Strangling Julian King will have to wait.
I turn away from Julian, and count to ten in my head. Then I pull out a ball of already-risen pizza dough from its tray and punch it viciously. Am I imagining his face as I smack the dough around?
Hell, yes. Of course I am.
I don’t work in the kitchen anymore at Dakota’s Pizza, not unless Teresa Barbini is on vacation. But that’s only in the last three or four years. When I first opened my restaurant, I did most of the cooking. I had to; I didn’t have enough money to do anything else.
I’m a little rusty, but I quickly find my rhythm. To my surprise, Julian looks perfectly comfortable in the kitchen. Not only that, but he’s clearly catered parties before, because he’s prepared. He has a sandwich board with his menu lettered on it. Four kinds of sausage—beef, pork, lamb, and a vegetarian one. He sets up an assortment of toppings. Pickled vegetables, grilled onions, relish, mustard, and two kinds of cheese.
He doesn’t run around in panic. He doesn’t swear and lose his shit when the grill starts to smoke. He just pulls his sausages off, deals with the problem, and gets back on track.
His competence is, frankly, one hell of a turn-on.
“You’ve done this before.”
“So much surprise,” he says dryly. “Yes, of course I’ve done this before, Dakota. I don’t just agree to cater a party for a hundred and fifty people without some understanding of what’s involved. I run a stall at the Bainbridge farmer’s market every Friday morning.” His eyes dance with amusement. “They love my meat.”
I have to laugh. “Do you ever stop?”
“Hey, the jokes are there,” he says easily. “Somebody’s got to take them.”
One of Julian’s better qualities is that he doesn’t pout. If I snark, he snarks back. He doesn’t back down; he gives as good as he gets.
But it’s always good-natured. He’s astonishingly hard to ruffle.
Danger, Will Robinson, danger.
I shake my head, trying to jostle the insanity out of my mind. I can’t like Julian King. That way lies trouble.
We banter as we work. I don’t even have to pretend; I’m having a good time. In a surprisingly short order of time, I’ve got my pizzas assembled and ready to go in the oven. Julian’s at the grill, frying up sausages, and the smell is making my mouth water.
“Admit it, you want to try a piece.” He takes a sausage off the grill and holds it toward me. “Open wide, honey. Don’t worry, I’ll go slow. I won’t shove it down your throat.”
Damn it. Now I’m picturing myself on my knees, sucking Julian’s cock. Arousal skitters down my spine, and a wave of moisture floods between my legs.
“Don’t worry.” My voice is sugar sweet. “I’ll use my teeth. Biting is encouraged, right?”
His eyes go hot with lust. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs.
Stop looking at me like you’re going to devour me, damn it. Because you’re making me want it. You’re making me want you.
I stare up at him, my body prickling with desire. The moment stretches. His eyes are locked on my lips, and I have the strangest feeling he’s going to kiss me.
And I need it. My fingers shake. My body drowns in need. I crave him with every fiber of my being.
Julian King is my cocaine.
I shake my head, snapping free of his spell. “Stop. Please.”
He immediately takes a step back. Concern fills his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I know. That’s part of the problem. I slide my pizza board into the oven. “We’re here to do a job. Let’s just cater the damn party, okay?”
Guests are filing in. While we were cooking, Elise, Trey, Tim, my mom, Dom, and Cat have set up long tables, covered them with colorful tablecloths, and filled bowls with chips, popcorn, and peanuts. Daddy Yankee sings Con Calma on the speaker. Kids run around. A handful of teenagers toss around a frisbee.
The sun’s out. It’s beautifully warm, probably the first really nice day so far this year. It’s hard to be grouchy.
“Why don’t you go join your friends?” Julian suggests. “You’re all set up. It’s just about getting pizza in and out of the oven at this stage. I can take care of things here.”
“You’re not going to accidentally spill a bottle of salt on my pizza or something, are you?”
His lips twitch. “I don’t need to sabotage you, Dakota. My food holds up. Elise is your friend. This is her engagement party. You don’t need be stuck back here. Go have a good time.”
I give him a suspicious glare. “Really? That’s so nice of you.”
“Once again, your surprise touches me. Don’t worry. I’ll turn back into the devil tomorrow morning.”
“Who’s the guy?”
Tejal Mehta is Elise’s maid of honor. She lives in Toronto, she’s a surgeon, and she’s gorgeous. She’s got long black hair, brown eyes, and when she smiles, it lights up the room.
And she’s clearly interested in Julian.
I play dumb. “What guy?”
“The guy at the grill.” She ogles discreetly. “He’s really hot.” She gives me a friendly smile. “You two seemed pretty cozy together. I’m not stepping on your toes, am I?”
“Not even a little. He’s fair game.”
“Oh good.” Her eyes light up. “His logo is so funny, I love it. It’s so hard to find a guy with a good sense of humor, you know?”
I don’t know how to respond, so I nod. It seems safe.
“I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes looking up sausage jokes on my phone as an icebreaker,” she continues.
Julian would love that. My stomach clenches uncomfortably. I ignore it. I don’t want him. There’s no reason to get in Tejal’s way. “What did you find?”
“A million jokes about how things are the wurst,” she says. “The one I liked the best goes like this. Two eggs, a sausage, and a pancake walk into a bar. The bartender says, Sorry, we don’t serve breakfast here.”
I chuckle weakly. “That’s a good one,” I agree. Damn it, she’s perfect for Julian. He’s a hotshot ex-lawyer, she’s a doctor. They’re both from Toronto. I want to claw her eyes out, and I’m horribly ashamed of myself for my bout of jealousy.
She walks up to talk to him. I turn away, and Dom sits down next to me. “So,” he says. “You and Julian King.”
“Go away.”
He laughs. “Mom sent me to pump you for information. Give me something to distract her with.”
“Isn’t your wedding enough to distract her? Get her involved. Make her choose the flowers or something.”
“She offered to be the wedding planner; Cat accepted gratefully. Neither of us care about the ceremony, and mom’s generally pretty low-key.” He shakes his head. “At least until Margie shares another round of pictures of that grandchild of hers.”
I shouldn’t smirk. “She hinted she wanted grandkids, didn’t she?”
“Hint? She was as subtle as a battering ram. It’s every sibling for themselves, Dakota. I’m throwing you under the bus.”
“Jerk.” There’s no heat in my tone. “There’s nothing going on between us. Julian’s not my type.”
He looks over to the grill. I look over too, and immediately regret it. Julian’s laughing at something Tejal’s saying. A fist squeezes my heart.
Dom catches the look on my face. A smile curls his lips. “I’ll tell her that,” he says agreeably. He gets on his feet and pats my head. “It’s safe to look now. She’s gone.”
6
Julian
I watch Dakota laugh with her friends. I watch her lean forward, her expression animated, as she tells a story. I watch her dance with a guy who’s holding her too close, and I fight the urge to march over and shove him out of the way.
It gets late. The crowd thins. I tidy up, do dishes, and pack my stuff away. Dakota walks toward me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “Hey Julian.”
She’s been drinking. She’s ever so slightl
y tipsy. She beams at me, friendly and open, and I smile back, because I’m a sucker for her. “Dakota.”
“I drank too much of Cat’s beer,” she confides, moving closer to me, and tipping her face up. She smells like jasmine and strawberries and sunshine. “That stuff packs a punch.”
“Yes, it does, baby.” I brush a curl back from her cheek, and tuck it behind her ear, and then I realize what I’m doing, and I stop myself.
She notices the kitchen. “You cleaned up.”
“Mmm.”
“That’s nice of you.” She tilts her head up at me again. Her lipstick is long gone. Her lips look soft and kissable, and it takes supreme willpower to hold back. Sure, I could kiss her now, but tomorrow morning, she’d wake up firmly convinced I’m a jerk.
I’m playing the long game here.
“Not really. I did it to win points.”
“Points for what?”
I give her a direct look. “What do you think, Dakota?”
She bites her lower lip. “You were flirting with Tejal.”
“She was flirting with me,” I correct her. “I’m not interested in Tejal.”
Her expression turns guarded. “Because she’s brown?”
“Because she’s not you.” You wouldn’t believe it by the way I’m tossing all my cards on the table, but I’m normally a good poker player.
She inhales sharply. “I don’t believe you.”
“About what?”
“About wanting me. It’s a clever line.”
Who hurt you, baby?
I’m a bit of a bastard. I’m not going to seduce her when she’s tipsy, but that’s where my good behavior ends. The alcohol has lowered her walls enough that we’re having a real conversation, and I’m selfish enough that I’m going to exploit it to get some answers.
“Is it?” I hold her gaze in mine. “Fine. I’ll make a deal with you. I thought we had a good time last year. Fuck that; I know we had a good time last year. Then the next time I see you, I get the cold shoulder. Tell me why you don’t like me, and I’ll back away.”
There’s real attraction between us; I’m convinced of it. But I can only nudge her so far. At some point, if anything is to happen between us, she’ll need to take a step.
“You’ll back away?”
“The next move will have to come from you.”
“There won’t be a next move.”
Lawyer trick: Always act confident, even when you have no idea what’s going to happen. “You’re standing too close to me. You’re practically rubbing your boobs in my chest. There’ll be a next move.”
I hope.
She glares at me, her eyes flashing fire. “You are such a cocky asshole, you know that, Julian?”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Fine.” She lifts her chin in the air. “You slept with me under false pretenses.”
What the fuck? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You told me you were a hotshot lawyer from Toronto.”
I frown at her. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No,” I repeat. “I did not. I remember everything about that day. Zach introduced me as a hotshot lawyer from Toronto, and I said, not exactly.”
“You did say that,” she agrees. “I assumed you were being modest about being called a hotshot lawyer.”
“I am a lot of things, but I’m not modest. I said ‘not exactly’ because I’d quit my job earlier that month. Why does it matter if I’m a lawyer or not? You don’t strike me as the materialistic type.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re a lawyer,” she snaps. “It matters that you moved to Madison. You were supposed to be a one-night stand. I wasn’t supposed to see you again.”
I still don’t understand. “That’s why you froze me out? I wanted to date you. If you didn’t want to date me, why didn’t you just tell me? I’m a big boy; I’ve heard the word no before.”
She makes a scoffing sound in her throat. “There it is again. You don’t want to date me, Julian. You just think you do.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “First you think I’m feeding you a line when I tell you I’m interested in you, and now this. Go ahead. This ought to be good. Tell me why you think I don’t know my own mind.”
“You’re living some kind of hipster fantasy,” she says. “You quit your big-city job and moved to a small town. No longer part of the rat race. Slower pace of life. Time to stop and smell the roses. All that bullshit. Then we sleep together, and it was good, and you’ve convinced yourself that you want me. Probably because I know how to cook, and you’re picturing me wearing an apron, rolling dough out on a counter or something.”
I wasn’t thinking that. Not until she said it. I am now though, and in my fantasy, she’s not wearing anything under the apron.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“You’re off by a mile. Your theory is not only wrong, but it’s also insulting. I was making three hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year when I quit. I don’t need my partner to be a glorified housekeeper. If I wanted a housekeeper, I made enough damn money to hire one.”
Her chin juts out. “You don’t want to be in a relationship, you just think you do. And I don’t want to be your experiment.”
There’s a ring of truth to that last part; she definitely doesn’t want to be my experiment. But everything else, she’s dead wrong about.
I’m on the verge of an insight here. I just have to keep pushing. “Why don’t I want to be in a relationship?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“I’m thirty-two,” she replies. “More or less your age. How many serious relationships have you been in?”
I sense a trap. “Define serious relationship,” I say cautiously.
She rolls her eyes. “Dating someone exclusively for longer than three months.”
Ouch. My answer is not going to help my argument. “One.”
“I rest my case.”
“There were extenuating circumstances. I was in graduate school, and then I went to work for a law firm. I worked eighty hours a week. I wasn’t in a relationship because no normal woman wants to date someone who works that much. There was no point inviting someone to share my life in the last six years, because my life was crap.”
Dakota shivers, and I wrap my jacket around her shoulders. It’s too big for her, and she’s swimming in it, and she’s still beautiful and vibrantly alive. “Here’s the thing, Julian,” she says. “Society cons people into thinking they’re not complete unless they’re with someone, and so we get sucked in. But the truth is, if either of us really wanted to be in a relationship, it would have happened.”
I asked her for an answer. Reading between the lines, I got one. Someone hurt her so badly that she’s running afraid.
She doesn’t get involved with guys from Madison. Last May, she wouldn’t have slept with me had she known I was planning a move to her town.
I want to date Dakota. She’s funny. Interesting. I can’t stop thinking about her. But I can’t offer her the perfect certainty she wants. Nobody can. Life is messy and unpredictable. People fall out of love. They get sick. They die. Nothing is guaranteed forever.
I made a deal—the next move has to come from Dakota.
Except I now know that it’s unlikely to happen.
“Come on,” I tell her. “I’ll give you a ride home. You can come back tomorrow for your car.”
“Thank you.”
She looks serious and a little sad, and I want to make her laugh. “More people ate my sausages than your pizza,” I tell her smugly. “I almost ran out of food.”
It works. She draws herself up. “They did not,” she says in outrage. “And if you ran out of food, it’s because you didn’t bring enough.” Her voice turns sweet. “Don’t sweat it, Julian. With more experience, I’m sure that even you will eventually get it right.”
There we are. Back to familiar ground. Trading insult
s, throwing barbs. And hey, if I want more, what of it?
Sausage King is in the black. Mrs. Shepperd is going to sell me her restaurant. I’m integrating into the community; I got asked earlier this week to supply serdelki to the Legion fundraiser.
By any measure, I lead a pretty charmed life.
I want Dakota, but like I said, nothing is guaranteed. Nobody gets everything they want.
7
Dakota
I lie awake for many hours, Julian’s words running through my mind.
I’m not interested in Tejal. She’s not you.
I wanted to date you.
The next move will have to come from you.
For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to date Julian. For one thing, I’d never be bored. Julian is many things—cocky, arrogant, exasperating as hell—but he’s not dull.
You’ll fight all the time, Practical-Dakota points out.
The make-up sex will be worth it, the more romantic part of me retorts.
You’ll get sucked in too deep, Practical-Dakota says. You haven’t dated anyone in a year, and that was just after one night with Julian King. If you date him, when things fall apart—and make no mistake, they will fall apart—your heart will shatter into a million little pieces.
Romantic Dakota doesn’t have anything to counter that, because it’s the truth. Julian King, as tempting as he is, is not worth the risk.
* * *
A week goes by. I don’t run into Julian. On Wednesday, ten days after Elise’s engagement party, Ben Watanabe, Madison’s best and most reliable contractor, stops by to look at the building I’m buying. “Lots of work here,” he says laconically, looking around at the dusty and dated interior.
“I know.” The building is in a prime location—right on Front Street—but it’s stood vacant for almost ten years as Neil and Anna Silvers, the owners of the building, went through an acrimonious separation, followed by an even more contentious divorce. In an effort to spite their partner, neither of the Silvers did anything to maintain the place. The yard is a weed-filled mess. A couple of the front windows are broken. The floors are water damaged. The drywall is moldy and will need to be replaced. And that’s the obvious stuff.
Sausage King: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy Page 4