When I come in her mouth, my orgasm barrels through me, torching my blood and radiating in my bones.
Not just because she gave me an epic blow job. Because she gave it to me. This woman captivated me once, and she’s done it again.
I am so far gone with her, and I don’t want to ever turn back.
* * * *
Tina’s raised eyebrow tells me she doesn’t believe me.
As I slide the fresh basil to her and point to it with the knife, I defend myself once more. “Of course I have no problem giving up other women,” I say, incredulous she’d suggest otherwise.
“You say that now…”
“Seriously. Why do you doubt me? Just because I’m a big fan of women doesn’t mean I’m incapable of being with just one woman.”
As she slides the blade over the leaves, she says, “The whole ladies’ man persona is part of your identity. Not just as a man, but as a chef.”
“Where do you come up with such insanity? Do I need to cancel the rest of your cooking tutorials for uttering such blasphemy?”
“You’d never do that to me,” she says firmly, setting down the knife and pinning me with a daring look in her wise eyes. “Who else would be this blunt with you?”
I laugh. “Fine. You’re lovely and blunt. But what is this nonsense about my identity?”
Her voice softens. “Your star rose right along with your popularity with the female sex. You’ve said it yourself. Perhaps not in those exact terms, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. As soon as you were on that show and your restaurants grew more popular, the women flocked to you in droves.”
She’s not wrong when she says women and success have gone hand in hand. Yes, it’s true that perhaps my rise as a chef paralleled a jump in attention from the press when it came to my dating, and an increase in my exploits, and a lot more women. “And that means…what exactly?”
“That your affection for women isn’t just about women. I think a part of you believes your success is tied to the entire persona the show crafted for you. They molded you as the sexiest chef. And the question is this—once you’re attached, can you still wear that crown?”
I scoff, dismissing her idea. Cooking is my love, and if I didn’t believe in my deepest heart of hearts that I was meant to do it, single, married, or otherwise, I wouldn’t have slaved over a burner and a skillet and a kettle for countless hours. “I love the theory, but the fact is, even if my professional and social identities have been intertwined, I have enough faith in my abilities to know the customers will show up regardless.”
“Good.”
“Besides, the past is the past, right?”
She answers me with a smile.
It better be. The past really better be behind us.
Chapter Twelve
Penny
Later that week, I head downtown to Gabriel’s restaurant. When I turn onto Christopher, I spot the red wooden sign hanging above the door like a beacon. Funny how a little more than a week ago, I marched down this street, steeling myself, unsure what to expect. My armor strapped on, I was girded for battle.
Then, I was thrown for a loop when he didn’t appear to recognize me.
Now, as I walk to his eatery to finalize plans for the event this coming weekend, a mix of confidence and happiness surges in me. It’s such a welcome change from the last time I was here. When I press my palm on the glass door, I enter as the woman he wants, the woman he can’t let get away.
But something in me seizes up when I see a mane of blond hair and hear a woman laugh.
“Wait till you try the blackberries, though. You’ll be making a blackberry cobbler tonight for sure,” she says, her voice like a cat’s purr.
Tension flares in me when my eyes settle on the back of Greta’s head and her long curtain of hair. She’s chatting at the bar with Gabriel. The restaurant is quiet now, since it’s not yet lunchtime. A swoop of dark hair falls over his eyes, and for a moment I picture her reaching out a hand, as if she’s going to brush it away for him.
Jealousy burns white-hot in my blood. A fantasy unfurls, one of leaping onto her back, grappling her hair, and scratching her eyes out.
“I do enjoy a delicious blackberry cobbler,” he says to her, and that’s when I should launch my attack. Go airborne. Full woman-on-woman ambush. I rise up on my toes, and if I’ve got the angle right, I can fling myself on her, tackle her to the ground, and claw her away from my man.
But that’s not what happens next.
Because what happens next has nothing to do with her or with him.
It has to do with me.
Taking a breath, I shoo away my errant thoughts.
I trust Gabriel, but more than that, I trust myself. There was a time when I doubted what I deserved in life, when I wondered if I was unlovable because he’d stood me up. But over the years, I made choices and I made changes. I sought out the kind of life I wanted to live. Yes, I’d been hurt when he didn’t show. Deeply, terribly wounded. And for a long time, I’d shut down. Maybe I didn’t let myself fall too far or too deeply for anyone else.
And I’d believed I was protecting myself from hurt.
But I know now that’s not the reason I never fell for another man.
As I look at Gabriel, my heart thumping with a wild madness, the reason is this—my heart was given to him long ago.
And now, he has it fully—because of me and the choices I’m making this time around. To trust him. To believe in us. To have faith that he’s with me.