Page 30 of Sizzle
Considering my behavior the other night, I’m pretty sure that’s accurate.
I haven’t seen Joelle since the night of the storm. Alex either, for that matter. The power came back on during the night so we opened Duckbill right on time the next day, but she’s had two days off and Alex’s been out of town for work. Which is just fucking priceless because he only has to travel, like, twice a year. Why did it have to happen this weekend?
I guess I could have called him but what am I supposed to say? Hey, so about that night you made Joelle come through her clothes and I got to watch…
Even thinking the words has me going rock hard. I mean, I’ve had my share of hot sex—which is to say, not enough. I’ve had threesomes before. Well, one threesome back in college, with two girls.
None of it ever made my heart stop like watching Joelle work herself over on Alex.
What I can’t figure out is how the hell is it that I’m not pissed at him right now. It makes no sense. I should be furious, or at least… I don’t know, resigned to the idea of them being together. I all but set them up, for God’s sake.
Resignation is not what I feel. Pissed off is not what I feel.
What I feel makes no sense at all, so I’m busting my ass at work. Joelle will be here any minute for one last QC. If all goes well, we’ll start pushing this platter today.
Jimmy and I took another look at the books last night. Even with the extra sales from the holiday crowds, there’s no way I’m going to make that lease payment in a few weeks. Joelle’s new menu is my last shot.
A tap at the door finally stops me from staring daggers at the stupid platter.
“Hey,” I say, holding the door to let Joelle in. Rain mists the floor around my feet.
“Hey,” she says. She doesn’t look at me. God, it’s all over her face.
“How’s it going?” It’s the best I can do, because the chill in the air brought out roses in her cheeks and I’m breathless at how beautiful she looks this morning.
“Not bad,” she says, hanging up her raincoat. “Cold today.”
Still not looking at me.
I say something unintelligible about the weather and wave her over to the prep table where I’ve set things up. We’re just doing a short taste test this morning so the rest of the staff will be here soon.
I don’t get her alone very often, not when there’s nobody else around. It’s like stepping outside in a downpour and finding a single warm patch of sunshine.
“Oh, it looks wonderful!”
I try to cover my double-take, checking her face for any sign of sarcasm.
Huh. Guess the shit-tastic filter in my head really was just me.
“Did I get it right?”
“It’s exactly as I imagined it,” she says turning the platter one way, then the other. “Well done on the plating.”
“Thanks.”
I pass her a small appetizer plate and the tongs she’d listed in the instructions. I watch her meticulously compiling her sample: first the crusted baguette, a drizzle of rich olive oil, a razor thin slice of dry chorizo, a hunk of Spanish cheese, and one perfect half of a yellow grape tomato. She sprinkles a pinch of herbs from the tiny dish in the center of the platter and lifts the creation to her mouth.
Watching her mouth while she moans like that transports me instantly back to the night of the storm and suddenly I’m shifting in my seat like I’m fifteen again.
Christ.
“My God, Elliot,” she says, her voice thick with pleasure. “I think we’ve got a hit.”
It’s a charcuterie board, for fuck’s sake. Not an orgy.
My breathing goes fast and shallow and she’s going to notice if I don’t knock it off, so I grab my own plate and start building a sample. I’m less careful, splashing a couple of drops of oil on my wrist as I pile the food together.
“Here,” she says, reaching across the table with her linen napkin. Her fingertips brush the back of my hand as she catches the oil.