by Beth Bolden
He pulls back before it even becomes a real kiss. It’s only a teasing little taste of everything Landon wants, but Quentin only stares at him, a smile flirting around the corners of the lips that Landon is dying to keep kissing. “Is this okay?” Quentin asks, as if Landon hasn’t been throwing himself at him practically from the first moment they met. As if he hasn’t made his appallingly embarrassing crush so obvious.
“Yes,” Landon responds right away. “Yes.”
“Good,” Quentin says, then he swoops in again, faster this time, his lips pressing onto Landon’s and it’s perfect. Firm and soft and lovely. Landon wants to swoon. Good thing there’s a handy door behind them. He collapses against it, his knees turning to mush as Quentin frames Landon’s face with his big, calloused hands, tracing over his cheekbones and his jawline with the most delicate, sensual sweeps.
Quentin holds his head and angles him just so and his tongue is so confident and sure, so hungry for a taste of Landon. Quentin’s kisses are desperate and so real and Landon is nearly stunned by the depth of Quentin’s desire, because while he’d admitted their feelings were mutual, Quentin keeps so much of his buried. He’s so much better than Landon at keeping it hidden when it needs to be, and it makes the rawness of this kiss that much hotter. Landon loves the idea that he’s the only one who can undo Quentin this way.
With a panting gasp, Quentin wrenches his mouth off Landon’s, and slides it down his neck, nibbling and sucking every bit of skin he can reach, and the scrape of Quentin’s teeth against Landon’s tendon has him moaning with zero thought to how thin the walls are and who might possibly be listening.
“Hot,” Quentin breathes onto Landon’s skin. “So hot. Today. You. I can’t.”
Landon giggles and it’s high and breathy and he’s definitely affected by this. His cock is hard and throbbing in his pants, and he’s only a few kisses away from forgetting himself completely and just shamelessly rubbing it against Quentin’s own.
“Use your words,” he teases in a mumble, tilting his head so he can recapture Quentin’s mouth with his own.
They kiss and kiss some more, their lips slick against each other, until the only sound Landon can hear is his heart pounding in his chest.
Quentin lifts his head again. “I get what you were doing today,” he slurs out, the sound of his voice deep and wrecked. Landon wants to hear it like this all the time.
“What?” Landon doesn’t really want to talk. He just wants to kiss. Forever. And maybe, you know, alleviate some of the pressure in his pants. Minor things.
Quentin pulls back more this time, and Landon can see just how blown his pupils are. His lips are plump and red and wet and Landon has to take an unsteady breath. He wants so much. “I want to talk about it,” he says. “But we needed to do that first.”
Landon makes an unsuccessful grab for the collar of Quentin’s chef jacket, but he’s already abandoned Landon at the door and has made his way to the couch. He settles down on it and pats the seat next to him. “Seriously,” Quentin says.
“What if I wanted to keep doing that?” Landon whines.
“I want to keep doing it too,” Quentin admits.
“Okay then,” Landon says, reaching again for Quentin, but he ungracefully dodges Landon’s grasp.
“Seriously,” Quentin repeats in an adorable huff. “I get what you were doing. And that’s okay. That’s good. I get it.”
Landon can sense the “but” coming from a mile away and he tenses up, waiting for it. “But,” Quentin continues, “I don’t want to confuse me or confuse you. I like you. I’m pretty sure you like me. I just don’t want you to think that it’s just flirting for ratings or whatever. I want more with you. I don’t want to just fake it for the cameras.”
Landon’s heart melts like ice cream in July. “Really?”
“I’d love to take you out on a real date, actually,” Quentin admits rather shyly—which is very cute because literally not two minutes ago, his tongue was in Landon’s mouth and his hands had been wandering in the direction of his ass.
“Are you asking me out?” Landon asks, hope blooming in his chest.
Quentin nods. “Just . . . I’ve got to work early tomorrow in the bakery. So not tonight. But definitely this week. Maybe I could make you dinner at my place?”
“I’d love that,” Landon says, feeling unnaturally shy himself. “Really love that.”
Quentin cuddles close into him and Landon leans over, kissing him again because he can’t really help himself.
Five minutes later, and they’re still kissing. Landon’s neck is crimping from the uncomfortable angle and he’s just about to say fuck it, and climb right onto Quentin’s lap when there’s a knock on the door.
“Damn it,” Landon grumbles. He was so close to maybe getting some in their green room. During the first week. He couldn’t have envisioned today going better.
“That was quick,” Quentin says, and he sounds disappointed. Landon loves it; he is definitely going to try to keep him. He turns to Landon. “You shouldn’t be worried. I think we’re pretty safe.”
It’s truly unfortunate, but Landon forces himself off the couch, and saunters over to the mirrors to try to fix his hair. He’s going to have to institute a “no touching above the neck rule” when they’re on breaks between filming. Just the fact that he might be forced to makes his heart sing and his body feel lighter than air.
“I’m not,” Landon admits. “We did good. There’s at least two or three teams that I think might go. But not us.”
“Might even have a shot at the top three today,” Quentin says slowly, as if he’s afraid saying it out loud will jinx their chances. Quentin is quirky and cute; he might actually think that. Landon is forever endeared.
“No might about it,” Landon insists.
Quentin walks up behind him and Landon is a bit distracted—and okay, probably more like mesmerized—by the few quick swipes Quentin gives to his hair. The haphazard, carefree way that Quentin treats his looks is kind of inspiring to Landon, who typically spends far more time than is probably healthy obsessing that every hair is in its proper place.
Quentin doesn’t care, and lets his hair flop wherever—and of course, it looks perfect.
Landon can’t decide if he’s endeared or actually jealous as hell.
He spends the next two minutes fixing the damage Quentin wrought on his hair, and even though they’re two minutes late, it’s worth every glare he gets when they finally arrive back on the soundstage.
After all the teams are assembled, the cameras roll and Alexis steps forward, first listing off the teams that are safe—neither in the bottom or top groups. It’s an unsurprising list.
Paul Flannery and Carson Brooks.
Reed Ryan and Diego Flores. Reed looks like he’s about to fall to the floor and kiss Alexis’ high heels. Which might make for some interesting television.
Jeff Austin and Jessa. Landon thinks with a sniff that if you’re going to spend all that money on salt and pepper, you should make sure your dish is good enough to make it in the top three. Unfortunately, there isn’t a confessional-style interview on Kitchen Wars, which means that the only person he can possibly say such a catty remark to is Quentin, when they’re finally alone again.
And when he gets Quentin alone again, the first thing on his mind isn’t going to be all the snarky comments he held in during the judging session.
“That leaves five teams—the bottom two and our top three.”
Alexis drags it out as long as humanely possible, but Landon’s still not nervous. In fact, he was way more nervous that their name might be called in the initial group. But poor Quentin is looking a bit worse for wear.
Landon is a reality television veteran. He knows better. He really, really does. But when he sees Quentin flush and then go white, then green around the edges, Landon doesn’t even think. He just acts. It doesn’t matter if what he does is in full view of cameras—he realizes later that even if he had thought
about it, it still wouldn’t have mattered. He still would have comforted Quentin.
He reaches out his hand and tangles Quentin’s fingers with his, giving him a comforting squeeze. Landon can feel the tension melt out of Quentin, even from that one small touch, and he doesn’t even care that probably four separate cameras caught it. This is still just for them, even if the show manages to record it for the public’s viewing pleasure.
“In the bottom two, Blair and Alice,” Alexis announces. “And Ezra and Vanessa.”
Quentin grips Landon’s fingers hard and Landon says fuck it, and glances up at Quentin’s face. He’s beaming with a full complement of dimples. “We did it,” Quentin mouths at Landon.
They end up in third, which is not quite as amazing as Landon was secretly hoping for—but is still far better than Landon ever expected, considering that he can’t cook at all. He nearly jumps into Quentin’s arms when Alexis says their names.
Rory and Kimber win first, which considering what he was able to accomplish with no salt and pepper, is well deserved. Oliver Glines and Nora Hsu come in second, and Landon can see the edges of Quentin’s smile darkening a bit. Landon wants to smooth away the wrinkles and tell him it’s going to all be okay, even if Quentin didn’t know anything about Oliver. It’s not Quentin’s job to scout the competition.
To nobody’s surprise, Vanessa and Ezra are eliminated for their unpalatable Scotch eggs and suddenly, the day that Landon has been dreading since he found out about Kitchen Wars is over and it’s been amazing. Completely the opposite of everything Landon was sure it would be.
It even turns out that he doesn’t want to leave, even when they’re back in their green room, packing up.
“You wanna come over?” he asks Quentin, before he can think about it and think better of his offer.
Quentin looks genuinely regretful. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow and a few days this week at the bakery; I’d better get some sleep.”
Landon tells himself that this is not a rejection. It almost works. “But,” Quentin continues with a sweet, little bit sly smile, “would Wednesday night work for you for dinner?”
Wednesday night is amazing. The only downside of Wednesday night is that it’s literally four nights from now. Landon points this out, unable to keep the pout off his face
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, though,” Quentin teases, wrapping his hands around Landon’s waist and drawing him closer. “I promise you’ll like me even more by Wednesday.”
Quentin is probably teasing but is probably not wrong. Landon huffs a little, but most definitely allows Quentin one kiss that turns into about three before they finally break apart.
“Text me then,” Landon begs a little when he finally manages to remove his mouth from Quentin’s.
“Of course.” Quentin looks a bit mystified that this is even a concern which reassures Landon like nothing else. Not that he should really need reassurance when his lips are still wet from Quentin’s mouth and there’s a big enough bruise on his neck that Landon should be really glad they aren’t filming again for a week.
“Good.” Landon licks his lips and only barely refrains from leaning in again. He needs to find some self-control. Quentin’s hot enough that he’s evaporated all of what Landon had.
They part reluctantly only when Ian texts Landon for the tenth time, no doubt desperate for an update on how the day’s filming went, and if he will need to miraculously dredge up another reality show for his client to appear on.
“Tell him you’re wonderful,” Quentin says with a parting kiss. “And everyone loves you.”
Landon spends the first ten minutes on the phone with Ian in a daze, wondering just what Quentin meant by that particular comment.
“Landon,” Ian finally grinds out in an annoyed voice, “for the love of god, please, pay attention for once.”
“Sorry, what?” Landon knows he’s distracted. It’s not his fault. Quentin is brilliant and perfectly daze-worthy.
“God damn it, Landon,” Ian grumbles, but there’s a brusque kind of affection running through his words. “I said they’re going to leak the Kitchen Wars participants tomorrow. So I’m setting up some paparazzi for you at the studio.”
Landon makes a face even though he’s on the phone and Ian can’t see it. “I’m not going to the studio tomorrow.”
“You are now,” Ian insists. “You’re a singer. It’s important to remind people you make music.”
“Right.”
“I’ll text you time and address. Look good.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” Landon grumbles.
“Landon,” Ian insists gently.
“You’re the one who wanted me to go on this show!” Landon exclaims.
Ian changes the subject, and Landon lets him because he’s probably right. And going to the studio will give him something to do tomorrow. He has a few songs he wouldn’t mind tweaking with better equipment than he’s got in his apartment, anyway.
The list of celebrities and their chefs on Kitchen Wars leaks first thing the next morning.
Landon wakes up to about a thousand texts and emails from people he hasn’t heard from in months. He forwards most of them on to Ian and tells himself as he takes a shower and makes his coffee that this is all good. He’s good.
Ian texts the address of the studio and time the pap will be waiting for him. Landon fusses over his hair and debates endlessly between a red scoop neck t-shirt that displays his collarbones and a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes him look like a real musician.
Finally he reaches for his phone and opens a text to Quentin.
Which one???????????? I’m getting papped today at the studio.
Quentin’s reply is quick. They’ve texted pretty consistently over the last two weeks, not as much as Landon would have liked because if it was as much as Landon would have liked, they would never stop. But Quentin is always fast to respond with cute, silly comments and a string of bizarre emojis to whatever nonsense Landon sends him.
You’d look blindingly hot in the red. But wear the Rolling Stones shirt. You’re trying to make people take you seriously.
Quentin is so right. Landon does look hot in the red shirt, but he wants to be taken seriously more.
When Landon doesn’t respond right away—he’s tugging on his tight black jeans and slipping on a pair of Vans, checking his hair one last time in the mirror—Quentin texts him again.
So which one will I be thinking about later?
Landon giggles. Naughty. Since you can’t behave yourself, you’ll just have to wait and see.
He slips his phone in his pocket and resolutely doesn’t look at it until after he’s done parading slowly and a little bit pathetically in front of the studio door. It’s amazing that anyone actually believes this farce, Landon thinks as he sinks into the comfy leather couch in the studio. Amazing that him walking in front of a place where you could possibly make music is in fact confirmation that he is making music, but people apparently will believe anything they’re told.
There’s been no response from Quentin, and Landon pushes aside his disappointment. He knows Quentin’s busy at the bakery this week, probably prepping for the onslaught of new visitors brought about by his new celebrity chef status.
Instead of pouting, Landon decides to keep himself busy. He pulls out his guitar and works for hours on several old songs, tweaking and fiddling with the melodies and lyrics. Ian has talked about leaking some of his studio sessions to try to generate some interest from labels who might potentially sign Landon to a new contract.
Of course, to make this plan work, there has to be good music to leak in the first place, and Landon is determined to hold up his end of the bargain.
Ian calls a few hours into Landon’s studio time.
“What?” Landon answers. “I’m busy. You know. Making music. Doing the thing for which I’m actually famous.”
Ian ignores Landon. Landon thinks that’s pretty
unfair; he’s supposed to be the client, and technically in charge. “Jessa had an interview with Ryan Seacrest on KISS today. When asked about you, she said you looked pretty close with Quentin.”
“Is there a question in that statement?” Landon asks.
Per usual, Ian cuts right to the point. Ian and a sharp knife have a surprising amount of things in common. “Landon, what’s going on with Quentin?”
“We have good chemistry. I did mention that.” Landon doesn’t feel like he’s ready to tell Ian that he and Quentin have kissed or that their first date is this week. Eventually, he’ll need to tell him, but he’s just not ready yet. For now, Landon feels like it’s perfectly acceptable to focus on how cute they look together on the show.
“You did.” Ian sounds quite testy.
“Maybe that’s what Jessa meant.”
Really, Landon is just a terrible liar.
“Landon,” Ian warns, and it all just tumbles out of Landon’s mouth.
“I really like him. He’s sweet and kind and funny and we kissed and we have a date this week.”
“Landon,” Ian says and it’s practically an exclamation point in verbal form.
“I know, I know. I’m not supposed to date my partner.” He doesn’t care; he’s not giving up Quentin. End of story.
“Actually, that’s not necessarily true. But it’s risky.”
Nobody needs to tell Landon that. Of course, he thought he’d been cured of his annoying tendency to fall too hard, too fast, but Quentin appears to be the exception to all those rules he’d made for himself last time everything fell apart.
“I just want you to be sure you’re not making a mistake,” Ian says gently.
“Quentin’s not a mistake.” Landon isn’t sure of a lot of things, but that is one thing he is almost certain of.
“Just be sure.” Ian pauses. “And try to keep it PG on the show please.”
“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Landon scoffs and he can practically feel Ian’s subsequent eye roll.
He hangs up, but five minutes later there’s a text from Ian.
Ryan Seacrest. Tomorrow morning. 7 a.m.