by JA Lafrance
He looks at me expectantly.
“You’ll need this.” I pass him a hairnet.
He looks at it with shock. I can’t help but smirk as I spin back away from him.
Hunter
She’s beautiful when she’s angry. I have no clue why she’s so pissed at me, though. She has a problem with people with money, obviously.
Money doesn’t make me an asshole. Okay, some of my past deeds make me an asshole, but I’m trying to do better.
I peel potatoes for the next hour and then she has me washing dishes while she cooks. I enjoy watching her make salad and homemade bread bowls to serve the soup in. The kitchen smells amazing.
A few hours later, I watch her serve it with fresh herbs and freshly cracked pepper on top, presenting it like she’s feeding people at Bistro Bleu. Some of them are filthy. Stinky. Some of them are clearly homeless. Many of them look like regular people and know her by name. She gives everyone a genuine beaming smile, but every time her eyes land on me, she scowls.
I’m perplexed. She has such a hate on for me. Why does the lady protest so much?
Christina
He’s been here all day with that smug smirk, staring like he can see through my clothes.
I’m dressed for the day I planned to have—a day in a kitchen feeding needy people, lonely people, people who need a break. This centre means something to me and I hate that he’s here pretending to give a crap. Why? Does he think that’ll get him into my pants?
“So,” Hunter says, putting his jacket on. “Wanna grab a coffee?”
“I’m all coffee’d out, thanks,” I say, tossing my hair net into my cubby and fluffing out my hair.
His eyes are on me like I’ve just done something cute.
“It doesn’t have to be coffee. We could go for a drink. We could—”
“Up early for work tomorrow. Bye.” I head to the door, calling out “G’night Frannie.”
“‘Night, doll. Thanks for today. See you next week. Thursday?”
“Yep,” I say.
“Stuffed peppers?” she asks.
I give her a thumbs up.
“You rock, girl. Thanks for the help, handsome.” She winks at Hunter on her way through the swinging kitchen door.
“My pleasure, I’ll be back Thursday, too,” he calls.
I spin to face him. “No, you won’t.” I then raise my voice. “No, he won’t, Fran.”
“Yes, I will,” he whispers to me, smiling, then raises his voice, “I sure will, Fran!”
Ack. I storm outside. He follows.
“Why are you so pissed at me, Christina?”
I grit my teeth as I shove my key into the lock on my car.
“I don’t have time for this. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not interested.”
“Well, gotta say, I get that you’re tryin’ to convey that, but I think persistence pays off.”
“It’s not happening.”
“We’ll see,” he says cockily.
“No.” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Wake up. I’m not doing this. I’m not interested in being your next conquest. You’re wasting your time and you’re frustrating me in the process. So… give it up.”
I pull my door open.
“Christina?”
I sigh but don’t turn around.
“You definitely made love with that soup. Best damn potatoes I’ve ever tasted. And, by the way, thank you for saving my life. You didn’t just save the life of some rich jackass. You helped him want to become somebody better.”
I’m a little stunned. I swallow and take a deep breath.
I turn around, but he’s gone.
Thursday, Hunter is back. There are more volunteers today, so it’s much easier for me to ignore him because Cathy, another program director, keeps him busy with unloading a truck of kitchen supplies.
“Is he here for community service?” Louisa, sole caregiver to her elderly father with a plethora of medical problems asks as I’m refilling the supplies at the coffee station.
“I don’t think so, why?” I ask.
“Man that sexy spending his time here? Figure he’s got a debt to pay to society.”
I shrug. She reaches for a coffee mug.
“Or maybe he’s just a nice guy,” she muses.
I hear him laugh and turn to look. Louisa is watching him talk to her father, Mr. Shriar, who frequently played chess with Mr. Wagner. Mr. Wagner died last month of pneumonia and Mr. Shriar has looked a little lost ever since.
Hunter crosses the room and passes me, eyes sweeping over me appreciatively before he gets to the boardgames shelf. And I feel a swell of pride and then shame simultaneously because yeah, okay, I put a little effort into my appearance today. And I’ve had half a dozen comments, too because I don’t usually dress up to come here. I chide myself because I probably dressed up a little in case he did show up. Stupidly.
He grabs the chess set and then passes me again, this time smiling at Louisa and not even looking at me.
My heart skips a beat when I see Mr. Shriar’s face light up at the sight of the chessboard.
“Oh wow,” Louisa says. She looks touched. “Dad will be thrilled.”
I squeeze her shoulder affectionately and head back to the kitchen to check on the stuffed peppers with a warm fuzzy feeling that Hunter might be not so bad after all.
I get into the kitchen and the smell… burning.
Oh no!
I rush to the wall of ovens and smoke billows out of the first one when I yank the door open. The broiler is on! I choke on the fumes. Three trays of stuffed peppers are charred to a crisp.
Damn it.
The ones in the adjacent oven are okay; that oven is at the correct temperature.
The smoke detector starts screaming. Shit.
“What? Oh no!” Frannie gasps. “Our peppers!”
“I have no idea how that oven got put on broil, Frannie!”
Her mouth twists as she opens the back door to try to vent out the smoke and fumes. Another volunteer gets on a chair and pulls the batteries from the smoke alarm.
“We’ve got a big group here today. What are we gonna feed them?” Cathy asks.
Hunter’s suddenly in the kitchen with us. “I’ve got this,” he says while dialing a number on his cell phone.
My eyes narrow suspiciously.
Hunter
Everyone is enjoying their pizza and wings. Save one. Christina Rose. There were enough of Christina’s stuffed peppers not ruined that everyone got a slice, although not a whole pepper of their own, so I don’t know why she’s got such a sour look on her face. It’s aimed at me. She’s venomous. This girl has a serious chip on her shoulder.
Maybe I’m wrong to pursue this. Maybe I should be done with it. For some reason, she thinks I’m a piece of shit.
Because I have money? Because I have a bit of a reputation?
As the centre shuts down, I walk out, but I wait, leaning against the hood of her car until she comes out.
“Hey,” I greet.
Her eyes narrow and she gives her hair a flip as she passes me on her way to the driver’s side.
Fuck, she’s hot.
“Christina?”
“It’s Tina. Nobody calls me Christina. Though, never mind, because you don’t need to say my name at all. Off my car, buddy.”
I jerk in surprise. “What’s with the hostility?”
“Did you jack the stove to ruin that dinner so you could save the day?”
“What?” I look at her like she’s crazy.
She’s not crazy. That’s exactly what I did.
“You asshole! I knew it. I knew I saw you go in the kitchen with a look on your face like you were about to do something shitty.”
I roll my eyes, not sure how she sees through me. I’ve got a damn good poker face.
“For your information, you might think you made yourself look like a hero because you can call Pizza Pizza and drop two hundred bucks like it’s nothin�
�, but those people were really looking forward to those peppers.”
“Aw, sorry your lovemaking didn’t get the recognition you wanted there, Pumpkin,” I say with an exaggerated pout.
She glares.
I move off the car as she opens the door.
“We grew those peppers ourselves.”
I try to hide my reaction, but I fail. My expression drops.
“We tilled that soil, we planted those seeds, we watered those little plants until they turned into food.”
Fuck.
“And we were all excited about eating them. Because we grew them! And you fucking burned them into nothing so that you could be a hero.”
Shit.
I have no words. I know my face conveys my remorse. She doesn’t care. She’s surer now than she ever was that I’m garbage.
“I’m sorry, Christina. I fucked up. Made a bad call.”
“Tina! Don’t use these people and this centre for your agenda, Collins. It’s shitty. You’re shitty. And if you haven’t figured it out, I’m telling you one last time that you will never, not ever get into my pants.”
And with that parting shot, she drives away.
Christina — A week later…
It’s been a bad day. A bad week. Four deaths in the back of my ambulance in one day. Four. And deaths every day before that this week. Bad ones. I mean, death is never good, but sometimes it’s extra bad. Young people. Tragedies. Donald tells me it goes like this sometimes. Sometimes there are stretches where everyone makes it. Sometimes, it’s like this. It’s made me question whether or not I’m built for this.
When I saw myself in this job, I saw myself saving lives, making a difference. I didn’t see myself dealing with one death after another, after another. I didn’t see myself feeling this heavy in my heart, feeling this helpless so many days in a row.
My roommate pulls me from my thoughts by grabbing my hand. “Hey girl. Get gussied up. We’re goin’ dancing.”
I shake my head. “Naw, I can’t. I’ll just drag you down with this mood.”
“Teeny, come on… let’s go dance it out like they do on Grey’s Anatomy. It’ll help. Promise.”
“How will it help?”
“Give yourself a break. You do your best. That’s all you can do. You’ve saved a lot of people. You can’t save them all. Give yourself a goddamn break. Come on. Get off this couch. Go make yourself beautiful. Now! You’ve got one life to live. Live it!”
Uh oh. She rarely gets angry. She’s gonna dig her heels in on this. When my roommate gets her head set on something, it’s better to just go along with it.
The heavy bass thrums in my chest and maybe even through to my marrow as I give myself over to the music, the lights, the vibe, and the alcohol now coursing through my blood. I’ve had three shots and three cocktails and I’m a lightweight, so to say I’m drunk is putting it mildly. I feel somewhat tingly, but mostly numb, and it feels great not feel so much reality, instead to just feel the music.
I open my eyes and see expressive chocolate brown eyes on me. Messy blond hair. An expression that, for once, isn’t brimming with cockiness. Hunter Collins is leaning against the bar, a drink to his lips, something amber with ice cubes instead of the something red with an umbrella and pink sugar coating the rim, like I’ve been drinking.
I head toward him. As soon as I’m in front of him, he’s speaking before my finger is completely extended in an accusing point.
“I’m not stalking you, Tina, it’s just pure chance we happen to both be here at the same time.”
I shoot him with a finger gun.
He rears back, gripping his shirt over his heart like I hit the target.
“Like I believe you!” I hiss.
He shrugs, downs his drink and chews on an ice cube, taking his time doing it as his gaze peruses my short glittery silver halter dress, then my strappy stilettos.
He shrugs. “Common knowledge that my father owns this club. How do I know you’re not here to stalk me?”
I scoff. As if.
I peruse his body from head to toe. He’s wearing a suit. A black one that fits very, very well.
April is suddenly beside me, handing me another drink.
“Ooh!” I get excited. I lean forward and drop a kiss on her lips.
She laughs. “Ooh, playful Teeny. Me likey. Hey Hunter, you’re gonna love playful Teeny, too,” she says, licks her lips, winks at him and then promptly marches back to our friends on the dance floor.
I sip my drink. After the taste of the sugar on the rim, this one I note, has a slightly boozier flavour than the last ones I’ve had.
I shoot a dirty look over my shoulder at April. She winks and holds her glass up.
Whatever.
I turn back to face Hunter and run the tip of my tongue along the rim for a beat to get more sugar. And I realize Hunter’s eyes are on me and they are fiery hot.
Oh. All that tongue. No wonder. After kissing a girl on the lips.
He’s looking at me like he’s never met me before.
“So, you’re not stalking me?” I inquire.
He signals the bartender and gestures to my glass as well as his.
“I just got a fresh one, I don’t need another,” I tell him.
“I might need both of ours,” he says huskily.
I giggle.
His eyes sparkle.
“So, you’re not stalking me?” he parrots.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“You’re not coming back to crush my ego some more?” he asks.
“As if. I’m sure your ego held up just fine after my tongue-lashing.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “You can lash me with that little tongue any time you want, Tina.”
I pout. He tilts his head with inquiry in his eyes.
I liked it when he called me Christina better.
I shake it off and sip my drink. What’s wrong with me? I’m drunk, that’s what.
“Sorry about the peppers, Tina. It was a jerk move. I’m a work-in-progress.”
I say nothing for a minute and then wave my hand and change the subject.
“So, you come here often?” I ask.
“Occasionally. I show up and my presence ensures the staff do a good job.”
“Hm.”
“You? I’m guessing no.”
“Naw. Not really a bar girl type.”
“You’re more of a saving lives, making food for the unfortunate type?”
I smile. “I’m sure a bar girl is more your type.”
“It was,” he says thoughtfully.
The bartender deposits two drinks behind him. One for Hunter. One for me. I take a giant sip of the drink in my hand so I can get to that.
I’m definitely buzzed. More than that. I’m sloshed.
“It was,” he repeats, “but then I nearly died, and it forced me to take a closer look at my life. At the decisions I typically make. At the people I spent time with. I got lucky. I’m tryin’ to deserve that extra chance I got.”
The look in his eyes appears genuine.
I say nothing.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He continues. “And when I thought about that, I thought about a girl with kind blue eyes, a soothing voice. A girl that made me feel some kinda way.”
“It’s hard to not feel some kinda way when you’re afraid to die,” I say. “Sadly, though, a whole bunch of people heard that voice and saw those eyes this week and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.” I down my drink.
His eyes flare with concern. “Bad week?”
“The worst,” I say.
I’m feeling a bit of sourness. I’m feeling the heaviness settling back into my chest like it’s back home in its rightful place.
But then my favorite song comes on and I hear April make a ‘Woo’ sound from behind me on the dancefloor. I look over my shoulder and spot her getting her groove on with a hot man with chocolate skin and humu
ngous muscles.
And I’m tired of wallowing.
“I was having fun. Why do I do that to myself? Let myself feel all heavy and sad?” I ask Hunter.
He’s looking at me with depth in his eyes that kind of unnerves me.
“Because you care.”
“I just wanna turn it off. Feel good. You know? For a little while. I’ve been feeling like shit for… forever.”
“And you deserve to feel good,” he says. “Lots of people live a life of hedonism without ever doin’ much good. Someone like you who spends most of her life trying to do good deserves to feel good too.”
I bite my lip. He’s pretty fucking sexy.
And he’s right. I do deserve to feel good once in a while.
Fuck it. I’m going to let myself feel good for a change.
“You wanna dance?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I want you to take me home with you. I wanna feel good, Hunter.”
I see his eyebrows fly up toward his hairline while I down my drink.
I put my empty glass down and lift the glass from beside him and slowly lick the sugar all the way around the rim while our gazes are locked, and then, somehow I find myself in his arms and my tongue is in his mouth.
His hands are then tangled in my hair and I feel the ridge of his erection against my belly.
Hunter
I down my drink, order one more and down that so I can catch up a little. I’m not as drunk as her, but I’m drunk on her. Thankfully, I have just enough sense to get her back to my apartment before I’m fucking her against the bar in public because she’s a hot little toddy and not only did she just stick her tongue in my mouth, but I felt the heat of her pussy straight through that slinky little dress.
There’s a voice in my head telling me that Christina Rose is just drunk and taking her home is taking advantage. She thinks I’m a piece of shit and if I do this, she’s going to have confirmation of her thoughts. The fact is that she had a bad day and just wants to ride my cock where I want to explore something real with her.
That voice in my head telling me to take a step back, to take this slow is new and not nearly as loud as the OG Hunter Collins voice that says … Man, you’ve been fantasizing about this girl for over two months and she’s right here, wanting you.