Rituals for Love (9781476761893) (20 page)

“You won't be showing or proving anything to me.”

“I wasn't talking about you, Jade.”

“I knew that.” I laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed that I thought he meant me. I don't know why I thought he did. I knew that he was just being flirty. “You should still say no to the bull testicles. Those things were disgusting.”

“It's a delicacy. I don't
need
them. If they add to my already amazing ability to go long and strong, that's all that matters.”

“Overshare much?”

“I just want it to be clear that I don't have any problems in that area.”

“I can spread the word if you want.” I pointed to a group of ladies
chatting on a bench a little further down the path. “Do you want me to let them know? One of them may be single.”

“Not my type.”

“How can you tell from here?”

“Look at how they're dressed,” he said, peering in their direction. “One is too buttoned up—”

“What does that even mean?”

“Do you see the length of her skirt? It's three inches above her ankles. And her shirt… What is that ruffling around her neck? It's awful.”

“She has a cute face.”

“I agree with you. However, what a woman wears says a lot about her personality.”

“So what is her outfit saying?”

“It says she couldn't handle this.”

I erupted in laughter. “You have no idea what that woman can handle. She may look prim and proper, but give you a run for your money.”

“I know what I like and that's not it. Now take you for example.”

“Don't even pull me into this.”

“No, listen. Take what you're wearing. You have on a fitted skirt. It's short, but not too short. It stops right above the knee. The skirt shows just enough leg to be sexy, yet professional. Now that's not really a tank top and it's not short sleeves. What do you call that style?”

“It's a cap sleeve.”

“Okay. Cap sleeves with a neckline that plunges just enough to show your assets without being too revealing. The necklace and bracelets, those add a sexy touch.”

“So what does my outfit say about me?”

“It says that you can handle everything I have to offer.” He leaned back and rested his arm on the back of the bench.

“You don't know what I can handle or what I want.”

“I know what most women
say
they want.”

I shook my head. I shouldn't have said another word. “Enlighten me.”

“You'll take at least six inches, although you really want closer to eight. You want a man that loves to eat the puss.”

“The puss? That's what you call it?”

“I call it a lot of things. Puss. Candy. Vise grip. Best friend. Radiance. V. Trap door. Hot springs—”

“I get the picture.” I tried not to laugh.

“Where was I? Oh yeah, you want a man that doesn't shy away from oral sex; is that better?”

“Much.”

“You want a man with stamina. He has to know how to respond to what your body needs. When to go deep, when to gently tap it, when to play in it, and when to get down to business.”

“Who told you these are the things most women want?”

“It's what
you
want.”

“It's what I have.”

“Somebody to bring out the wild side of you,” he continued, failing to acknowledge my comment. “A man that be can strong and vulnerable with you.”

“I have that, too.”

“You want someone that you can pull out all of your tricks on.”

“So I'm a magician?”

“No. Not a magician. But I bet you canwork magic in the bedroom.”

I pivoted so I was facing Omar. He watched me without flinching.
My expression said he was playing extremely close to the line. One more comment and he would be crossing it. “I really think that you are getting a little too familiar,” I said.

“You don't talk about sex with your friends?”

“No, I don't.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I talk about sex with my girls.”

“You've never had a male friend that you discussed sex with?”

“I don't know, Omar.”

This time he was the one challenging me with a stare. “There's a first time for everything.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We're two friends just talking in the park. It's nothing to make a big deal about. In fact, why don't you ask me a question?”

“Because there's nothing I want to know.”

He smirked. “Nothing at all you want to ask me about?”

“Nope.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“I thought all women liked to get perspective from their male friends. I guess I was wrong.”

“All right, fine. I have one question.”

“Let's hear it.”

“You said you've been chilling since your breakup. What's the longest you've gone without sex?”

“Nine months.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes men take breaks, too.”

“Why did you go so long?”

“I was dating a woman that was saving herself for marriage.”

“And you didn't have a side piece?”

“What would make you think that?”

“Not a lot of men would deny themselves because a woman is holding out.”

“I cared about her. And that doesn't mean we didn't do other things.”

“I hope you don't mean oral sex because that's considered sex.”

“I didn't say oral sex, but either way I don't I agree.”

“You don't think oral sex is sex?”

“No, not really. If there's no penetration of the hot springs, I didn't have sex. I'm not saying everybody sees it that way, but that's how I see it.”

“It's called oral
sex
.”

“Do you consider masturbation sex?” he asked.

“I consider it a sexual act.”

“That's how I see fellatio—as a sexual act.”

It was interesting how men and women perceived the same thing in such different ways. In my book, if a man penetrated a woman's mouth, vagina, or chocolate starfish as Bria called it, that was considered having sex. After the White House scandal, men everywhere wanted to claim oral sex wasn't sex.

“Then let me amend my question,” I said. “What's the longest you've gone without sex, including fellatio?”

“Nine months.”

“Wow. You mean she wasn't giving up the candy or giving out any treats?”

“Now you're calling it candy?” He chuckled. “It was like high school all over again. Dry humping and hand jobs.”

I couldn't hide my amusement. “That's it?”

“And she'd text pictures of herself naked.”

“Now that's crazy.”

“I wasn't mad at the pictures,” he said, with a lilt to his voice. “You've never texted anyone a naked pic?”

“Never have, never will.”

“I was taking all I could get.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three years, and trust me when I say I won't be doing that again.”

“Is that why you broke up? The sex?”

“It was part of the reason.”

“How long did you wait to sleep with someone after you ended it?”

“Two days.”

“That's it?”

“You're damn right. Nine months without sex…I was ready to give somebody this eight-by-two.”

“You like oversharing, huh?”

“I was trying to make you blush.”

I turned my head. “I'm not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

I couldn't believe I was sitting with Omar talking about his penis size. Technically, he was talking about it. I was just listening. It was a funny thing about men. If they were proud of their penis size, they had no problem letting you know what they were working with. I wondered how many inches it had to be before a man started bragging on himself. What if it wasn't big at all, but he knew how to work it, would he still let you know what was in his pants? “I have no reason to blush over anything you said.”

“We'll see about that.”

•  •  •

O
MAR AND
I
STAYED IN
the park chatting for more than two hours. He had to get back to his office for a meeting, and I went back to Genesis to continue reviewing resumes. By the time I got home from the city that evening, I was famished. I didn't know
what made Omar think I would eat Rocky Mountain oysters. Being a chef was not an indication that I would eat any and everything.

I went into the kitchen to fix the quickest meal I could throw together, a turkey sandwich with mesclun and a drizzle of vinaigrette. I was already thinking past the sandwich to the pint of vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer. I took my food into the den and turned on the television. I ate my dinner gazing at the TV screen, but thinking about my conversation with Cain the night before. He hadn't called all day. I didn't appreciate his insinuation that I had anything to do with preventing him from doing what he enjoys in life. He made the original decision not to host his event, not me. Now the timing was off. He had to understand that hosting a huge barbecue bash was not a priority considering the many things we were juggling for Genesis.
I
was juggling for Genesis.

My phone vibrated. I snatched it up thinking it may have been Cain. I looked at the screen and slowly my mouth formed a giant “O.” The eight-by-two was staring me in the face. Omar had texted a picture of his erect penis. I stared at the photo in disbelief. I studied the photo. It definitely looked like eight inches if not a little more. The phone vibrated again. It was another text from Omar.

Hello?

I didn't respond. I held the phone in my hand and just stared.

Are you blushing?

I typed a response.
Wasn't expecting that.

Admit you're blushing.

Okay, I am.

Was that so hard?

Pun intended?

LOL! No pun intended. It's your turn.

Never have, never will. Have a good night, Omar.

I powered off my phone and resumed eating my sandwich. He had officially crossed the line. I needed to do what was necessary to push him back over it.

I
waited all day yesterday and today and Jade hadn't bothered to call. It was getting late and she didn't check in once. Not even a text to see how I was doing. No update on Genesis, nothing. It wasn't like us to not communicate. I picked up the phone on my desk and dialed her. After several rings, the voicemail answered.

“I guess you're still upset since I haven't spoken to you for the past two days. I'm not sure where you are or what you're doing, but call me.” I hung up the phone and waited some more. I could admit that I probably should have called earlier. I waited another fifteen minutes and when I didn't hear back from Jade, I headed into the kitchen to observe the crew. There was an hour of service left; the perfect time to see what was going on.

Riley was at the prep table with a couple of sous chefs flanking her. They were chopping a medley of vegetables while music from the dining room lightly flowed into the space. “What are you making?” I asked.

“I'm flirting with a few new dishes. If you're going to be around a while longer, I would like for you to try them.”

“I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here until closing.” I stepped closer to the table. Herbs and spices in tiny metal bowls were neatly arranged in front of her. “What do you have here?”

“A couple of the flavors I'm incorporating into the dishes. I have a branzino under the broiler and duck breast roasting on the rotisserie.”
She spread a thick paste on a few cuts of beef. “These are going on the grill. Indirect heat first, then a quick sear over the flame.”

“Sounds good.” I walked through the kitchen and everything appeared to be operating smoothly. I made a mental note to chat with a few of the staff to get their first impressions. I wanted to be sure when I left on Sunday that the team would be in good hands.

I went out into the dining room. There was a decent amount of people still in the restaurant. I did a walk-through, greeting diners and personalizing their experiences. I sent dessert to some tables, wine to others, and comped a couple of appetizers. I was a firm believer in putting that extra touch on the dining experience. I wanted these people to come back again and again.

I stopped at the hostess station and reviewed the reservations for the next week. They could be better. The bottom line was I had work to do for the restaurant. It would take some time, but I'd get it to where it needed to be.

I worked the dining room until we closed and the last customer left. The busboys immediately went about the business of cleaning tables and sweeping up. I stood in the middle of the dining room and took it all in. The décor was similar to Eden with large murals on the walls. The murals weren't exactly the same but close. The main difference was the use of darker tones in the enchanted gardens and rather than a cream backdrop, it was antique yellow. Staring at the murals made me think of my mother, Eve, as it often did. She was my inspiration for naming my restaurants Eden. She was taken away too soon. It helped me to deal with losing my mother by thinking of her spending her days in a beautiful garden, enjoying the things that made her happy. Eve belonged in the Garden of Eden. This was the Eden I created for my mother.

The busboys bustled around me—dishes, glasses, and utensils
clanking in their bins. I went over to the bar and poured myself a scotch. I stood behind the bar with my drink in hand and watched Eden2 in motion. These were the people responsible for the success of my business. I had a capable group of managers, wait staff, cooks, and now an executive chef that would keep the place running while I was in New York. I kept a finger on the pulse of all my businesses, but having the right team in place to take care of the important things in your absence was even more important. It wasn't a necessity for me to be at either Eden on daily basis; I had other businesses to run and an excessive amount more money to make. I learned early that if I wanted multiple successful ventures, I couldn't afford to be too detached from the internal workings of my companies. Finding the right balance of involvement was key. I was satisfied that the staff at Eden2 was getting to know my business well enough to steer it to success.