Amuse Bouche (2 page)

I promised myself I’d talk to the girl in red, but right then, I needed some fucking wine.

“So, how you been, man?” Kirk asked as he handed me a glass of wine from the bar.

“This side of the dirt, my man, so it’s going well. And you? Loving the posts, by the way.”

“Thanks! It’s going great.”

“You still fishing those clubs?” I asked him, and by fishing I meant, of course, for women and not actual fish.

“Of course. But I haven’t landed anything. I take them out, take them to parties, spend a little cash, and then they disappear.”

“Quit fishing the damn club scenes, man. How many times do I have to tell you? You ain’t gonna find anything substantial there, so stop looking.”

“I know, I know. But damn, man—you know how it is. The women in Miami Beach are dangerously enticing. I don’t know who’s baiting who anymore.”

“Dangerous is a good word for them.”

“How about the show? Could be fun.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” I said cautiously, still not entirely clear what I was supposed to do. “Miami has so many chefs and cooks and restaurants. We’ll see, though. It’s not that high on my priority list, but when Kevin asks, I’m more than willing to help.”

“Hey, Kirk,” came a voice from behind him. “Tell Stephen about that fashion event last week.”

After saluting me with his glass, Kirk turned to Stephen and jumped right in about swim bodies and free alcohol.

Excellent redirect.
I turned back to find my angel in red. Damn. Look at her. Ridiculous.

Ivan, snap out of it. Don’t let her catch you staring at—Fuck.

Without warning, her eyes locked on mine, and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t even pretend I was looking somewhere else or make an effort to be cool. I was powerless. Everyone has moments in life: good ones, bad ones, silly ones, sad ones. They’re a dime a dozen. But this moment felt different. It was fucking magic.

Some say love at first sight is bullshit, and others say it’s the most real, pure thing thing on earth. I am a firm believer in the latter. I’d experienced it before. Its glory and its sting, and it was as real as you or me. Those shimmering eyes, thick with shades of opal, had promised me love and delivered. But as it turned out, it was a futile, fickle love. It was delicate, and it was misleading. Love is the stepbrother of hate and can cross over in a heartbeat. Complete and utter infatuation can evolve—no, devolve—into hurtful distain with a simple slip, a casual accident, or one regretful summer’s night.

But this was different. This wasn’t love at first sight at all. I wasn’t falling for that again. This was something much more. This was fate smiling on me and unveiling my destiny. She sat 50 feet away from me, wearing in a red dress, drinking even redder wine, and staring at me with what I could finally discern to be emerald green eyes. What was this? It was my second chance, and it was beautiful.

With the faintest of smiles, my angel in red turned away, breaking our intimate staring contest. Hopefully I didn’t make an ass of myself. She clearly caught me staring, but at least she smiled back, kind of, so maybe she doesn’t think I’m a total creeper.

Ability to dumbfound:
CHECK
CHECKMATE.

Share a moment: CHECK.

“Damn, Ivan. I love these cigars. I need to buy a few cases from you.”

“Sure thing, Kev. I’ll make sure to hook you up before you go.”

Five-dollar cigars rolled by an American on Ocean Drive can make one of the most powerful men in television giddy? It would break his heart if I told him a guy named John, not Juan, had rolled ’em.

“You excited for this meal, Stephen?” I asked. “Being a food critic in Miami must be a tough job. What a life. Get wined and dined at every high-end restaurant on the beach, and all you have to do is write a 250-word column saying whether it was good or not. Where do I sign up to get a gig like that?”

“Yes! I can’t wait,” he said with a laugh. “Hopefully it’s better than last year’s
something
au gratin. A heavy, cheesy starch was not the best pair for good wine.”

“No shit, right?”

“Let’s take our seats, shall we?” Kevin announced.

“Lead the way, my man.” After all, he does pay for everything.

We each grabbed one last glass of wine from the bar and headed for our table. As we drew near I realized it had to be the chef’s table or some other sort of VIP shit. I’d sit on the floor if I had to just to be here tonight.

While everyone jockeyed for a seat, I made sure I had a clear view of my lady in red, who was now chatting up some blue-haired stranger. Well, at least I think it’s a stranger. She looks annoyed, but she’s sticking with it.

Kind: CHECK

I took a moment to survey the rest of her tablemates.
Wait a second, who the hell is that asshole?
God dammit. I knew it. A girl that stunning had to be here with someone. Look at this clown. With that hair? We aren’t in California, man.

Who am I kidding? He’s probably a good guy. But right now, he’s a dick making a move I didn’t have the balls to make. And truth be told, no amount of wine would have given me enough liquid courage. Shit. Soooo, time to have some fun, right?

“Where the hell is the wine?” I demanded. “Let’s get this party started.”

“Ah…someone has finally come to life!” Kevin said with a narrowed eye. “You haven’t even touched your food.” I looked down at the plates that had magically appeared and then around the table. I was almost embarrassed to see that everyone else had nearly finished their entrée.

“Just a bit distracted,” I said with a wink. “I need some fine, fine wine to wash this down.”
Tuna with mint, really?
I stabbed at the cut of fish with my fork and took a bite. “Damn.”

“Yeah, I agree completely,” Kirk agreed.

The flavors made my tongue weak with pleasure. The warm outer flesh contrasted nicely with the cool, raw center, which melted into a blissful mint extravaganza. I vowed to keep my attention at the table as assorted vegetables and some mango sorbet danced their way across our palates and down our gullets, as well as, of course, copious amounts of wine.

“Yo, let’s go grab a smoke,” the head of the table suggested.

“All right, Kev.” The table agreed collectively as we all pushed back and stood.

A team of blue-shirted waiters nearly bum rushed the table as we moved away. Apparently they’d been waiting for us to finish so they could make way for a dance party.
Go for it.
But I wasn’t planning on dancing.

“Got a light?” I surveyed the group in the moonlight.

“Here you go.” Stephen came to the rescue with a beautiful little butane lighter, and I torched up.

The smell of mahogany and tobacco tasted sweet on my tongue and made a nice contrast to the food orgy that had just concluded on my tongue. Damn, it was good.

As Kirk and Stephen once again started jabbering about PR and “the scene,” Kevin asked the question that was currently plaguing me.

“So, you got yourself a girl, Doc?” Puffing on his cigar he looked up at me, smiling as if he expected a story or two.

“Negative. Still single looking to mingle.”

He seemed surprised by my response and shook his head.

I balanced my cigar in one hand and my glass of wine in the other. “Thought I had a winner tonight, but like all the good ones in life, it appears she’s taken,” I added, suddenly bold.

“No shit. Smitten were we? Let me guess. Red dress, apple ass, green eyes?”

Laughing, I couldn’t help but give credit where credit was due. “Nailed it!”

“I saw her earlier coming in. She’s a rocket.”

“A rocket with a surfer boyfriend.”

“Couldn’t help but notice that too. Wasn’t sure if he was there for her or her friend.”

Just then I felt the soft caress of a woman’s touch skate across my shoulders and a delicate voice whispered in my ear.

“Twenty dollars for a blow job, forty for the golden ticket.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to, and I erupted in a fit of drunken laughter that seemed to startle those around me. “How much for option two followed by option one?” I asked.

“Oh, you sick bastard!”

When I finally turned to look over my shoulder, I found my friend Stacey, just as I knew I would. She looked good enough to eat, literally, in a too-short black dress, her perfect legs, and mouth fit for…smiling.

“Ivan, how are you? It’s been to long!” As I wrapped my arms around her for a hug, I couldn’t help but appreciate the way her 35-year-old body felt against mine: hard as hell and built to fuck. She’d better keep her head up tonight. She might get it.

Why had I never tried her on for size before? Probably the fact that she loved anything that was younger than her and had money and a body—or a dick, for that matter. The thought did cross my mind on occasion, though.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to speak with a few partners before this. Kevin, did you fill him in on the casting need?”

I felt another tap on my shoulder that was definitely not feminine. Kev, ignoring her question, whispered to me under his breath. “Surfer boy isn’t here with the rocket. He’s going after the friend. No excuses now, my boy.”

I cranked my neck around to where she’d once sat, but all I saw was the faint mirage of a red dress walking away. My mind raced and came to a conclusion in expedited fashion. I needed to make my move, sweep my inhibitions under the rug.

Turning back to Kevin, I grinned. “You believe in destiny?”

“What?”

“Do you believe in destiny?”

The look on his face told me exactly what he thought about the ridiculousness of the question, and he murmured a very direct response. “No. Destiny and love at first sight? It’s all a pipe dream, my friend. That rocket in the pretty little red dress?” He paused and leaned in closer. “She’s just a girl, not a fate and definitely not a destiny. Just a girl. You’re smarter than that.”

I shook my head, grinned again, and held up my wine in toast as I began to walk backwards away from my friends. Kevin matched my toast and laughed, no doubt knowing he’d laid some kind of stupid challenge at my feet just so I’d make the move.

“Good luck, Ivan. Prove me wrong.” Kevin called as I disappeared into the crowd.

As I pushed back into the party, music and body heat surrounded me. A song that spoke of the luck a certain lady and the fact that she shouldn’t be blowing on someone else’s dice floated above the noise as I took a final swig of wine to prepare myself.

Maneuvering through the throngs of party goers, I made my way to the center of the dance floor where my girl’s friend danced with her surfer suitor.

“Excuse me, may I cut in?”

“What?” surfer boy asked in a rather unpleasant tone.

“I was wondering if I could cut in and have a quick chat with this lovely young lady about her
friend.
”

“Ahhh,” surfer boy replied, suddenly understanding the ask. “I’ll go freshen up our drinks. I’ll be
right
back.”

Turning my attention to a cute little brunette in a blue dress, who looked confused as hell about what had just transpired, I offered her my hand and my shoulder. She accepted them and we began to sway awkwardly back and forth.

“Hello. So sorry for such an abrupt intrusion. My name is Ivan.”

“Umm…Tasha.”

“Again, pardon the interruption but I—I couldn’t help but notice you having dinner with a girl a red dress. I was just kind of curious…” Maybe I wasn’t drunk enough yet, as the question I was burning to ask suddenly escaped me.

“If she’s single?” She giggled as she finished my sentence. Thank God she bailed me out.

“Yes, if she’s single. Just curious.”

Her giggle turned to laughing as her body eased relaxed into the situation. “She might be single—depends on who’s asking.”

“Ah, just some crumb bum from Miami Beach.”

She furrowed her brow. “Interesting. Just so happens she’s from Miami Beach too, and she is single. What a coincidence.”

My heart skipped a beat and I did my best to contain my excitement. I offered a sly smile as we continued to sway with the beat. “Really? That is quite the coincidence. And what might she do in Miami Beach, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well, normally I would mind, but—and she would kill me if she knew I was talking to you about her—she might have had a few curiosities about who you were when she first saw you.”

Fuck me. She’s killing me.

“She’s a chef,” Tasha continued. “And a damn good one, I might add.”

Come on!
Serendipity certainly is having a grand old time at my expense. “A chef, huh? Where?”