Page 123 of Ours to Lose
“I want you inside me,” I mumbled, the glass of the mirror cool against the back of my head. Gabe kissed the inside of my thigh.
He got to his feet with a pleased smirk on his lips, the bulge in his dark jeans unmistakable, but he didn’t reach for his zipper. Instead, he slid my chef pants back up to my waist and dropped a kiss on my lips. “No time, greedy girl. You have to get back to work.”
I pouted, but he was right. It was less than ten minutes to midnight, and Jillian expected me to make an appearance. Even though it would be so easy for him to hike me onto his hips and sink me onto him. Thanks to that specialist Coach Dotson recommended, Gabe’s shoulder could handle it with no problem. He hadn’t even needed surgery since he’d retired from fighting for good.
He kissed me again. “Later,” he whispered as if he’d read my mind. “You can ride my cock slow and deep the rest of the night once we get home.”
A whimper escaped my lips, and I licked into his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue before managing to pull back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
He grinned. “Promise?”
I shoved him away before I jumped him right here, and turned to adjust my chef cap in the mirror. My long ponytail was secure in its braid, my appearance no worse for wear. The flush in my cheeks could be explained by the “fresh air” Gabe and I had told my staff we were getting on the balcony. An excuse they may not have bought.
Once cleaned up, we exited the staff bathroom and headed down the short hallway that connected to the kitchen.
“How we looking?” I asked Mack as they finished garnishing the last tray of baked chocolate custards with hazelnuts and brown sugar fluff. We’d been in good shape when I stepped out, with only desserts left to finish before the ball drop.
“Good,” Mack said. “Sydney is getting a jump on clean up, and I’ll be done with this in a minute.”
“Once you’re done, go enjoy the party, okay?” I glanced at Sydney, where she loaded one of the dishwashers. “Same for you, Syd. Finish that load, then the night is yours.”
“Heard, Chef.”
“Great job tonight. Both of you.”
We’d been the definition of a well-oiled machine. Three little bees running the beehive in perfect sync.
Mack and I had fallen into a rhythm as soon as they’d started—one they’d been comfortable enough to switch to they/them pronouns in after only a few weeks—and business had been so good, we’d brought on Sydney as a line cook a few months later with help from Jillian. Syd was even younger than Mack and had never been to culinary school, but the drive and raw talent were there, and Mack had been as eager as I was to take her under their wing.
It was my first time working in a kitchen without a single male chef, and while that hadn’t been an intentional decision, it was a cool shift in dynamic from what I’d experienced so far in my career. Made better by the fact that I still got to see my boys regularly.
Both sides of Ardena’s operation got together for a weekly staff meal and monthly shift drink, and this year, we had our first staff holiday party. It was a potluck at Ardena’s, and the winner of the favorite dish of the night got a hundred-dollar gift card from Jillian, though the real incentive was trying to beat Jase. He’d technically won the most votes but had declared himself ineligible to win, so the prize went to Luis with his upgraded spin on his mom’s pork tamales.
I’d left that night with both my stomach and my heart full, a feeling I’d had a lot lately. In no small part due to the breathtaking man waiting for me near the door.
Gabe gave me an easy smile. “Ready?”
I took his hand as he pushed us through to the event hall. Live music and the sounds of celebration rushed my ears as energy from the party bubbled inside me like water overflowing a pot.
After last year’s success, Jillian’s party had becometheNew Year’s Eve party in Philly. She took the reputation seriously. Not only had her replica Millennium Times Square ball returned in all its glory, but professional acrobats swung from the ceiling and performed jaw-dropping stunts on the stage. I had no idea how she’d keep upping herself year after year, but I looked forward to finding out.
I spotted her along the stage and made my way to her and the gentleman she talked with. Gabe let go of my hand and fell behind to let me network.
Jillian opened her arms to me. “The chef of the hour, as promised. John Patel, this is Aubrey Witter, the head chef of Arden Catering.”
I shook his hand.
“John’s daughter is getting married to a professional football player next year,” Jillian explained. “They’re expecting quite a few guests and will need a caterer up to the task.”
A year ago, I would have dreaded the idea. One more mammoth event to manage on my own. Now? “Our team’s one of the best,” I said. “We’d be happy to make your daughter’s wedding everything she hopes for and more.”
“You saw thePhiladelphia Food Journalarticle, right?” Jillian asked him.
It would have been impressive if he hadn’t, seeing as Jillian had blown up a copy and hung it on either side of the party’s entrance. The headline was practically legible from the ground floor. How she’d gotten it in advance, I had no idea, since the magazine issue wasn’t officially available for a few more days, but every guest’s swag bag tonight had a copy.
It was the issue featuring the art museum’s seventy-fifth-anniversary celebration that had taken place earlier this month, highlighting the winner of the catering competition whose food was the star of the show.
We had not been that winner.
