by Hughes, Maya
“A man-whore reflex.”
Rounding the back of my car, I opened the door for her. “I’m no man-whore.”
She slipped inside and I closed it. She turned in her seat the second I opened my door. “Tell that to half the girls on campus.”
“They like to flirt—that’s what they do. It’s harmless.”
She rolled her eyes. “Harmless to you as a guy, but it’s an indictment against every other woman out there who doesn’t want to behave like that.” She winced like even she’d heard how that sounded.
“They have fun their way. Take the Glitter Posse—so what if they like glitter and pink? Who are you to tell them how they should or shouldn’t behave? Is there only one way a woman is meant to behave? That sounds pretty judgmental and condescending to me.” I rested my arm on top of the steering wheel and stared at her over my shoulder.
She opened her mouth and snapped it shut. “Do you have to be so infuriatingly right all the time?” Her lips thinned and she sat back in her seat, staring out the front window.
I chuckled and started the car. “Where to, milady?”
She rattled off an address. After I plugged it into my phone, we were on our way.
“I’m not always a judgmental asshole, you know.”
I lifted an eyebrow and bit my tongue so ‘Could have fooled me’ didn’t come tumbling out. My balls enjoyed the close relationship they had with my body.
“But you’re right—I misjudged them. I misjudged you.” She ran her thumb over the back of her hand. “I can’t help it sometimes. But you and them…you guys have always been more than upfront about who you are. You’re honest and call me out when I’m being a jerk, so thank you.”
A small thud occurred in my chest at the ‘You’re honest’ comment. The photographer had come after Elle had pulled away that last day. We’d gotten some shots of me and Rick together at the build, a good fluff piece. Now I needed to figure out how to break that to Elle. Or maybe she’d never see it. Honest… Tightening my fingers around the steering wheel, I kept my eyes trained on the road. “You’re welcome,” I mumbled.
“Ruining people’s fun isn’t what I do. I’m fun. I laugh. I don’t enjoy sucking the fun out of rooms.”
More tongue-biting. “Then why have you called the campus cops on our house dozens of times? Why not come over and tell us to turn it down?”
“Because I don’t feel like wading through a sea of drunk people to find one of you to ask and have you say, ‘Sure, no problem,’ then the party keeps going for another three hours. If I called the cops, people scattered, and that was it. I’m exhausted, Nix. Some people don’t get to stay up as late as they want and sleep in the next day. Some of us have jobs and responsibilities that make it necessary to get to bed before the crack of dawn.”
The weariness of her as she’d walked back into her place over the past few nights flashed into my mind.
“What good does doing all that do if you burn yourself out? Give yourself time to enjoy your life.”
Her back snapped straight against the seat. “I’m not going to burn out. The projects I work on are important to me. The soup kitchen, building houses, tutoring—those are people who need help, and some of us have to work to help pay for stuff.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Not to say you haven’t worked hard or anything, and I don’t really know your situation. The work you put in on the field and in the gym isn’t nothing. It’s been a long day and I’m snappy, so can we forget I said any of that?”
I made a tape rewind sound, and she laughed. It was a warm, husky sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “I can do that. Can you? How about we rewind things back to the beginning?”
Her eyes widened. “The beginning.” She licked her lips.
“That first time we met.” I smiled and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel.
Her mouth opened and closed.
“Are you actually speechless? Be still my heart.”
She whacked my shoulder with her knuckles. “My hands still work.”
I laughed. “I can see that. So, why were you so pissed that day? If anyone should’ve been pissed, it was me for giving you that free show.”
Her smile dropped like she’d just found out someone had already completed her crossword puzzle. She let out another weary sigh—I don’t think she had any other kind—and ran her hand over her face. “I’d driven my hunk of junk a thousand miles from my summer community building project and had to be up for tutoring in the morning. This was after my housing plans for the last year fell through at the last minute and I scrambled to find something. I was irritable, run down, and really needed a night’s rest.”
“Most people are out partying, but you’re out there killing yourself at all this volunteer work. When do you even study?”
She sucked in a sharp breath through her front teeth and squeezed the back of her neck. “I’ve gotten a few extensions here and there.”
Does she ever sleep? It was nonstop with her, always trying to do better for other people, and I respected the hell out of her for it. If only she’d give herself a break every so often.
We pulled up in front of a run-down gray building. There were no signs on the front.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I leaned over on the steering wheel and peered out the front window.
“Yup! Thanks for the ride.” She flung the door open before the car came to a complete stop.
“Let me walk you in.” I got out of the car. The shiny navy paint job reflected the mishmash of artisanal coffee shops and boarded-up buildings.
“I’ll be fine.” She walked backward with her bag over her shoulder, waving me off.
“Would you stop being so difficult and just let me do something nice for you without fighting for once?” Rounding the back of the car, I caught up to her.
We walked in the front of the building. People milled around on the street, families, couples, men and women on their own. I glanced up at the small sign over the door: Grace’s Soup Kitchen.
“You volunteer here?”
She peered over her shoulder. “No, I have an act as a lounge singer. Yes, I volunteer here.”
“Okay, Mother Teresa.”
She snorted.
“Elle, thank God you’re here. We’re shorthanded.” A woman with gray frizzy hair up in a bun grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the kitchen.
“Thanks for the ride and walking me in,” Elle called out over her shoulder.
“I can help.”
The woman stopped so quickly, Elle banged straight into her, nearly knocking them both over.
They stared at me like I’d sprouted wings. “I can help. I know my way around a kitchen.”
Grace shooed us both inside. We walked back into the commercial kitchen, and Grace handed us some aprons. The room was filled with the smells and sounds of a kitchen, and even though it wasn’t Tavola, I was at ease there.
“If you two can peel and chop those vegetables, we can get them into the oven.”
“On it.” We rinsed the carrots and potatoes and set them out on the counter. There had to have been at least a hundred pounds there. I grabbed the knife and Elle picked up the peeler. Spinning the knife in my hand, I tested it out and checked the blade.
Letting the years of practice take over, I sliced whatever she handed me faster than she could peel. Switching back and forth between peeling and cutting, we slowed down only to dump what we’d finished into giant catering-sized trays, cover it all in olive oil, salt, and pepper, and shove it straight into the oven.
Service began and huge trays of food moved in and out of the kitchen, making the meals at Tavola look dainty in comparison. It was an industrial operation that moved even faster than my grandfather’s restaurant. Things eventually slowed from the firehose-to-the-face speed to more of a trickle.
Dead on our feet, we sat on overturned empty industrial-sized tubs of ketchup, gulping down water like we had on the building site for a break. One thing
about kitchens: they’re never cold.
“Thanks for your help tonight.” She nodded, and the corner of her mouth lifted.
I pointed at her. “Is that a smile? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. You’ve got a hard-ass rep to uphold.”
She laughed, a full-out, wide-smile laugh. “And don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know about your do-gooder streak. They might get the wrong idea about you.”
“And what might that be?”
“That you’re a really nice guy who gets shoved into a party boy jock box by people who are incredibly close-minded and don’t like to change their preconceived notions—like me.” She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair.
Her laugh reached down deep into me and sent my pulse skyrocketing.
She tilted her head to the side and smiled at me.
Cue a stampede in my chest that had never existed before. “I’m glad you’re finally coming around.”
13
Elle
The clank and clatter of the kitchen was only rivaled by the chatter from everyone calling out what they needed up front. A second wind I hadn’t anticipated made the night’s service zip by. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, it may have had something to do with a certain football player who defied all my expectations.
Why’d he have to look so damn good slicing those veggies? The short sleeves of his t-shirt tightened around his biceps as he lifted the tub of dirty trays and dropped them off at the sink. One of the other volunteers nearly buckled trying to carry another one. A few people in the kitchen recognized Nix. He was all smiles and pitched in anywhere he saw someone struggling.
“Elle. Earth to Elle.” Grace snapped in front of my face.
I jerked my head back and stared at her, wide-eyed. “Sorry.” I licked my lips. “What did you say?”
“I said, if you bring any more hunky volunteers with you, we’ll have even more people lining up next week.”
“Stop objectifying the staff.”
“At my age, I get a free pass.” She laughed and patted my arm.
Other than a five-minute break when he checked his phone, he’d been grinding with the rest us through the meal nonstop.
“Did you need some help?” He hefted a large stainless steel bowl of peeled potatoes in his arms. Who knew a chef’s coat could look so damn sexy stretched across the muscular body of a guy like Nix. “Elle?” He waved his hand in front of me.
“What? Yeah, that would be awesome.”
He dumped all the potatoes in there and got to work mashing and not turning them into a fine purée. We grabbed our own plates, which Grace had set aside, and collapsed by the walk-in freezer.
“You know your way around the kitchen.” I tugged on the sleeve of his coat.
“I’ve been working in kitchens since I was seven.”
He laughed as my jaw dropped. “You?”
“Yes, me. There’s more to me than this handsome face and phenomenal body.” He flexed his biceps.
“There’s also an incredibly large head.” I shoveled mashed potatoes into my mouth.
“Good thing I have these broad shoulders to hold it up.” More flexing.
“You’re such a dork.” I nudged him with my shoulder.
“I’m glad you finally noticed.” He ate a few more forkfuls of food. “My grandfather owns a restaurant. My dad was always on the road, so I hung out there a lot, and once I started hovering my way through the dessert display cases, they put me to work.”
“What about your mom?”
“She died before I turned one.”
My plate nearly fell out of my hands. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember her. It’s always been this way.”
I was always screwing up when it came to him, and he’d been nothing short of awesome. He hadn’t had to help. He hadn’t had to bring me there or stay the whole shift when I was sure he had much better things to do. My whole ‘golden boy, perfect life’ theory was blown out of the water and I hated being wrong, but with Nix, I didn’t hate it nearly as much as usual.
“You’ve been doing all this for a while, then.” I motioned to the kitchen, which was still bustling with activity as the cookers swapped out for the cleaners.
“Yeah, not as much more recently with football and stuff, but I’m getting back into it.”
“You say football and stuff like it’s not a big deal.”
“In everyone else’s mind it is.”
“But it’s not in yours? You’re so above all the draft chatter.” I chuckled and forked some chicken into my mouth.
A shadow passed over his eyes. “It is what it is.” He stabbed at the string beans on his plate.
I stopped chewing, trying to figure out what the hell he was wrestling with inside his head. “While I’m sure I’m the last person you’d want to talk to under non-forced-proximity conditions, if you need to get something off your chest, I’m here.”
“It’s not forced proximity if I’m choosing to be here.” And then he laid down the smolder. Holy shit. I’d thought it was only in movies, but there it was, in the flesh. I dropped my gaze to my plate and tried to keep the creeping heat racing up my neck from turning my cheeks into a cherry popsicle impersonation.
Our hips were glued together, not even brushing against one another, just settled against each other in a comfortable lean.
At least it had been comfortable until my body became hyperaware of just how hot he was. It wasn’t like I didn’t have eyes, but when you’re working hard to hate someone and then finally decide you’ll tolerate them, giving in to the hotness doesn’t exactly help keep those walls up.
His dark brown hair skimmed across his forehead, not looking like it had been shoved into a hairnet for the past two hours. Damn him and his well-trained hair. He had a jaw you could slice celery against, and I swore his chest and arms should’ve been placed in a museum.
My gaze drifted back up to meet his, and the smile on his face clued me in to the fact that I’d been looking at him for a long time, an embarrassingly long amount of time that would get a guy arrested in some states.
I hopped up from my spot and dumped my plate in the trash. Real smooth, Elle.
Grace came back into the kitchen.
“If you need me to do—”
“Leave. That’s what I need you to do. Go home, get some rest. You’re banished for the next week. I don’t want to see you here.”
“But—”
“No buts. This isn’t your full-time job. You’ve got schoolwork to do, an actual job, parties to get to.” She leaned in close. “Guys to make out with.”
I shot a look at Nix standing behind us, peeling off his chef’s coat. I shouldn’t have looked. I so shouldn’t have looked. He was freaking edible.
“Nix, you two get out of here while there’s still some time to enjoy your night. I usually have to push her out kicking and screaming, so it’s your turn tonight.”
He laughed. “I can handle that.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“There’s an ice cream in it for you at T-Sweets.”
“Sold!” I sprinted to the car like the hounds of hell were on my heels. The lights on Nix’s car flashed and it chirped. I threw myself inside, my stomach already rumbling even though I’d had a full meal.
“Had I known that was all it took to get a smile out of you, I’d have brought you T-Sweets every day over spring break.” He got in the car and turned it on.
“You think I can be bought by creamy, flavor-explosion, toppings-covered ice cream?” I folded my arms over my chest and pursed my lips.
“Pretty much.” He grinned and pulled away from the curb.
“Lucky guess.” I laughed, failing to keep the corners of my mouth downturned.
The fluorescent lights from the ice cream parlor cast a bright white glow like a beacon to anyone craving a late-night treat. There was usually a line wrapped around the side of the building and
people stood, sat, or leaned anywhere they could once they picked up their goodies, but we were still on the tail end of spring break and most people weren’t back yet. Cars pulled in and out of spots, and we nabbed one just as someone reversed in front of us.
We walked up to the window and placed our orders. Well, I told the girl behind the counter what I wanted, and Nix ordered enough food to feed an elementary school.
We sat on the curb outside, all the benches and tables being taken.
My mouth watered as I scooped up the first spoonful of my coffee ice cream sundae with chocolate fudge, sprinkles, and peanuts, topped with whipped cream and a cherry.
Nix got a banana split with cookie dough ice cream, whipped cream, and cherries, a soft pretzel, jalapeno poppers, and a milkshake.
“You’re going to explode. You know that, right?”
“Haven’t exploded yet. The season is over and my baked, boiled, and grilled chicken diet is done. I need to eat as much of this terrible food before my metabolism slows down, then I’m screwed.”
“With the way you’ll be training once the season starts, I highly doubt your metabolism will be slowing down any time soon. They’ll have you sweating blood by the time training camp is finished.”
He sucked down the last of his milkshake, moving his straw around the bottom of the large cup.
My mouth hung open. How in the hell…?
He turned to me like he hadn’t just chugged a gallon of ice cream through a straw. “You seem to know a lot about the football player lifestyle.”
I shoveled more ice cream into my mouth and gave a noncommittal shrug. The perfect blend of thick chocolate, creamy coffee, and peanut crunch was more than enough to keep my mouth occupied. I didn’t want to ruin tonight by talking about my ex.
He kept staring at me, waiting for a response.
I scooped another bite of ice cream into my mouth, not even trying to get the perfect balance of all the flavors, and was suddenly fascinated by the painted stripe work on the curb, picking at it with my fingers.
“Nix Russo?” A guy balancing his cup of ice cream and dragging his girlfriend behind him rushed over to Nix. “Holy crap, it’s really you. Wow, can I get a picture?”