He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls, firmly and insistently, lowering me impossibly deep onto the monster in between his legs.
And as soon as the insides of my thighs are pushing down on the perfect v of his hips, I just start bucking against him as hard as I can.
Like I’m still trying to fight him, even now.
“Dinner time.”
As soon as I hear the sound of Liam’s voice, I shoot up into a sitting position, thrusting Fuck You, Loverboy in between the couch cushions as deep as I can get it.
He definitely doesn’t need to know that I’ve been reading this particular book.
Liam steps into the apartment, shuts the door behind him, and shoots me a suspicious look. “What the fuck was that? Ew, you weren’t just—”
“NO!” I shout, the denial coming out a little bit louder and a little bit squeakier than I wanted it to. “That’s disgusting, and you’re disgusting for thinking that’s what I was doing!”
Though I do get why he would think that, especially considering what I was just reading…
“Speaking of you being disgusting,” I say, scrunching up my nose at the sight of a massive stain on Liam’s shirt, “What happened to your shirt?”
Liam looks down at himself and grins. “Oh, yeah. French onion soup. Somebody in the kitchen spilled it on me right before I left, but it’s no big deal.”
Before I can object, Liam reaches down and rips his shirt up over his head, and I immediately try not to look at his massive, muscly body.
“Okay, that’s even worse,” I say, my eyes fixed to the coffee table, “Put your shirt back on.”
Liam walks down the hall towards the bedroom, setting a little cooler down on the kitchen counter as he passes it. “That’s our main course,” he says, disappearing into his room, “Remember that steak picture I sent you? You don’t have to answer, I know you do. Well, that’s what we’re going to make for dinner.”
I look up at Liam as he steps back out into the living room and immediately regret it. For some reason, he thought it was a good idea to change into a flimsy tank top that hangs off his body like it’s not even there. It’s actually worse than if he was just shirtless. And now I’m supposed to share a kitchen with him while we cool an entire meal?
He’s the WORST.
“But first,” he says, “Let’s see how you did with the sides.”
I sigh as Liam steps into the kitchen and I hear the fridge open.
I guess it’s time to start cooking boot camp for real. With a sigh, I get up off the couch and step into the kitchen, where Liam is looking at my mashed potatoes and dumplings and shaking his head.
“Wow, Groundhog,” he says, “These are some truly pathetic side dishes. You didn’t even try to slow cook the potatoes, and these dumplings look like you folded them in five seconds.”
“Well, that’s your fault,” I say, “You gave me two recipes that took six hours to make. That’s just ridiculous!”
Liam shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have to stay here and watch them cook for all six hours. You could have spent most of that time doing something else, and you still would have followed the recipes correctly.”
He takes a step towards me, and the flush of pink that was coloring my face when he walked in returns. “Whatever. I got a lot done, and I bet those side dishes are still going to be good.”
“They probably will be good…but they won’t be great.”
Liam walks past me, stepping out into the hall. “Preheat the oven to 475 degrees. I’m going to take a shower, and when I get back…we’re going to start teaching you a little discipline.”
Looking over towards the oven, I catch my breath as Liam shuts the bathroom door and starts up a shower. Okay, Riley. Deep breath. Snap out of it, preheat this oven, indulge Liam for however long it takes to cook these steaks, and then I’ll be free to, uh, go back to the couch and watch some TV or something.
But whatever I do, I definitely can’t read anymore of that book. I think it’s giving me weird ideas. I don’t know how else to explain why my face is flushed and my heart is beating hard after only a couple seconds of sharing a kitchen with Liam.
Or maybe my terrible streak of trying to date in New York is finally catching up with me, and my body just got Liam confused with someone else for a couple seconds. I mean, who could blame it? He does look pretty different now that he’s completely, ridiculously ripped.
It’s probably just an honest mistake.
Alright, well I’m not going to snap out of it if I just keep standing in the kitchen doorway with my knees pressed together, so I think I’ll go preheat the oven. What temperature did Liam say I should set it to? 425?
Walking over towards the oven, I turn it on and start ticking up the temperature until the oven display reads 425.
Or wait, did he say 475?
I’m not sure, but let’s go with that. That way, these steaks will cook faster.
Okay, that’s done. Now, what’s the next step?
Oh. Right. There was no next step. I’m just supposed to wait for Liam to get out of the shower.
Man, I really do need to get laid, don’t I? As I watch the heat of the oven slowly rise, my mind keeps wandering back to the part of Fuck You, Loverboy where the heroine presses her thighs up against her former enemy’s defined pelvic v. I wonder what that feels like. I’ve never had sex with a guy who was in that kind of shape.
I mean, I’ve barely even seen a body like that in real life, except, you know, a couple minutes ago, when Liam ripped off his shirt…
Eugh! What the hell am I doing? I think my brain needs a long, cold shower or something. Was I seriously just fantasizing about Liam? That Liam?
There must be something else I can do to cook these steaks.
I step over to the cooler on the counter and open it up to reveal four uncooked, juicy-looking steaks.
Hmm…well, if that omelette this morning was any indication, Liam is going to want these steaks covered in spices before he cooks them.
I open the cabinets above my head until I find the one where Liam keeps his spices. Inside, there have to be at least a hundred spices staring down at me, some of them with labels in other languages.
Okay, let’s get some black pepper, some cayenne pepper, maybe some paprika…
“I guess that’s a start.”
I whirl around at the sound of Liam’s voice and see him standing in the kitchen doorway, hair wet and still wearing that stupid tank top.
And as soon as I see him, the flush that was starting to go away while he was in the shower just came right back with a vengeance.
And that’s not good.
“But that mix isn’t going to get you a steak that makes you want to tell your whole family about it. Here,” stepping behind me, he reaches over my head and pulls at least ten different spices off the cabinet, “This is more like it.”
Liam’s body brushes up against my back as he reaches over my head, and I pull away from him like he’s on fire.
“This is one of my secret weapons. Get the right mix of seasonings, something that’s complicated enough that people won’t be able to guess it just from tasting it, and it drives people fucking wild. You know, like you were about that omelette this morning.”
“Get over yourself,” I say, turning back towards Liam and rolling my eyes at him, “It was just okay.”
Liam leans in with a grin on his face, backing me all the way up against the counter, and I try as hard as I possibly can to ignore what feels disturbingly like heat building up between my legs. “Groundhog, I think we both know it was more than just okay, and the sooner you admit that, the sooner I’ll be able to give you the education you desperately need.”
“Fine,” I say, “It was good, now get away from me and let’s actually start cooking.”
I smack Liam on the torso, and he raises his eyebrows as I turn around and start sprinkling seasoning on the steaks, which are almost as pink as my face.
“Whoa, who
a, whoa, that’s way too much,” Liam says, stepping back in behind me and wrapping a huge hand around my wrist, “Here, let me show you how to season these.”
My mind is completely overloaded with emotions as Liam stands behind me and guides my hand while I season the steaks. Part of me is furious at how condescending and arrogant he’s acting, part of me genuinely wants to learn from him and part of me wants to…I don’t know what it wants to do, but that part is blazing hot and I have no idea why.
And we’re on spice number two, out of ten, and the steaks haven’t even gone into the oven yet.
How am I even going to make it through this recipe?
Suddenly, a distant buzzing noise comes from the living room, and I let out a huge sigh of relief. Whoever’s calling my phone right now is officially my new hero. Ducking under one of Liam’s tree trunk arms, I wiggle past him and step out into the hall. “Sorry, I think I have to take this. It might be one of the farms I emailed today about sending us toppings.”
I pick the phone up off the coffee table and look at the screen. It’s an unknown number, but judging by the area code, I know exactly which farm this is, and they’re about to get a very generous offer from me for this phone call.
“Oof,” I say, trying to look disappointed as Liam steps out into the hall. “It is one of the farms. I think I need to take this. Uh...maybe you can just finish those steaks, and I’ll come back for the gravy.”
“The gravy’s easy,” Liam growls, “I barely even need to help you with it.”
Perfect.
“Yeah, well, they had a lot of questions over email, so this might be a long call…maybe even an hour, so unless you want to wait that long…”
Liam shakes his head. “No fucking way. Go ahead and take the call.”
Then, his eyes lock onto mine, making my thighs squeeze together and my knees weaken. “But the longer you put these lessons off…the more intense they’re going to get.”
Well, uh…I’m not sure how that’s even possible. “We’ll cook dinner tomorrow,” I say, bringing the phone up to my face, “Promise.”
Liam nods, and I open the front door of the apartment, stepping out onto the landing as I answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Ms. Bishop,” says the voice on the other end of the line as I close the door behind me, take a deep breath, and try to think of any reason why Liam of all people, the biggest loser in the universe, had me feeling like a character in one of Sam’s books.
“Sorry about the late call,” the voice says, “We’re a little busy today, I hope we didn’t interrupt anything.”
Oh, you interrupted something.
I’m just not sure what.
Chapter 12: Liam
“I don’t understand. You want to split half of the catering job with another restaurant?”
A woman waves at me as she walks back to her car with her boyfriend. “Thank you so much! That was delicious!”
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I wave back at the couple. “Come back soon. That’s what we do here at Crave,” I say to her.
“That’s what you do at Crave?” The voice on the other end of the line asks. It’s Anya, the model who got us the job, and the only person at all involved with LA fashion week who knows who we are. “You share your catering jobs with random other restaurants?”
“This isn’t a random other restaurant,” I say, “This other chef is…my apprentice, and my concept for the food at your fashion show—”
“Oh, you won’t be catering the show,” Anya says with a cold laugh, “You’ll be catering the afterparty after the show.”
What the fuck? See, this is why I wanted to talk to an actual organizer, but Anya wants my presence to be a “surprise.” You know like she just surprised me by telling me the massive catering order I’m going to be preparing a little over a week from now is going to be for a totally different event than I thought it was.
I mean, hey, catering an afterparty isn’t that bad. In some ways, it’s probably better that catering a fashion show. After all, who would want to stuff their face after watching models walk up and down a runway for two hours?
But a little notice would have been nice. “Okay, well, my concept for the food at your afterparty is that my apprentice and I are going to have two different spreads that complement each other. So I just wanted to let you know that there’s going to be an extra chef on the scene.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I guess that’s fine…but whoever this other chef is…they’d better be good. There are people flying in from all over the world who are going to be at this party, and they’re only going to want the best.”
“Oh, you’re getting the best,” I say, “I just wanted to let you know what it’s going to look like.”
“Great,” Anya says, “Well…I guess you could call me again if you have any questions. Otherwise…I’ll see you next week. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to come dressed in your best.”
“Nope,” I say, “But I’ll pass it along to the other cooks.”
“Do that,” Anya says, “And, just so you know, you’re going to be my plus one at the fashion show, so make that part of your plans for the evening.”
My hand clenches hard around my phone. Yeah, sure, it’s not like I need to, you know, cook the food or anything. “Alright,” I say, “I’ll see you next week.”
I shake my head as I put my phone back in my pocket and head back around the side of Crave towards the kitchen. But hey, I got what I wanted. Now, Riley has a very, very good reason not to blow me off when I’m trying to teach her how to cook.
And, as a little bonus, I’m going to cook circles around her at a public event. Other than the part where I have to sit through an entire fashion show with Anya, it’s going to be fucking great.
Stepping back into the kitchen, I walk up to Matt, who’s cooking up some oysters in a pan.
“I just got off the phone with Anya. What do you think goes well with pizza?”
Matt shrugs. “More pizza.”
I grit my teeth. “Hmm. Then what’s better than pizza? We’re co-catering LA Fashion Week with Riley’s Pizza Kitchen, and I want to make sure we steal the show.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Holy shit.”
“Also, we’re not doing the fashion show, we’re doing the afterparty, and we’re going to have to figure out how to do it with me being Anya’s plus one for the fashion show.”
Matt takes the pan off the burner and starts dumping the oysters out onto a plate. “Okay, back up, though: Riley’s catering with us? I mean, that’s amazing, Riley’s awesome…but how did it happen?”
“I asked Anya about it, she said yes,” I say.
“Right…but you hate Riley, right? Why would you do something this nice for her? I mean, if she impresses the right people at that afterparty, she could be on our level overnight.”
I laugh. “Oh, trust me, I’ve been watching her cook, and she’s not going to be on our level for a long, long time. But right now, she’s focusing on everything other than actually cooking the food, so I thought it would give her some motivation.”
Matt shakes his head. “Man, I don’t understand you two at all.”
He looks down at the oysters, “Well, we definitely shouldn’t bring anything that’s been on our menu in the past month. And I assume Riley’s going to be cooking some version of those delicious mini-pizzas that her mom used to make.”
“Right,” I say, “So we need to be just as delicious with what we bring to the table. And it needs to be something that a bunch of drunk people would choose to eat over pizza.”
“Does that even exist?” Matt asks.
“Well, pizza at a party is pretty common, so if we came with something that’s a household name, something that everyone likes, but something that people never have at parties, that’s how we could beat pizza.”
I think about it for a second, focusing on what we could bring that would drive Riley up the wall. Maybe so
mething she already tried to make since she’s been back?
Yeah, that’d be good…you know, if she actually cooked anything other than the pizzas she was making at Sam’s. Other than that, she was probably just heating up ramen in New York—
Wait. That’s fucking perfect.
“Ramen,” I say to Matt. “Pizza versus ramen. That’s what it’s going to be.”
“Hmm,” Matt nods, mulling it over, “Have we ever made ramen here?”
“I don’t think so,” I say with a grin, “That’s why it’s perfect for Fashion Week. We’ll be giving them a Crave exclusive.”
“Yeah,” Matt says, “I like that. So, what, we’re going to have little bowls for everyone?”
I nod. “With a bunch of different flavors; that way, we get people comparing them and we show them that at Crave, we can make anything.”
“That sounds amazing,” Matt says, “Fuck it, there’s a ramen place on the beach, I’ll take Sam there tonight to get some ideas.”
The irony of this is starting to hit me. “Meanwhile,” I say, “I’m going to be cooking pizza with Riley. At this point, we don’t have time to be working on anything else.”
“Like I said,” Matt says, “I don’t understand you two at all.”
I look up at the clock, figuring I’ve got maybe thirty more minutes before I head back to my place. “What’s hard to understand?” I ask, “We hate each other.”
Chapter 13: Liam
By the time I get back to the apartment, the sky is dark, and the parking lot lights are on. I walk up to the door, a bag of pizza ingredients I swiped from Crave in my hand, and get ready to go inside.
Maybe since I’m so late, I’ll walk in on Riley doing something embarrassing, like I almost did last night.
What was that about, anyway? All I saw was her sitting up super fast and making the same face Duke does when I catch him eating out of the trash can.
I mean, I know what it looks like: it looks like Riley was having a little time to herself on my couch.
Now that’s a hilarious mental image. As gross as it would be, I almost wish I’d caught her in the act; she’d never be able to win an argument against me again.
Screw You, Lover: An Enemies To Lovers Romance Page 7