by Sara Hazel
“Of course you do,” she mutters.
I laugh.
“Look, I wasn’t always this successful. I’ve lived on quite a number of shitty couches belonging to friends and roach-infested studio apartments that I managed to scrape together enough money to rent.”
“Well, those days are over,” she replies.
I am seriously starting to think Juliann does not like me very much.
“What about you, small-town girl? How long have you been in Chicago?”
She picks her book back up and starts flipping pages at random every few seconds. I finally glance at the title. It’s a travel guide for France.
“Um, about two-and-a-half years. Right after high school, I got a job on a cruise ship in their activities department. I did that for a year and a half before deciding I wanted to go to culinary school.”
“Have you always known that you wanted to be a chef?”
She sets her book on a small table between us, turns to me, and smiles. “Zack, you seem like a really good guy, and I really appreciate the fact that I get to learn from you for the next year. You have no idea how grateful I am to you for the opportunity. But I think it’s best for both of us if we —”
“You’re going to say we should keep it professional, right? The old cliche.”
“Well, yeah, but —”
“No, you’re right. Juliann, I am very sorry for how I acted towards you and how I’m acting towards you now. I hope you’ll forgive me, and I’d like to start over if you’ll give me a chance.”
“Of course I’ll give you a chance, and there’s no apology needed as long as we’re clear now about how things are gonna be. Now I think I’d better go pay for this book and get home so I can get ready for tomorrow.”
She stands up and salutes me. Just like she did last night. I have to laugh as I salute her back.
“Ok, what’s with the salute?”
“My daddy was in the Marine Corps. I just like it.”
“He was, huh? Me too, actually. I served over in Afghanistan before coming back here to go to culinary school. I spent a few years in France as well.”
“I knew all those things about you already,” she says with a grin stretched across her beautiful sweet face.
“Of course you did.”
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Elliot.”
“How old do you think I am? No one calls me Mr. Elliot, andI respectfully ask that you not be the first.”
“Ok, sir,” she replies. “Better?”
“We’ll work on it. Chef is fine for now.”
“Chef is the best one,” she says. “See you tomorrow night, Chef!”
I watch as she goes to the counter to pay for the book. She seems to have quite a bounce in her step. There is a lot of light and life in this girl, and I’m glad I’ll get a chance to spend time with someone who genuinely seems to have a spark inside of her. She reminds me of myself in some ways, I think.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop imagining how all her passion carries over to the bedroom. She’s probably quite a firecracker in bed…
Jesus, Zack. Get a grip on yourself, man! You’re a former Marine. You used to have a lot more discipline than this.
I go home and give Hannah’s cold shower idea a try. But it doesn’t work. My cock is still hard, so I grab the lotion from my counter before turning the heat up and climbing back into the shower.
I lotion up my palm and get a tight hold on my shaft. As I stroke it from one end to the other, I lean against the back wall, close my eyes and think of her. Would one taste really be enough? If I could have her just once, I think that might do it. I could get her out of my head and let go of this obsession.
But I can’t help but imagine her naked on my bed, and me on top of her with her legs wrapped around my waist. I think about her calling out my name and urging me to take her faster. I would lean down to kiss her as our bodies became a writhing mass of pure pleasure. But the thought of kissing her is the truly dangerous one to me. A kiss can seal your fate. Still, part of me believes it would be worth it and the rest of me is coming around to the idea.
I stroke faster until I look down and see my hand has become a blur. All I can think of is how good she’ll feel wrapped around me with her sweet honey soaking my cock.
As I explode onto the shower wall, and my body is wracked by shudders with each burst, I growl out my pleasure, even though I’m the only one who can hear it right now.
Once I’m done and basking in the afterglow, I clean myself off, and get out of the shower. My head feels a little clearer now, but the continuous chant of Juliann’s name is still marching along the inside of my brain.
That’s it. I’ll have to go to a bar and pick someone up. Then I can get Juliann out of my head and focus on being the professional mentor that we both need me to be.
I get dressed, slap my cologne on, and find a bar on Milwaukee avenue to give my rusty pick-up skills a try. The bar has a decent crowd for a Thursday night. I take a seat at the counter, and it’s not long before a woman notices me.
“Zack Elliot? Oh, my god. We met at a party a few years ago. Do you remember me?”
If I was on my game right now, I’d turn to her and make something convincing up. But I can’t seem to do it. I just take slow sips of my drink and ignore her.
“Oh wow. You’re not even going to acknowledge that I’m talking to you. Well, I watched your old Youtube channel religiously. I was pretty depressed when you said you’d only be posting videos to it sporadically. You should go back to it. I loved learning how to cook from you.”
I turn to her and muster a smile. She’s a pretty blonde, but I don’t remember her. There’s nothing special about her that would make her stick out in my mind. She’s just like most of the women who throw themselves at me when I give them the opportunity. I’m sure she’s a nice girl, but I just don’t have any sort of hunger for her — at all.
“I’m sorry. What was your name again?”
“You took me home that night and fucked my brains out, asshole,” she replies. “It’s Cheryl. I’ll forgive you if you buy me a drink, and maybe we can see about going back to your place to relive my old memories. Since you can’t seem to remember.”
I finish my drink and wave the bartender over. “I’d like to close my tab.”
“Sure thing, sir,” the young guy says. Sir. Damn. Even that reminds me of Juliann.
I turn to Cheryl. “Normally, I’d be all over an offer like the one you’ve made me. But tonight I’m dealing with something. I’m sorry, Cheryl. Next time I see you, I promise to remember your name.”
She turns away from me. “Whatever.”
Juliann
*
“What are you going to wear tomorrow night?” Kelsey asks while mindlessly flipping through Netflix shows.
“Kels, we’re supposed to be hanging out and you’re just sitting here binging on garbage,” I reply. I don’t even want to answer her question right now. I’m sinking into her couch and trying not to stare at the screen too much. I’m not a television kind of girl. I think my brain is just too active for it. Every time I start watching something, I get lost in my own thoughts.
“Sure, sure. But what are you going to wear tomorrow at the restaurant?” She asks again.
I sigh heavily so she’ll feel the weight of my annoyance. “What does anyone wear in a professional kitchen? Chef’s whites.”
“You need to wear something cute for your first day,” she says.
“Why are you trying to push Zack Elliot on me?”
My very much still hungover best friend turns the TV off and faces me. She grabs my cheeks, and I try to push her off me. But she’s a clinger this one.
She pinches my cheeks and shakes them. “Because you’re so damn cute and I want to do this to your babies.”
I finally manage to fight her off. She scoots over to her own side of the couch and puts on a pouty face.
I get up. “Ok, well, you need to rest and
I need to go back to my apartment and start thinking about tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah. Start thinking about tomorrow,” she says. “You’re going home to think about Zack and you won’t admit it.”
“Please, Kels. Go on Tinder or something. Find a guy to obsess over, so that you’ll stop obsessing over my love life.”
“You don’t have a love life! That’s the point of all this, sweetie pie.”
“Ok, now I’m definitely leaving. Goodnight.”
I blow her a kiss and she raspberries me back.
“Kelsey, I think I’m your mother. I honestly don’t need any men or children in my life. You’re enough.”
“Whatever. Girl, bye.”
*
I get home and plop down onto my futon. I stare at the empty wall where a television would normally go, and I thank God I don’t have one. I lean back and close my eyes. And what is the first thing I see as if he were projected onto the back of my eyelids? Zack Elliot, of course.
But not Zack Elliot as I saw him last night — all handsome in his suit. Not Zack as I saw him today in his t-shirt and jogging pants. No, of course not those versions of Zack. But muscular naked Zack with washboard abs and a very large—
I open my eyes and shake my head. No, Juliann. You’re not gonna let yourself go there. Not even for one second. You’ve worked so hard for these past two years to graduate culinary school and succeed in this industry. This is your dream, and you’re going to do it. You’ve never sat around fantasizing about guys all day and you’re not gonna start now.
My cell phone buzzes. I pick it up and see it’s Kelsey texting me a picture of her middle finger. And an accompanying message that says “Come on, sweetie pie. Just do it once. You’ve been a virgin for too long.”
My best friend is 23 years old going on 6. But she has a good point. What if I said yes to Zack just once and allowed him to have my body if not my soul? I’d feel terrible, that’s what. I’m just not built for it. This is just how God made me and I’m gonna have to deal with it.
Except it might be fun to try sinning for once in my pure life…
I lift up my sundress as my breathing quickens. The more I think about Zack the more I feel the need to touch myself. It’s not something I do all that often, anyway. When I was just starting to do it, I used to feel so ashamed. I had all that good old Southern Baptist guilt, and it’s never gone away. Until right now. Zack is chasing those feelings of guilt away and forcing me to confront the fact that thinking about sex might make me feel good.
I glide my hands up my hips and rest them on my sides for a moment as I think about Zack and how he placed his hands on me when we first bumped into each other. I don’t think he was doing it just to move me out of the way. No, that’s pretty clear it wasn’t about that at all, but because he instinctively needed to touch me. And now I instinctively need his touch. I’m craving it the way I might hunger for something sweet. It’s like my brain is locked down on one thought and that thought is him.
I wonder what it would be like to have his hands gliding across my soft belly. I let my hands wander over it and I shudder. I’m very sensitive there and if Zack put his hands or lips on my stomach, I wouldn’t be able to stop trembling.
This all just feels wrong, and my body is enjoying it a bit too much right now as I shudder and twist about from the rising anticipation. Zack is my mentor now, and you’re not supposed to want your mentor like this. If I offered myself to him and he took me up on it, that would be an abuse of his power over me. But all of this just drives me onward to slide my hand into my panties and rest my palm over my slit. I just take one finger and press it gently against my lips. I won’t even make myself cum right now. If I do that then I might get too attached to thinking about him, and I can’t let that happen, right? Maybe I’m already obsessed though, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it from growing.
Ok, Juliann. Just a little touch. That’s it. It’s all you get. I lift my palm off my pussy and stroke my index finger around my labia. It feels super hot in here all of a sudden — like the inside of an oven. And though I keep telling myself I can stop, I can’t seem to do it. My fingers take over. One forbidden stroke becomes ten, and soon I’m writhing about on my couch as I frantically flick my clit. So light and fast.
I lie down now and let the warm feelings wash over me as the urge to finish overtakes me. I’m gentle with myself, but I wouldn’t want Zack to be, and I don’t think he would be either. He seems like the sort of guy who just takes what he wants in life and asks questions later. That’s what he’d do with me if I gave them the chance. I shouldn’t want that, but now I crave it with an intensity that I am going to have to chase away with all my willpower. Just once Kelsey says. Yeah, right! As if I could imagine that once would be enough.
My mouth opens and I let my moans erupt. Hearing them now makes me even hotter. My finger becomes soaked as the gushing begins.
As I come undone, I scream. I just need to let it out of me. To let him out of me.
This has to be good enough.
But it’s not.
I get up to wash my hands and splash water all over my face. Then I go back to the couch and lie down again, still feeling the happy afterglow of my orgasm. I realize that Zack didn’t tell me exactly what time to arrive at the restaurant tomorrow. I have his card with his phone number on it. It’s getting a bit late now, but I doubt he’d mind hearing from me.
Texting him right now is going to get him out of my mind, but I need to do it, right? It’s just a little contact…
I grab my purse and dig through it in search of Zack’s business card. As my fingers touch the card, it sends an electric thrill through my body.
Relax, Juliann. It’s just the man’s business card!
I pull out the card and dial Zack’s number. He picks up on the second ring.
“Zack Elliot,” he says.
“Hi,” I squeak. “It’s me.”
“Juliann! Hey, what can I do for you?”
“Um, you didn’t, um, we didn’t discuss — ahhh—”
My throat is so dry all of a sudden and I’m just stumbling over sounds. Thankfully, Zack catches on right away.
“Relax. I know tomorrow is a big day for you, but you can do it. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
I take a deep breath. “Ok, yeah, sorry about that.”
“You’re fine, sweetie,” he says.
Sweetie. Zack Elliot called me sweetie. At least he didn’t add “pie” on to the end of it. But without that part of it, I’m almost gleeful to hear it coming from him. But I manage to contain the joy spreading through my body now.
Damn, girl. Get yourself together.
“You didn’t tell me when to be there tomorrow. At the restaurant.”
“You’re right. See? It’s my fault. You wouldn’t have had to call me if I hadn’t done my job and told you to be there at eleven. We’ll get all your paperwork done and get you into the kitchen to go over some things before we start getting ready for dinner.”
“Eleven. Ok, great. Um, goodnight, Chef.”
“You too, Chef,” he replies. “Try some breathing exercises. It always helps me when I’m nervous.”
“You don’t get nervous,” I blurt out.
He laughs. “Goodnight, Juliann. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven. I’m looking forward to it.”
I hang up the phone without saying another word. I should have said I was also looking forward to it. I am.
He called me sweetie and chef in the same phone call. I think my heart is flipping pancakes in my chest.
*
I arrive at the restaurant already wearing my chef’s whites. I haven’t worn them since graduating and even though it’s only been two months; it feels good to be back in uniform.
Back in uniform and totally professional, right?
But now my heart is still making pancakes, and it’s really flipping the heck out of them now.
The restaurant is closed, and I don�
�t see anyone in the front at all. So I lightly knock on the glass door. I stand there for five minutes before knocking again. Ten more minutes pass, and there’s still no one coming. If Zack is here right now then I’m sure he can’t hear from the kitchen. In our phone conversation last night he clearly stated to be here at eleven. Maybe he’s forgotten about me already, and maybe that should be a relief to me?
“Juliann!” I hear Zack shout from behind me. Even though it’s him, I jolt.
“Juliann, I’m so sorry,” he says. I turn around to see him in a sweat-soaked grey Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt, and black jogging pants. His smell hits me right away. There’s nothing quite like the musky scent of a man fresh after a workout and smelling like he hasn’t taken a shower in days. Gross.
I cover my mouth and nose.
Was I really touching myself to this guy last night? He’s still gorgeous, but he needs that shower pretty bad…
Zack laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I stink.”
“Yes, you do,” I reply.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I decided to run for another two miles. I was feeling the flow, ya know?”
“I can see that.”
“Well, if you’ll just step out of the way of the door, I’ll unlock it for you. I promise you, I’ll take a shower. We’ve got one in the back, so no worries. You won’t be stuck next to a stinking chef all day.”
I move out of the way, as Zack unlocks the restaurant, but not far enough to avoid brushing against his sweaty arm. Once inside, I just stand in the front feeling awkward. Kitty Cat Strut is a relatively small restaurant with about twenty tables. There is a wait of several months to get a reservation. I haven’t eaten here myself yet, because it’s too expensive for me and I didn’t think I had the patience to wait so long for it.
“This is it,” Zack says. “The famous Kitty Cat.”
The decor is dark and modern. The dominant color in the room is purple, and a lot of black. Everything is very elegant, and I feel as if only Chicago’s wealthiest restaurant patrons can afford to eat here. And it’s true — because the prix fixe menu cost is about two hundred dollars a plate.