Page 33 of Until August
What was I thinking?
He strode away, and I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then I mentally shook myself and wiped down the counter with shaking hands just to look busy when my kitchen staff filed in.
Moments later, August returned from the walk-in with a slab of beef. He threw it down on the cutting board and started carving it into medallions. Even from across the room, I could see the tension in his shoulders.
“How are you treating your girlfriend today?” Luca asked him with a smirk.
“Same as yesterday,” August said, his gaze drifting toward me. “With infinite care.” He caressed the meat as if it was a lover, and I could almost feel his touch on my skin from across the room.
He played dirty.
Heat crept up my neck and made my cheeks flame. He wasn’t even talking about me.
The ‘girlfriend’ in question was dry-aged ribeye, the beef August had insisted we use to replace the filet mignon.
When he’d talked to Zach about best cooking practices, he’d said, “Treat it like you’d treat a girlfriend. Be good to her, and you’ll reap the rewards.”
I walked away before the entire kitchen crew noticed my flushed cheeks and slipped into my favorite hiding place.
Closing the door behind me, I leaned against the walk-in door and pressed my palm against my forehead like I was checking for a fever.
I stepped away from the door as it opened, and Miguel came inside. He gave me a look like he knew exactly what was going on. Thankfully, he didn’t call me out on it.
I returned to my work just as if nothing had happened. Because nothing had happened. But it almost had, and I’d done nothing to stop it.
I tried to justify it in my own head.
I was only human, and I couldn’t deny that August was a very handsome man.
But being attracted to him didn’t give me any right to act on it.
Look, but don’t touch. That was my new mantra.
I had to keep repeating it whenever his arm brushed mine, or he had to squeeze past me to set plates on the pass or get to the sink.
Was it so wrong that I missed sex and fantasized about August when I gave myself an orgasm in the shower?
Definitely wrong.
So fucking wrong.
I was going straight to hell.
* * *
A few days after the almost kiss, the staff sat down to our family meal just like we did every night before service started. Tonight it was lobster mac and cheese and beef stir fry with pomegranate sauce. August always went around the different stations, gathering the prep scraps and creating something special.
I was talking to Rob when Ari’s laughter reached my ears. I looked down the table as she leaned in close and said something to August, sitting right next to her. He listened intently, like whatever she said was so fascinating that he didn’t want to miss a single word.
Her face was animated, and she was gesticulating with her hands while she talked. It was a Benedetti trait. We all used our hands to talk.
August laughed at her story, which I couldn’t hear. But I could see perfectly fine, so I didn’t miss the moment when Ari put her hand on his arm and smiled at him, batting her lashes like they were at a bar, and he’d just offered to buy her a drink.
Jealousy reared its ugly head. I tried to focus on whatever Rob was telling me about the cocktail menu.
“... vodka with shiso and ginger….”
“Mmhmm. Sounds good,” I murmured, casting an eye on the flirtatious couple at the end of the table. Of course, he was lapping up the attention, giving off all that big dick energy. And why wouldn’t he?
