He's Mine Not Hers

by Gianni Holmes

“Wow, that sounds great! Congrats.”

  I walked by him and squeezed his right shoulder. “It’s not official yet, but last time Michael dropped by, he did mention me filling in once the original chef left.”

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  He clearly was. Beaming with pride like his man had accomplished winning a Nobel Prize. But I wasn’t his man, and I didn’t think they gave out Nobel Prizes for food.

  Sensing trouble from my thoughts, I backed out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you around, Jason. Ensure you eat every single thing on your plate. Have more of that lemongrass tea if you want.”

  “But you just got here!”

  I pretended as if I hadn’t heard him. Life was better for everyone this way. I had promised Becca I would check up on him, and I had done my duty. I’d seen for myself that he was back in the city in one piece. One damn fine piece of a man.

  Chapter Five

  Jason

  Some things never changed, so when Becca burst into my room asking me to do her makeup for her to go to work and I mumbled that I was still sleeping, I should have known better than to believe she had given up and left me alone. One minute I was snuggling with my bear, pretending it was the subject of my fantasy, and the next Becca was sitting on my back.

  I tried ignoring her because that usually made her go away. She was lighter than me at a hundred and twenty-four pounds. Still it was hard to breathe when another human had their entire weight on your back. I felt like a goddamn asthma patient who’d run out of their inhaler and a backup.

  “I’m sleeping,” I wheezed.

  She leaned forward with her mouth right at my ear and started to sing the lyrics to “Milkshake.”

  Now if those words first thing in the morning weren’t enough to make me wide-awake, her off-key singing sure did. It was a combination of two cats fucking—and yeah, I wished I didn’t know what that sounded like—and somebody scratching on a chalkboard with their nails.

  Somebody, please, make it stop!

  “I’ll give you ten dollars to please shut up,” I said.

  “I’ll take the ten plus you do my makeup,” she replied before launching into the chorus.

  “Okay!” I surged to my knees, flinging her off my back. She bounced off the mattress and tumbled over the edge of the bed. I frantically grabbed for her but only managed to get a hold of her legs, so she dangled over to the floor.

  “Pull me up!” she cried. “Don’t you dare make me fall, bitch. Pull me up!”

  I peered over at her and pretended to lose my grip on her legs. She screeched, flailing her arms. “Jason!”

  “You deserve to fall,” I told her. “You kept me up half the night with all the activity going on in your bedroom. You were being gross!”

  “Come on. What are you, twelve? It’s sex, not gross.”

  “Sex spells gross when it’s your mother doing it right across the hall from you.” I shuddered. “Fuck, I’d forgotten that this was what I was coming back home to. Next time give a girl a warning so I can make myself scarce, capiche?”

  “Fine! Just pull me up!”

  I helped her up the bed, and she flopped down onto the covers, blowing hard. “I think my life flashed before my eyes.”

  I rolled mine at her. “Don’t be dramatic. The worst that would have happened is you breaking your brittle old bones.”

  “I fucking hate you right now, Jason.”

  I gave her a blank stare. “Girl, same.”

  Our eyes met and held. We glared all the hostility away before we ended up laughing. It was always this way between us. I could never stay mad at her for long and likewise. I just wished it wasn’t so fucking awkward hearing her with a lover, but it was. That always made me aware that we were more than just friends. She was my mother as much as we usually skirted around that fact.

  “Come on, let’s get your makeup done,” I said on a sigh, climbing out of bed. “Your hair too because that lopsided bun is London’s bridge falling down.”

  The most significant feature in my room was my DIY makeup vanity set in the best well-lit section of my bedroom. With coupons, the two five-drawer Letterpress cubes had cost approximately fifty-five bucks. I’d equally found a tabletop and backlit mirror that hadn’t cost me an arm and a leg. Most of the other organizers I’d picked up at the Dollar Tree, but hardly anyone could tell just by looking at my makeup area that I hadn’t spent $200 on the whole setup.

  My drawers were all labeled even though I knew where everything was because I didn’t trust Becca to use my stuff and remember where to put it back. I had her seated and got busy with her makeup, pleased at her complexion and the way she was ageing well. Sure, she’d had a few Botox sessions, but I felt confident when I got to the big four-zero I would look just as young as she did. She should look worse for being up half the night, but here she was, fresh as a daisy.

  “Look, I’m sorry about last night,” she remarked as I used a slightly damp beautyblender sponge to apply the J.One Jelly Pack primer sparingly to her skin.

  “It’s all water under the bridge now,” I told her on a sigh even though it wasn’t true. I just didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or that she couldn’t have fun the way she wanted because I was around.

  “I really should be more considerate,” she said on a groan. “It’s just that life’s been a little stressful lately, and I needed last night.”

  I frowned, getting out the makeup supplies I would need while I waited for the primer to dry. “You don’t have to explain, you know. It’s been stressful trying to find a job.”

  “You’ve just been back for two weeks, and besides, didn’t you say you got the last one you applied to?”

  “Yeah, at the makeup counter at Elite’s. Their stuff is crappy. How am I supposed to recommend crappy stuff to customers if I want to be taken seriously in this industry?”

  “The way I taught you. You lie with your straight face on.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  I listened to her as she prattled on about her work, all the evil people she worked with and how much she was looking forward to leaving one day. She bemoaned her salary which I had to agree with. She worked at a popular wedding consultant shop in the heart of downtown Seattle. They had branches all over the damn country, and it took more than a middle-class salary to be able to afford their products and service, yet they paid her a crappy salary.

  “They’re supposedly launching a new promotion,” she added when I finished her lipstick, then pulled the hairclip from her hair. “Something to highlight their service to get even more customers.”

  “How are they planning to do that?”

  “I don’t think they’ve ironed out all the details yet, but they want to throw a wedding for a couple and film the entire thing to air on their YouTube channel.”

  “Wow, whoever they choose will be lucky.”

  I frowned as I prepped and curled her hair, her talk about weddings reminding me of a certain someone who had been avoiding me. Ever since he visited that one afternoon to make me something to eat, Lucas had been ignoring me. My calls went unanswered, and he responded only via text messages. He didn’t want to go out, stating he was working nights, but I didn’t know whether or not to believe him.

  I only had my horny runaway emotions to blame for scaring him off. I’d come on too strong, showing him how thirsty I was.

  “What’s that sigh for?” she asked.

  “Just lamenting my love life,” I answered. “Why can’t I find a guy I like? I know I’m not that hard to look at. I’m a hundred percent positive I wouldn’t be bad in bed either.”

  “Well, well, you don’t want to hear my sordid love details, but you think I want to hear yours?”

  I bopped her on the forehead gently with my palm. “Of course you do, because you’re nosey.”

  “You start work tomorrow, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then you should totally join Lucas and me later. We’re going for drinks.”
>
  My heart skipped a beat, and a lock of her hair that I was braiding slipped out of my grasp. I wanted to go, but I was hesitant to flirt with Lucas in Becca’s presence. I supposed she knew how I felt about him by now, but I’d rather try to get into his pants without her bearing witness to my failure.

  But one of these days he would cave in. I’d wear him down until he couldn’t resist my boyish charms.

  “I can’t,” I answered, not elaborating that I wanted to catch a drag show at Xxxtasi. From the reviews I’d read online, it had a popular drag show lounge and a dance hall.

  “Suit yourself,” she answered.

  “Will Daddy Luke come back here with you after drinks, or will you be coming home with somebody else?”

  “I’ll come back alone,” she replied. “I think I’ve had enough for one night. Ouch!” she cried when I tugged on her hair a little tighter than I should have. “You did that on purpose.”

  I grinned at her. “Prove it.”

  “You’re just lucky I need you for makeup and hair or you’d be out on the streets.”

  “Daddy Luke wouldn’t let you,” I said, finishing off her double Dutch braid updo with one final pin. “Voilà, that’s five hundred bucks.”

  “How about a hug instead?”

  “A hug can’t buy groceries,” I replied but smiled when she got out of the chair and wrapped me in a tight embrace.

  “I look fabulous. I can’t pay you five hundred bucks, but you continue making me look this good and I’ll be sure to recommend you to any of our couples who come in for consultation.”

  “That would be awesome.” Word of mouth was always great, but when potential clients saw your work firsthand, it was even better.

  “Good. Now if you could just stop calling my friend daddy, everything will be perfect. You creeping on my best friend is weird.”

  I could feel the heat creeping up in my face. “It’s just habit.”

  “Then break it. If you two ever hooked up, it would ruin our friendships.”

  “Why?” I asked as she walked out of my bedroom.

  “Because it’ll make things awkward.”

  I sighed, grumbling under my breath that it was already too late. Things were awkward enough, but they still felt right whenever I was with Lucas. I never interfered in Becca’s social life and commented on the number of guys she brought back to our apartment. She could hardly ban me from seeing Lucas.

  Absentmindedly, I put away all my makeup items, leaving the brushes and sponges out so I could clean them later. I popped into my bathroom to take a leak and returned to my bedroom just as Becca’s head emerged.

  “Uh-uh.” I knew that look all too well. “I’m done doing you favors this morning. I’m going back to bed.”

  “Please,” she begged. “I’ll bring you back those red velvet cake balls you love so much.”

  Just her mentioning them made my mouth water. “You’re pure evil. What do you want?”

  “There might be, and by might be I mean there definitely is, an unwanted visitor in my bed, and I need you to get him out. Please—”

  “What? Oh no, I—”

  “—I would do it myself, but I have to go to work now or I’ll be late.”

  “—Becca, no! I’m not—”

  “Thanks, I knew I could count on you.”

  “Becca!”

  She slammed the door shut, and by the time I got to it, she was already at the front door.

  “Becca, you come back here and get rid of your date yourself!”

  She pointed to her phone that I had most certainly not heard ringing in my direction. “I’m on the phone. I’ll see you later.”

  The front door closed in my face. I balled my hands into fists at my hips, glaring at the door. I kept falling for her tricks instead of learning. Was it so hard for her to boot her lovers out herself the morning after sex?

  I hung around the apartment, making my bed, washing out my makeup supplies, and fixing myself something to eat while giving Becca’s date some time to wake up on his own. Each time I peeked into her bedroom, it was to find him sprawled on top of the covers naked in the same position. I even had time to watch a few episodes of The Real Housewives of Atlanta, and he still did not resurface.

  Taking matters into my own hands, I tried thinking of ways to get him out of the house. I wasn’t proud of what I came up with, but if it worked, it would be a funny story to pass on to Becca later when she wanted to get rid of a date.

  I inhaled deeply, hesitating at her bedroom door. I’m going in. I burst inside her bedroom door yelling at the top of my voice, “Oh my God, fire! There’s a fire! You have to get out!”

  For a guy who I’d begun to wonder if he was dead or alive, he sprung out of bed quickly enough at the warning of a fire.

  “What? What’s going on?” he asked, scratching the back of his head. “Who the hell are you?”

  “There’s a fucking fire!” I yelled at him. “You think who I am is important at this point?” I grabbed his clothes from the floor and threw them at him. He at least caught them. “Let’s get moving! The firemen are on their way.”

  “Shit!” He hopped into his underwear on the way to the front door. “Where’s the fire?”

  “The apartment next door,” I lied, yanking the door open. “They’re evacuating the building. You need to use the stairs because the elevators are out of service.”

  “Fuck!”

  I had felt bad for lying to him, but he shoved me out of the way, and I smacked into the wall as he ran out of the apartment ahead of me. All the remorse fled as he peered up and down the corridor. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “Because you’ve been pranked, you prick,” I announced, slamming the door shut at his look of disbelief. I spun the lock shut and dusted off my hands.

  Boundaries. Becca and I were seriously going to have a conversation about what happened in this apartment especially when sleazeballs were invited for a sleepover. I’d spent all my life living with her, but I’d be grateful for the day I started making enough to pay rent on my own apartment. Working at a makeup counter at an unpopular store was hardly going to achieve that, but it was a start, especially if Becca kept her word and recommended my services to people.

  I headed back to my favorite couch to continue watching my reality show. At least it was good for pulling me out of my head and how much my life sucked right now.

  Twenty-one, living with my mother, and shepherding one night-stands out of our apartment while I remained a virgin to boot.

  Chapter Six

  Lucas

  My phone vibrated in my pocket as I washed my hands in the bathroom. I stuck my hands beneath the automatic blow-dryer, and the warmth was a direct contrast to the coldness I felt inside. I had no idea how much more of this I could take, coming and going from the restaurant every evening as if I didn’t have a big question looming over my head. A question of my future.

  When my hands were sufficiently dry, I dug into my pocket for the new phone I’d had to buy. A missed call from Jason. Again. There were no fewer than a dozen missed calls in my call log from him since he’d returned, but I ignored every single one of them. I didn’t want to be cruel though, so sometimes I texted him back. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  Even if I’d been of a mind to flirt with Jason, I simply wasn’t in the mood. With everything going on at work, I was in no condition to offer myself as company to anyone. I would go for a drink with Becca later, but that was different. I could bitch about my job to her, and she would bitch right back with me. I was looking forward to our meetup. There was this buildup of pressure inside me, like a valve swelling to the point where it would soon burst. If I didn’t release some of that pressure tonight, there was no telling what I would do.

  I was about to slide my phone back into my pocket when it vibrated in my hand. A text message from Jason. Damn, but he could be persistent. I actually liked that about him. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was willing to go after it. If
only I could adopt that same principle and confront my boss about why the hell I still hadn’t been promoted to head chef.

  Hey, Daddy Luke. Have you been avoiding me? I just want to talk about your promotion. How’s that going for you? I got a job that doesn’t really pay well, but it’s a start. Perhaps you can help me work out a budget?

  He ended his message with a kissy face emoji followed by a wink and a heart. The emojis almost fixed my bad mood. Almost. Then I reread the first part of his message and saw the part about the promotion I didn’t get.

  The day I’d told Jason about the promotion because of the meeting that had been called, I’d been so certain I got the position. Well, the good thing was that I didn’t not get the position. It was still hanging, but the meeting had been to introduce us to a new chef who had joined our staff.

  I replaced my phone in my pocket before returning to the locker area where I put it away. Only when I returned to the kitchen did I recall why I had grabbed the phone in the first place—to cancel the night out I had planned with Becca. I wasn’t in the mood for drinking in public.

  “Hey, Bronte, your private guests are here,” the executive chef, Redd Lawrence, announced. “We didn’t know where you were, so I had Jacobs seat them. He’s keeping them entertained.”

  “I had to take a bathroom break,” I replied, and I had to work hard not to let the anger and disappointment come out in my voice.

  “That’s fair. Well, take over for him, will you? When you’re through, I’d like to see you in the office.”

  This had to be it. Finally, he was about to talk to me about my promotion. My mood shifted faster at his announcement, and I smiled right back at him before moving toward the private dining area and kitchen.

  Restaurant Javelin offered personal dining experience to diners who were willing to pay top dollar for ordering the service. Each chef that worked at the restaurant had their profile and an introduction of themselves on the restaurant website. The clientele could use that option to request private dining with a chef of their choice. Chefs were given incentives when diners requested this service, and for all the years I’d worked with the restaurant, I’d been the most requested chef, mostly for the Jamaican cuisine that most people seemed so fascinated by.