Steel & Ice (9 page)

CHRIS: 808 tonight?

ME: lemme c how I feel later

CHRIS: bet

I left the restaurant at eight that evening.
Yeah, I totally didn’t get out of there at four, but I negotiated
my Sunday shift away. It was more than a worthwhile trade. Sunday
brunch sucked, since you only cooked the menu items once a week. I
worked Sunday brunch for years, and always made the breakfast
items. Now I had the whole day off. First Sunday I would be free in
I don’t know how long.

I texted Chris earlier and told her I was
staying late in the kitchen, and doubted I’d be up for clubbin’
that night. She was fine with that, telling me she was going on a
date. Chris usually had at least three phone numbers at any given
time she could call for a man to take her out. Some people might
consider her a hoe. I liked to think Sex in the City had lessened
that stereotype. Women wanted to have fun and get laid just as much
as men. We all went about it differently. Chris could keep the
emotions out of it. Me, not so much.

After a long, and much needed shower, I
threw myself on the couch and fired up the Kindle. I was knee deep
in rock ‘n roll, and Kellan’s amazing hair when I heard my phone
beep. I groaned as it was in the other room. I didn’t want to get
up, but it could be Chris needing me to get her out of a bad date.
I grabbed it off the charger in my bedroom and looked at the caller
ID. It was from J. How did he get my number?

J: u didn’t call

ME: i picked up a shift

J: what r u doing now?

ME: chillin reading

J: going out?

ME: too tired

J: meet me tomorrow?

Was that a question or an order?

ME: how did u get my #?

J: the same way I gave u mine

ME: ????

J: when u were telling ur friend his balls
were ‘just fine’

Ah, now I recall. I left my phone on the
table while I consoled Jesse after his brutal loss at pool. Well,
that was a little ballsy of J to program his number into my phone,
and undoubtedly call himself with it to get my number. Did I like
it? Or was it intrusive? It was intrusive, but shit, I kinda liked
that he took control. Especially that he did this while I was in my
work clothes, and not feeling all that sexy.

J: so? tomorrow?

ME: coffee at noon?

J: isn’t that a lil late for coffee

ME: noon is my morning

J: gotcha. location?

ME: starbucks on
27
^th
and
washington cool?

J: anyplace would b cool

ME: well it is winter u kno :)

J: anyplace would be cool if UR there ;)

ME: smooth talker eh?

J: nah just tellin the truth

ME: i like the truth.

J: c u tomorrow golden eyes ;)

ME: bet giant hottie ;)

I tried to go back to Kellan, but I was too
keyed up after texting with J. I needed an orgasm or five to put me
to sleep. Guess it was me and the vibrator again. At least I had
some new material to fantasize about while I got myself off. I
turned my phone off. I was sleeping in on a Sunday for the first
time in years and there was no way I was going to let work or
anyone else call me. It was late enough that Chris would have
texted for an ‘out’ on her date if it was going poorly. I assumed
it was going well since I hadn’t heard from her.

Chapter
6

I was standing in front of my closet for
twenty minutes, just staring at my clothes. This was Sunday
morning(ish) coffee, not Saturday night clubbin’. As I’d never been
to Sunday coffee on a date, (was this a date?) I had no idea what
to wear. He’d seen me at my best (in heels, hair done, and full
face of makeup) and at my worst (in work clothes smelling like
grease) so I didn’t feel the need to go overboard. I decided to
wear what I would wear if I were using this day off to go to the
mall, or out to eat with Chris. I wanted him to see what I looked
like on a regular basis when I wasn’t working, or dressed to go
out. This meant jeans, red Jordans, and a red hoodie. I did my
hair, but skipped makeup. I never wore makeup unless I was going
out. Granted, I wore makeup whenever there were potentially hot men
involved, and there was no potential about this situation. There
was most definitely a hot man involved, but it sorta put me at ease
knowing he had seen me in at my worst and still liked me. It took
the pressure off to fuss in the mirror for two hours. Plus, I
really didn’t like the feel of makeup on my face. I tolerated it
when I went out, in hopes of scoring a guy. Today, I was going
au-naturel.

I arrived at Starbucks and sat in my car for
a minute. It was odd for me to be so calm. I expected to be
freaking out on the inside, and trying my best to keep it cool on
the outside. I heard Aaron’s voice in my head telling me to stop
overanalyzing, and only pondered this for a moment before I got out
of the car and headed inside. I strolled into the coffee shop, and
looked around. It wasn’t very big, and J stood out. He was sitting
in a booth reading the newspaper, taking up one whole side with his
giant frame. He had on jeans, Jordans not too different from my own
but in grey, and a grey hoodie without the vest. No hat this time,
so his hair was a perfect mess on his head. He was definitely
giving Kellan Kyle a run for his money in the hair department. But
J’s hair was black, and the light above the booth shown down on it,
making it almost appear a deep blue. I can’t imagine he spent hours
in the mirror doing it. He seemed like the wash and go kind of guy.
Hmmmm. I’d like to find out how he did his hair in the morning.
Hopefully in only a towel, while I watch from his bed, naked. I’d
have to see about arranging that.

“
Hey,” I said, as I plopped
down across from him, shaking myself out of my fantasy. “No
coffee?”

He put the newspaper down. “I was waiting
for you,” he responded with a panty melting grin. “What do you
want? I’ll order and you hold the booth.”

“
Yes sir,” I said, and
saluted. “Americano with cream sir,” I said in my best military
voice, and saluted again.

“
At ease soldier,” he
replied with a wink. I went to get money out of my purse. “If you
hand me money I will be highly displeased soldier. You don’t want
to insult your
commanding
officer do you?” J asked. If my panties hadn’t
already melted, they sure as hell had now. I was certain my
commanding
officer had me
commando down there by that point.

I put my money away, and told him thanks. It
was always awkward for me to let men pay. I know a lot of them felt
it was what they were supposed to do, but it made me feel like I
owed them something. I didn’t like owing anyone anything. You never
knew when they were going to come collecting, and what they would
want in return. I’d learned this the hard way on the streets. A
joint could end up costing you a belated blow job if you weren’t
careful. And a thirty year old drug dealer had no issues convincing
a fourteen year old girl that this was an acceptable trade.

He returned with my drink, and sat down
opposite of me. “I bought you a drink, so you’re obligated to talk
to me, right?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye, referring to
our conversation at Eight Oh Eight.

“
I suppose I am,” I
concurred with a polite nod. There was a moment of silence. And
then another moment. My calm was slowly evaporating.

He saved me by asking, “How long have you
been cooking?”

“
Six years.”

“
I worked in a kitchen
before. Not many girls in the one I worked at. None
actually.”

“
That’s how it usually is,”
I replied with a shrug.

“
It seems like the guys you
came to Checks with are cool. Does anyone mess with you in the
kitchen?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He rubbed his left shoulder. “It’s just that
it must be hard working around a bunch of guys all night. They
don’t fuck with you or try anything on you do they?” he asked a
little aggressively.

“
Oh.” I was catching on now.
“No. They’re all cool with me. They have no choice. I run the show,
plus they all know I could cook them under the table any day.” He
chuckled at my boasting. I raised my eyebrows letting him know I
wasn’t joking. I was the best cook and everyone knew it. “Larry and
I have worked together for most of those six years, and he sets new
guys straight if they don’t follow the rules.”

“
The rules?” he asked with a
smirk and an eyebrow arch. Ah fuck, those eyebrows were going to be
the death of me.

“
We work in close proximity,
as you know if you’ve been a line cook. It’s inevitable we are all
gonna bump into each other, especially on a Friday night when there
are six of us. That’s no big deal. Now if a guy’s fingers bump my
boob, then we got a problem. Basically, don’t grab any part of me.
That’s rule number one.”

“
And number two?” Eyebrow
arch.

“
Um, rule number two is that
they can talk about women all they want. I
am
the minority after all. I hear a
lot of stuff from them. I just don’t want them talking about me and
I sure as hell wouldn’t tolerate them talking about getting rough
with a woman. But none of the guys we have now are like
that.”

“
So what happens if they
don’t follow the rules?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “They get dealt
with.”

“
Excuse me?” he
laughed.

“
I’ll regulate when
necessary. And if a guy still ain’t getting’ it, Larry will handle
it. Only once has it gone past Larry.”

“
What’s after Larry?” he
asked, becoming slightly distressed and rubbed his shoulder
again.

“
Well, once a guy tried to
push himself on me in the freezer. I shoved him. He slipped and
fell. I took the opportunity to run out of the freezer. Told Larry.
He told the other cooks. They beat his ass on the back dock and the
guy never came back to work,” I told him
matter-of-factly.

He was quiet. Obviously contemplating
something. In the UK I think they would say ‘I could see the cogs
turning in his head.’ I wasn’t exactly sure what a cog was, but I
had read those lines in some romance novel before. It seemed an
appropriate estimation of the man sitting in front of me. It also
appeared the shoulder rub was his contemplation move.

“
Are you OK?” I asked in a
shaky voice, feeling concerned I might have said something wrong
that would send him running. He reached out and took my hand from
around my coffee cup. I had long fingers. Long legs, long toes,
long neck. Yet my hand for once felt delicate in his giant hand. It
was a foreign feeling. I contemplated this as I stared at our
intertwined fingers. He has nice hands. Hands that had put in work
and weren’t afraid to get dirty. Strong hands. Yet the gentle and
firm manner in which he held my hand in his made me think he also
knew how to handle delicate things with care.

He sighed and I drew my eyes up to his. A
myriad of emotions played across them in the seconds before he
spoke. “I’m glad Larry has your back,” he said with a tight jaw. He
rubbed his thumb over mine. “I would kill the fucker that tried to
hurt you, or lay hands on you,” he said through gritted teeth,
distressed now.

I grabbed both his hands in mine. “Hey, it’s
OK,” I said in a soothing voice. “I’ve managed for twenty-two,
almost twenty-three years. I’m fine. I’ve handled way worse than
anything that’s happened in the kitchen,” I said with a small
laugh.

His eyes turned hard, and looked straight
into mine. “But you shouldn’t have to deal with any of that,
Elle.”

I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I was
holding, and lowered my eyes back to our entwined fingers. I
appreciated that he didn’t want anything bad to happen to me, but
this conversation was heading down a path I wasn’t willing to go.
If this is what Sunday morning-ish coffee was like, then I’d rather
be flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs at work.

As if sensing my unease, he lowered his
voice and confessed, “I saw you as soon as you walked in the door
of Checks.”

I tilted my head and looked up, back into
his dark eyes that had softened a bit. “What night?”

“
The first night you came in
with those two other cooks, in your uniform.”

“
Oh, I’d been there before
when I was seventeen. But I guess it was my first time going there
legal,” I said, casting him a half smile and dimple. “How did you
know it was my “first” time?” I asked making air quotes.

“
I would have noticed you.
Or one of my boys would have.”

“
Why’s that?”

“
You’re hard to miss,” he
said with a wink.

“
Yeah, the hat and salsa
stained T-shirt are usually a hit with the men,” I replied with an
eye roll. I had felt the antithesis of sexy that night.

“
You could’ve had a bag on
your head, Elle. It was how you carried yourself. Like you owned
the bar. And I knew for a fact that you didn’t own the
bar.”

“
Is that so? And how did you
know I didn’t own it?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm, as
if there were a chance in hell I owned it.

“
Let’s just say I know the
owner pretty well. And he would have told me if you came in. It’s
rare for a woman with a full set of teeth to come into Checks,” he
joked and I laughed so hard I snorted.