Take It Off the Menu

by Hovland, Christina

  “I have to go back to work,” she said against his mouth.

  “After,” he replied in that chef tone of his that pissed her off in the kitchen but, here in his office, didn’t have the same effect. Here? It just added kindling to the fire already building. “I want you naked.”

  Right then, she decided not to argue with Chef Eli when he told her what to do—as long as it involved sex, him, and immediate access to both.

  She shimmied out of her panties, thankful that she’d decided to dress cute that day. He had his jeans around his thighs, boxers right there with them, and dug through his wallet, emerging with a yellow condom and that goofy grin on his face.

  She giggled. “That’s not…”

  He couldn’t be serious. They weren’t actually going to use it.

  “It’s what we have.” He ripped open the package.

  Apparently, they were going to use it. Yellow was the color of the day.

  “On the couch, chef.” It was Marlee’s turn to order him around.

  He sat on the couch, his erection standing at attention, and held the condom up between two fingers. The unspoken question hung in the air—did she want to do it?

  Hell yes, she did.

  She grabbed it like he was offering one of the seven-layer bars he had left over at the flower shop and sank to her knees in front of him. She ran the latex over his shaft. His head dropped back, his eyes closed, and he moaned as the condom fit snugly all the way down to the root.

  Her hand still gripped him, and his gaze caught hers. She gave a light squeeze just so she could watch his eyes roll back that tiny bit. He didn’t disappoint.

  As if she weren’t already turned on enough, his hand went to her neck and he pulled her mouth to his. She straddled him, his erection against her slick core, while he took his time with her mouth. Urging him on, like he was a shoe and she was Lothario, she lifted herself up, lined them together, and sank on top of him. Slowly. Letting him fill her.

  He was making noises now deep in his throat. “Mar.”

  “Eyes open, chef.”

  He did as she instructed.

  She moved up on her knees, still fully clothed except for her underwear, and then sank down again.

  He didn’t close his eyes this time. His hands rested at her waist, letting her pick the pace. Her nipples contracted to tight buds, the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex rubbing against the fabric of her dress.

  There was something freeing about being the one in control. Eli was all about constraint. Control. Doing things himself. But he let her set the pace, let her move on him at her own speed. She’d never been so turned on in her life.

  He lifted his hips to meet her on each thrust down. The Adam’s apple in his throat pulsed.

  “I’m almost there,” she said, nearly ready to spin out of control.

  There was not a breath of space between them, but somehow, he moved his hand to where they were joined. One flick at the bundle of nerves and she was done. She dropped her head against his shoulder and rode the wave that crashed over her. Mid-wave, he gave one last thrust and everything in him tightened.

  “Maybe I should come work for you after all.” She pressed a kiss to his swollen lips.

  He brushed a stray hair from her face. “Maybe you should just come visit more often.”

  “Maybe you should hang curtains or something so we can make this an everyday occurrence?”

  He barked out a laugh.

  She pressed her face into his neck. “I really should get back to work.”

  He helped her ease herself off of him.

  “I’m meeting up with Velma, Heather, and Claire after work. We’re going to Brek’s. You should come.” Finding her land legs again, Marlee pulled her panties back on under her skirt.

  Eli dealt with the condom and readjusted his own clothes so seamlessly that no one walking in right then would’ve ever known what just went on.

  “I’d like that.” He lifted the hair from her shoulder, tucking it to one side. He kissed the line of her neck where it met her shoulder. “How about you tell Jase you need the afternoon off?”

  “What?”

  “If I can’t take you out tonight, I want to take you now. There’s something I want you to see.”

  “I can’t just bum off work. Jase needs me.” But there was something in Eli’s expression. Something different. Something that told her that she should ask for the afternoon. She dropped her forehead to his. “I’ll ask.”

  “See if Lothario can hang with him while we’re gone?” Eli asked. “I want your full attention this afternoon.”

  A sly smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “What on earth do you have planned?”

  “You’ll see.” He kissed her quickly. Then it heated, and it wasn’t so quick.

  Turned out, he burnt the shit out of his sauce.

  He didn’t seem to mind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eli looked up at the old industrial building in LoDo—the building he’d had his eye on for months. It was old, it needed a bunch of work done, and it was overpriced. Hence why it remained on the market for all these months. But the location was spot on, and the place had character.

  The perfect location for a restaurant. His restaurant.

  He was willing to pay the price tag once he had the cash.

  Marlee took his hand. “What’s this?”

  “I want to buy it,” he whispered. He hadn’t said the words out loud to anyone. Not even his real estate agent when she’d shown it to him three times.

  A few more huge events and he would have enough for the down payment.

  Marlee ran her hand along the brick exterior. “It’s beautiful.”

  It wasn’t, but it would be.

  “Come on.” He tugged her hand and opened the door for her.

  She walked through, a layer of dust and musty air assaulting them.

  For the briefest of moments, he wished he hadn’t brought her to the building. She should see it when it was complete. When it made sense. Right now? Right now, it was an overpriced building with stale air and red graffiti tagged on the inside walls.

  When he was done? When he was done it’d be one of Denver’s best hot spots.

  “We can just walk in?” Marlee asked.

  “Trish?” he called.

  “I’m here,” his real estate agent hollered back.

  “I’ll introduce you to her in a little bit. She’s my Realtor, but she knows I prefer to check things out alone.”

  Trish got him. Understood that he didn’t need the sales pitch. She unlocked the doors, showed him around the new properties, and then disappeared while he dreamt.

  “The bar will go over here.” He strode to the area on the west side of the room. “Bar tables here by the big windows so guests can have a drink and watch the sunset over the Rockies.”

  Marlee didn’t move as he jogged up the stairs to the landing. “This will be the room for events. Not huge, but it’ll work.”

  She followed, cautious on the stairs. They were rickety, but they’d hold—for now.

  “The kitchen will go back behind the bar. We’ll need new plumbing, get everything up to code, but when it’s done…” He shoved his hands on his hips. “Yeah. It’ll work.”

  Marlee still hadn’t said anything.

  His heart dropped. She hated it.

  The building was a wreck, for sure, but he had a vision for it. And for some reason, he wanted Marlee to get it. To love it, too.

  “You’re not going to paint the brick, are you?” Marlee asked, running her fingers over a batch of graffiti on the wall. “I think you can get this off pretty easily.”

  He placed his hand over hers on the wall. “No, I like the exposed brick.”

  “It’s beautiful, Eli.” She turned so her lips were millimeters away from his. “It’s perfect.”

  She wasn’t lying. He saw it in her eyes. She got it. Knew what he was trying to do. And that meant everything.

  “Can
I decorate it?” she asked.

  His lips parted. She wanted to help?

  She shook her head. “I mean, if you don’t want me to, that’s fine. But I have some ideas. I’m thinking we go with dark wood accents—bannister, stairs, bar top. And really deep colors for the artwork. Maybe even a little red as a nod to the…” She tilted her head toward the graffiti.

  “We?” he asked. She wanted to be a we, wanted to be involved in his project. He should’ve been scared as shit, but he just felt warm all over.

  “I mean, if you want my help. You don’t have to have my help.”

  “Yeah, Mar. You can decorate the place.” The words were rough. He swallowed hard. “If I get it.”

  She turned her back to the wall, her chest to his. “You have to buy it. You know that, right?”

  “I’m still saving.” He stepped back, did another scan of the space. Took the dream out of its box long enough to let it live before he shoved it back inside and locked it up tight.

  “I bet Sadie would invest. And Nicole. And Megan. And Rachel.” She listed his sisters. “Sadie would help you like you helped her.”

  “I can’t ask them for that.” He shook his head. Buying law books wasn’t the same as helping him buy a building.

  “Your mom and dad would help you out, too,” Marlee said softly. “After everything you did for them.”

  He shuffled on his feet. Truth was that when he was a teenager, his mom had gotten sick. The kind of sick that took a toll. The kind of sick that meant she was out of commission for two years. The kind of sick that started with a c and ended with chemotherapy and radiation. The doctors—and there were a lot of them—weren’t sure she’d beat it. His dad—a great man—had worked his ass off during those years. Two jobs to pay for the health insurance and the bills. A third to put food on the table. Needless to say, Dad wasn’t home.

  Eli had four little sisters and a mom who needed more care than his dad could provide working three jobs. Eli was the oldest. He stepped up. Dropped out of everything that sucked up any extra time—guitar lessons, his job as a prep cook at a high-class restaurant downtown, the after-school French classes he’d needed to study gastronomy in the heart of the Parisian culinary world. He had dropped it all so he could take care of his mom and help out with his sisters—run them to ballet, get them to gymnastics, make sure they occasionally ate something that resembled a vegetable.

  Marlee knew all that. She’d been there.

  She’d even helped him out with a little French after she got back from a monthlong vacation at a villa in Bordeaux.

  “Laisse-les t'aider,” she murmured to him, the French filling the air in the musty, graffiti-filled room.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “It means let them help.” She squeezed his biceps.

  After he’d lost the scholarship to Europe, he graduated high school, applied to the local culinary school, and thanked fuck he at least got in there. Then, he became a caterer so he could help put his sisters through college. He wouldn’t ask them for money. He knew how hard it was to rub two pennies together, he wouldn’t ask them to do that for him.

  They had their dreams, and now, he was finally going to have his.

  Marlee’s hand found his as she dropped her head against his shoulder. “What are you going to do with the other kitchen when you buy this place?”

  “I figure I’ll keep the catering company. The restaurant and catering company can work together. Two sources of income are better than one, you know?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Look at you, building your own empire.”

  He shook off the emotion clogging his throat. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Trish. Show you the kitchen space.”

  Marlee followed him to the kitchen, their hands still tethered together. She pulled at his hand to stop him. Then, on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his.

  “This is the best first date ever,” she said against his mouth.

  Yes, yes, it was. He sifted his hand through her silky hair.

  He’d always liked being alone. But he hadn’t had one of his end-of-autumn camping trips since he got married. And he hadn’t missed it, because Marlee filled all the space in his world.

  Everything was fine, and he took time to savor it because he knew better than anyone that moments like this could change in an instant.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “They make tuxedo condoms?” Velma asked before taking a sip of her ginger ale.

  “Yeah. I swear, it’s a thing. Who knew? They have little white bow ties printed on them and everything.” Marlee really wanted a glass of red, but the stress of her new life was getting to her and she elected to join in on the fizzy ginger, letting it settle her stomach. Sometimes a girl wanted a dash of merlot, and sometimes she didn’t. A little over a month ago, Scotty would have usually made Marlee’s beverage decisions when they were out and about. Marlee had actually thought it was cute at the time. Nice. He knew what she liked and made sure she had it.

  Funny thing about that…she was learning that what she liked was changing. Like drinking ginger ale instead of a glass of red.

  Besides, it was probably against the rules to order wine in a dive bar. Even if it was Velma’s husband’s bar and she probably made him stock the good stuff. Or at least the decent stuff.

  “I want tuxedo condoms. I’m going to order some.” Claire had her cell in hand, searching novelty condoms. “I mean, can you imagine Dean’s face?”

  Straitlaced Dean? No, Marlee could not imagine that. She reached to pat Lothario on the head. He lounged next to her in the booth, noshing on a piece of steak Brek had tossed his way when they’d arrived.

  “Brek wouldn’t even wear a tuxedo to our wedding, I’m pretty sure this is totally out of the question in our marriage.” Velma twirled her straw between her fingertips.

  “What’s out of the question?” Brek ambled up to their table, a bar towel slung over his shoulder.

  “Tuxedo condoms,” Velma said before taking a deep gulp from her drink. “I said I don’t think you’d wear one.”

  Brek stopped mid-stride. He gave them a solid stare, the little crinkle what-the-fuck lines prominent between his eyebrows. He glanced from Velma to Claire, then at Heather and Marlee.

  “I don’t understand women,” he declared.

  He must’ve been talking to Lothario, because he was the only other male in their vicinity. Brek didn’t wait for Lothario to reply. He just turned around, walked back to the bar, and said something to one of the waitresses.

  She sauntered over to their table, notepad in hand. “Brek says you’re my table now. How are you, Velma?”

  “I’m fantastic.” Velma giggled. “We’re probably ready for another round.”

  “I gotcha covered.” The waitress gave her a wink, picked up Heather’s empty glass, and headed back toward the bar.

  “So, tuxedos,” Heather said when she was out of earshot. “Where were we?”

  Yes, these were Marlee’s kind of friends. Less than twenty minutes into girls’ night, they were already searching tuxedo condoms.

  Focusing on her phone, Claire’s eyebrows pressed together just like Brek’s. Well, the lines between Claire’s were not nearly as prominent.

  “When did you use one of these?” she asked, tapping at the screen.

  Um.

  “You and Eli used the tuxedo condom thing when you were in Vegas?” Claire confirmed, the fun seeping out of her tone and getting replaced by strangely intense concern.

  “That’s a tad personal, don’t you think?” Velma swatted at Claire’s phone.

  “It’s not that private. I mean, you all know what happened there. So, yeah, in Vegas.” Marlee sipped at her fizzy ginger ale.

  “I wonder if we get a discount if we order extra?” Heather asked, ignoring Claire’s concern. “I have some bachelorette parties that would go crazy for these.”

  Heather’s cookie company had a solid underground following for penis-shap
ed cookies she called cockies. Marlee had been pretty certain within moments of meeting Heather that they were destined to be friends. Once she’d learned that little tidbit about the cockies? Their friendship was signed, sealed, and delivered.

  “A bulk order of tuxedo condoms was not where I thought this evening was going.” Velma giggled against the edge of her palm.

  Marlee should get in on that order, just for nostalgia. Especially since she and Eli were officially doing this—whatever this was—and she already knew he’d wear one.

  Claire set her phone facedown on the table. She rubbed at her temples, her hands framing her face. “Marlee, when was your last period?”

  “Okay, seriously, Claire. Stop.” Velma pulled Claire’s drink away from her. “How many of these did you have before we got here?”

  “They were recalled.” Claire pushed the button on her phone so the screen lit up. “The condoms were recalled. Was it one of these?”

  Marlee wasn’t really listening to what Claire was saying because she hadn’t had her monthly since a week before her wedding date. She’d been so relieved to have it over and done with so she wouldn’t have to deal with it on her honeymoon. Then her life fell apart and she hadn’t given it any thought. Stress had caused her periods to stop before. She’d assumed that’s all that happened and it’d show up any day.

  Besides, one actually had to have unprotected sex to get pregnant.

  One actually had to have sex at all, and up until very recently, Marlee did not fall into that category. Except…in Vegas. With a recalled condom.

  “Oh my God.” The blood drained from Marlee’s face.

  “Marlee?” Heather rubbed at her back. “Was it one of these?”

  Marlee didn’t need to look to know, but she glanced at the screen anyway.

  She nodded.

  “She hasn’t had her period,” Velma said on a breath.

  Marlee shook her head in a short, quick burst.

  “Oh honey.” Velma grabbed her hand across the table.

  There was a moment after one got unexpected news when it kind of just sat there, not sinking in. This was that kind of moment. The buzzing in the bar went quiet, everything muffled. Marlee’d had sex with a recalled condom, and she hadn’t had her period since.