temporary life isn’t so bad.
The stuck-up model with designer boots and flawless appearance who initially walked into my kitchen with a confidence level so high, not even I could compete with—is transforming before my very eyes. At a turtle’s pace for sure, but she’s transforming no doubt. Every time I manage to pluck a feather and piss her off more, I get rewarded with a special peek under the armor she’s so carefully built. There is more to Maggie Stevens than meets the eye, and now I’m more curious than ever to discover it all.
She’s the first woman I see when I walk into the Paramount, and even as I down two drinks while sitting idly at a high-top table in the back of the concert hall, I can’t peel my eyes from her. Maggie dazzles.
“One White Water soda and lime,” she says cheerfully as she sets my drink in front of me. “Great choice.”
I decided to step out of my comfort zone of beer and support the reason I’m here tonight. “Thanks.” I flash her a smile and take a sip of the carefully c
oncocted beverage. “When do you get to join me?”
“Um…” Her eyes drift toward the stage and pause on the crew fiddling around with equipment.
The very moment she looks away, my gaze slips to her fitted, sleeveless tank. It’s black with White Water’s logo on the front, and a deep slit down the middle reveals her chest. At some point between her exiting my car and me entering the venue, her jean jacket vanished, and the bright-red lipstick on her lips appeared. Her light-brown eyes have never popped more than they do in this moment, and I have the strongest yearning to see the same contrast in natural light through my camera’s lens.
When she caught me snapping photos of her at the game yesterday, I was not only shocked by her response but disappointed by it. The photos of her going down on that hot dog were completely natural, vulnerable, and raw. Through the lens, she’s the woman with no faults, no worries, and no fears. But on the other side of it, there’s much, much more, and her reaction confirmed it. There is something she’s hiding.
My eyes are planted on her mouth when her gaze shoots back to me. My head snaps up, but it’s too late. I’m sure she just caught me staring.
“I’m off the clock when the openers are done, but you don’t have to wait for me.”
My reactions to her all feel so instinctual, protective even. There’s an inflation in my chest as I breathe in slowly, controlling the intake of air like my life depends on it. “I’ll be here until you’re done.” I take another sip of my drink and nod with approval. “These are good.”
Her eyes light up, and I get the distinct impression that she’s proud of what she’s promoting. I wonder if there’s an insincere bone in her body. When Maggie hates something, she’s vocal about it. When she loves something, she doesn’t seem to hold back. There are so many qualities to her that I find sexy. Who would have thought? And to think she’s been holding back all this time, masking something so vulnerably beautiful. I want more of it. I want more of her.
