by Lila Monroe
“Wine, stat!” Gemma barks at Eve.
I grab a cushion and hold on, bracing myself. “I don’t know if I can watch.”
“You have to,” Gemma insists. “If only to get closure. You need a clean break so you can move on.”
“She’s right,” Eve says, handing me a glass of pinot. “Consider this your friendtervention.”
I swallow a big gulp of pinot. “I prefer this winetervention.”
Gemma chuckles, clinks her glass against mine. “I hear that, sister.”
We drink wine and consume an unhealthy amount of truffles as we wait for the show to come on. As the mantel clock literally ticks the seconds until it does, I get more and more nervous. I don’t know whether I want him to bomb, or kill it.
“You’re too nice,” Gemma remarks. “I’m hoping he bombs.”
Finally, it’s time.
Gemma turns up the volume and then there’s Ricky Rollins, strolling down a familiar-looking street, giving his usual intro.
“. . . So when I heard there’s a prize-winning chef serving up outrageous food right here in the Bay Area, I knew I had to check it out!”
He looks like Carrot Top with his flaming orange hair. It didn’t seem so vibrant in real life, and I wonder if they color it for TV. Whatever. I’m not watching this to make observations about his hair.
And there he is. Cam. Serving people on his truck, looking hot as ever. Holy Pavlova, he looks drool-worthy. Clean-shaven, hair perfect, blue eyes dancing.
“Crapwafffle,” I gulp, the hurt and heartbreak rushing back with a vengeance.
TV Ricky obviously gives zero fucks about my heart right now. He smiles right at me. It’s probably a friendly, camera-appropriate smile. But I can’t help but feel he’s mocking me.
“Cam, welcome to The Truck Stop! We’re so excited to have you here, fresh off your win of FoodFest—you’re the talk of San Francisco’s vibrant food truck scene. And as one of the lucky judges for the competition, I can say that your win was well-deserved!”
“He cringed just now,” Gemma observes. “When Ricky said that. He totally cringed.”
“No, he didn’t,” I say. Cam sabotaged me on purpose. He doesn’t care that he doesn’t deserve the win.
“Rewind!” Gemma blurts out, reaching for the remote.
Which I shove down my pants. “It’s bad enough you’re making me watch this. Can we just get through it?”
She huffs, but we turn back toward the TV.
“Thanks, Ricky,” Cam says, beaming a smile at the host. “Great to be here.”
“Oh,” Eve says, moony. “I didn’t realize Cam had dimples.”
I glare at her. “Are you seriously trying to kill me right now?”
“Sorry,” she says, handing me another truffle.
I toss it back to the table. No amount of chocolate will help now.
“What are you going to cook for us today?” Ricky asks. “And I should mention the crew is very excited.”
The camera moves up and down as the cameraman obviously agrees.
“Well, I figured we’d do the classics,” Cam says smoothly, a natural on camera. “A great brie-stuffed bacon burger, and my all-time favorite, pork belly bourbon burgers.”
“Burgers?” I repeat, confused. “That’s not brunch.” Or one of the recipes we worked on.
“Wow, I can’t wait to try that.” Ricky nods. “What else?”
“Then I’m going to make you the Whole Ham Family, a little something made from my special pork and chorizo mix.”
“What the—?” I look at my friends, but they don’t seem to understand.
“Sounds delicious!” Ricky exclaims. “So, don’t go anywhere,” he adds to camera. “We’ll be right back, with the famous Burger Bandit!”
The what?!
I gasp. So do Gemma and Eve.
I hit pause. “The Burger Bandit?” I echo. “Give me your phone.”
“Already there.” Gemma taps quickly. “He’s changed the name on all his social media,” she reports, a moment later. “Apparently, he’s switched out of the brunch game.”
“But why?” I don’t understand it. “After the FoodFest win, he would have been the biggest brunch in town. Why would he throw all that away?”
Eve claps her hands. “He did it for you.”
“How do you know?” Gemma asks.
Eve rolls her eyes. “Because of course he did! This is his apology. How he’s fixing things.”
Could it be? No. I haven’t heard even a peep from him in two weeks. Nothing by text, no posts on the forum. He disappeared.
There’s no way he did this for me.
“There has to be something else going on,” I frown. “I just can’t think what.”
Seriously, who does that? Throws away all that fame and publicity, just to start from scratch with something else?
“Yes,” Evie says, staring into my eyes. “Love. Love is the something else.”
“God,” Gemma groans. “You are so cheesy.”
“Says you,” Eve cries. “Mrs. Bigfoot!”
“That’s Ms. Bigfoot,” Gemma quips. “Mr. Bigfoot hasn’t exactly proposed.”
“Just a matter of time, though, right?” Eve asks.
“GIRLS!” I interrupt, my head spinning. “Can we please focus?”
“Sorry,” they say together.
And then I hear music. At first, I think it’s coming from the floor above, but then it gets louder, right outside my window.
“What’s that?” Eve asks, cocking her head.
“It sounds like . . . Frank Sinatra.”
I freeze.
It couldn’t be . . . ?
“Is your neighbor having a party?” Gemma asks as the music gets louder.
I jump up and rush toward the window. I have to stand on a milk crate to see out, but when I do, I gasp.
“It’s him.”
My friends are right behind me. “Him who? What is happening, Zoey?”
I turn toward them. “It’s Cam. He’s standing on top of his truck, doing Say Anything.”
“You mean from the movie?” Gemma asks. “I thought that was a Peter Gabriel song.”
“It was. But he was playing Frank at his place, the night we first hooked up.”
“Ohhhhh,” Evie squeals. “Let me see!” She practically pushes me off the milk crate so she can look, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m already rushing to the door.
23
Zoey
I hurry up the stairs and burst outside.
He’s here. Standing on his truck, making a fool of himself—and a public nuisance, too.
But what does it mean?
Cam turns off the music and looks down at me.
“Hey,” he says slowly.
I’m walking slowly toward the truck when something slides down my leg and clatters to the pavement.
It’s the remote. Falling out of my pants.
Classy.
Cam arches an eyebrow.
“Don’t ask.” I shake my head because this moment feels surreal. I almost can’t believe it’s happening. Does eating your body weight in candy bring on hallucinations?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, gulping back the nerves suddenly fluttering in my stomach.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Er . . . not exactly.” I’m yelling. And on display for the whole neighborhood. “Why don’t you come down here?”
He scrambles down off the truck, giving me the opportunity to take a couple steadying breaths. Because seeing him is making me . . . breathless. Everything I’ve been feeling about him these last two weeks is still there, but with the added complication of how great it is to see him.
I really, really missed him.
Then he’s right there in front of me. It’s been some time since he taped that show—his jaw is now covered in dark, sexy-as-hell scruff that I want to run my nails over.
But no. That’s not what this is about.
Is it
?
“You look cute,” he says, looking me up and down. “I like the pants.”
I gulp. Now I really am wishing my shower wasn’t yesterday’s yesterday. “They could use pockets. You know, for my remote.”
He chuckles.
“I was just watching your show,” I blurt out, my head still spinning. “With Gemma and Eve.”
He looks over my shoulder. “Where are they?”
I point toward the basement window. And like Middle-earth dwellers, there they are, sharing the crate, faces glued to the glass. “Watching us.”
Cam waves.
I turn back toward him. “They came over to watch your show with me. Moral support”
“I was hoping you would watch it,” he says.
I gulp again. “You changed your concept,” I say, nodding to the fresh paint job on the truck. “Burgers. But why?”
He pauses. “You want to know the truth? I don’t want to compete against you anymore. I mean, the truth is, I’d lose, hands down. But I don’t want that rivalry to stand between us.”
“Wow.”
Seriously, wow.
“But, you won,” I stammer. “And the publicity—”
“Is still rolling in fast for the Burger Bandit,” Cam reassures me. “But I’m serious, Zoey. The two of us, fighting over customers and contests . . . I don’t want that. Not if there’s a chance we can be together.”
Now I really am speechless, because . . .
Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“I owe you an apology,” Cam continues. He moves closer and takes my hand. “I got caught up in the competition. And you were right. I should have done more to stop AJ, I just never thought he’d take it that far. But he did, and I’m so, so sorry. You’re what matters,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “I’m sorry I let that get away from me. And I’m really fucking sorry that I let you get away.”
“Cam . . .” I try to speak, overwhelmed, but he shakes his head, still not done. “And then I did nothing to fix it. I shouldn’t have allowed the judges to give me the win. It felt . . . hollow. Wrong. But I’m here to make it up to you, Zoey. I’ve been talking to the producers of the show and I think they’re—”
“Cam,” I finally interrupt. “It’s not about the contest or the show. I mean, it’s obviously behind it, but it was about us. What happened between us.” I exhale and look down at my fuzzy slippers. “I . . . I’ve never really let my guard down with someone before. But with you, it was different. We’re alike in a lot of ways and I guess I thought we were on the same page.” I look up at him. “But then when it looked like you turned on me to win . . .”
“I know. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.” Cam pulls me into him, his arms coming around me. It’s then that I realize how cold it is outside. And how very warm he is.
“I’m sorry, too,” I say, resting against his chest. “I should have trusted that you wouldn’t have done that to me, not after everything . . .”
He shakes his head. “No, I get it. I wouldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt either, after all the shit I’d pulled. But I promise, it’ll be different now. No games. No pranks. I won’t let anything get between us.”
I look up at him, my heart singing. “Agreed.”
He grins down at me. “I missed you, Wafflegirl.”
“Ditto, Butter.”
He kisses me. Despite the cold, I melt in his arms. The kiss quickly heats up, turning from a hello-I-missed-you kiss to a hot, bone-melting, meeting of mouths and tongues. I get to rasp that scruff with my fingernails as I grip his cheeks, his arms around my back, pulling me closer.
We’re breathing hard by the time I come up for air.
Cam lands another quick kiss on my mouth before he grabs my hand and tugs me up into his truck.
“Are you going to cook for me?” I ask, playful.
“Later,” he says. He backs me up against the counter and kisses me again. “Right now, I’d rather cook with you.”
“Corny,” I grin, rolling my eyes.
He grabs my ass and pulls me up against him, the hard length of him nearly making my eyes cross. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a girl—”
“SUPER corny,” I laugh, but I love it all the same.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the order window. I’m sure it’s Gemma and Evie, come to interrupt or cheer—or hand us condoms. But as Cam slides it open, I see it’s my neighbors.
“Can we get some burgers?”
“Sorry, we’re closed!” Cam says as he slams the window shut.
I giggle.
But only for a second. Because then he’s kissing me again.
24
Zoey
A few months later . . .
“You really think you can beat me?” I taunt Cam.
“Oh, girl, I know I can,” he says, one eyebrow going up. “I have more than just mad knife skills, you know.”
I do know. Boy do I know!
“Pffft, you wish! I’m going to crush you!”
“Oh yeah?” He narrows his eyes. “You and what army?”
“I have an army,” I say, indignant. “Full of dudes.”
“Dudes,” Cam returns, condescending. “I am not scared.”
“You should be! My dudes are going to whip your dudes’ asses!”
“Oh. My. God, you two!” Eve cries. “If you don’t drop the freaking ball and start playing, no one will ever get a chance!”
I glance at Cam over the foosball table. He winks. I smirk back.
“Do the honors,” I say to Eve.
“Finally!” She grabs the ball from Cam and drops it into the table. He and I hunch over and start twisting our poles, our armies of dudes kicking the ball around the table. Not long later, one of Cam’s dudes scores on himself.
“Mad skills, huh?” I ask.
Cam grumbles something, but he’s smiling at the same time.
“So,” Eve says, “I thought there would be food at this party. You know, with you both being chefs?”
Cam and I look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Whoops!” he says. We’ve been having so much fun that we forgot to start the food. We’re celebrating what will be Cam’s new restaurant. It’s nothing permanent—just a six-month pop-up, but he’ll use it to test recipes and gauge community interest in a bricks and mortar place.
He signed the lease today, so what better reason to have a party? I called everyone we know to come celebrate with us. My brother’s even supposed to make an appearance, since he’s in LA for a movie.
Plus, I have some great news of my own . . .
“A book!” Eve squeals, bouncing on the spot. “I can’t believe it. My friend’s writing a book!”
“A food book,” I correct her, laughing. “With tons of pictures.”
“But still!” she beams. “It’s the next step in your empire. Today, the food truck . . . tomorrow, the bestseller list.”
“And I heard from Sandra, from the Truck Stop team,” I add, “they want to do a feature on the Little Red Wagon. They want to wait until after the cookbook comes out, so I can promote it at the same time.”
That’s amazing!”
“Congratulations,” Gemma adds. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Zoey.”
“We all are,” Cam agrees, slinging his arm around my shoulders and landing a kiss on my cheek. “Because you rock.”
I beam. “I’ve also been known to roll, occasionally,” I add, laughing.
“That’s my girl, talented in all ways.” Cam gives me a wink. “I better go fire up the grill. Any requests?”
I shake my head. “Everything you make is amazing.”
And it is. Cam’s burgers are delicious—in the months since he was featured on The Truck Stop, he’s been doing amazingly well. In fact, we regularly set up beside each other at events and draw double the crowds.
I find Gemma in the kitchen, mixing pitchers of margaritas. “I told you that you don’t have to help,” I
scold lightly.
She grins. “I’m happy to. Anyway . . .” She carefully lifts a glass to her lips. “Someone has to taste-test the margaritas, amirite?” She looks thoughtful. “Taste this.”
I take a sip. “More lime juice,” I suggest.
She nods and adds more lime. And tequila, giving me a wink.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
“The more the merrier!”
Leaving Gemma to finish with the margaritas, I go get orders from the rest of the crowd. Zach’s here, and Eve, too, with Brody and Martin, plus I invited Tara and Dan, and even Maddy showed up with her husband. It’s a real party, and everyone’s having fun.
“When’s the food coming?” Brody calls. “Men hungry. Men want meat!”
“Men need patience,” I tease. “I’ll go check!”
I skip back to the Burger Bandit truck and go see what my bandit is up to. Cam is busy on the grill, but he pauses to kiss me.
“What do you say we tell everyone to go home?” he asks. “I want you all to myself.”
I laugh. “OK. I’m on board with that.”
He kisses me and then suddenly pulls back. “Hold that thought.”
Turning away from me, he flips all the burgers, puts several more on the grill and then faces me again.
“Now. Where were we?”
“Heading toward second base,” I remind him.
“Right.” His hand slips inside my shirt and glides up and over my bra.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I say, reluctantly drawing away. “I mean, it’s a great idea, but sexytimes and hot grease don’t really mix. Remember the time with the deep-fried donuts?”
Cam winces. “I still have the scars.”
“Plus, it’s probably bad form to invite them over and then burn all their food because we’re getting it on in here.”
“Damn friends,” Cam says, pressing against me. “Who needs them anyway?”
“I know, right?” I grin back.
He kisses me again and to hell with the grease, I melt into him. His lips start traveling, first under my ear and then down my neck, sucking, nibbling.
“This is probably against a few health codes,” I say, breathless.
“Probably,” he says, not stopping. In fact, he pulls up my shirt and presses his hot mouth over my nipple, sucking on me right through the bra.