Romance Impossible(42)

"Never been better," he said. "Will the main be fixed by tomorrow?"

"Late tonight, supposedly," I said, startled by the sudden return to practical shop talk. "Go another round?" I waggled my eyebrows.

"Hell no," he said. "I'm not going up against you again until I've had a good rest."

I laughed, even as I felt myself blush.

He was heading towards the edge of the ring. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jill."

Feeling a bit disappointed, I headed back towards the closet. I could have used a few more good hits.

As I went, I couldn't help but notice the "all thumbs" kid wrapping someone else's hands. I was no expert, but he moved with the speed and efficiency of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. No wonder he'd been annoyed at Chef Dylan's jab.

What an arrogant prick.

But I remembered the gentle brush of Chef's fingers against mine, the warmth of his hand on my arm. How we stood so close, the electricity between us. The simple intimacy of the act. The time he took to make sure I was safe, protected, so I wouldn't get hurt. And all so my anger would be satisfied.

I was in trouble.

After changing quickly, I half expected Chef to be gone already. But he was lingering in the ring, still, and he waved to me as I walked through the gym. When I was almost near the door, I heard him call out to me.

"Oh, Jill?"#p#分页标题#e#

I stopped, then turned slowly on one heel. "Yes, Chef?"

He was smiling. "I appreciate the example you're setting in the kitchen, but when it's just the two of us - please call me Max."





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mirepoix





Such a simple marriage of flavors, the mirepoix - celery, carrot, and onion. Almost everyone who cooks has used it, even if they don't know what it's called. Each flavor is elevated by its mates, to make something far greater than the sum of its parts.





- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes





***





Max





***





Well, the boxing plan worked. Just...not exactly in the way I had envisioned. I had to cut it short before things got out of control. She looked at me like she could absolutely devour me, in more ways than one. It was terrifying and arousing. Terrifyingly arousing?

Ever since Beckett hinted at it, I'd been running from the possibility of Jill having some sort of crush on me. It just seemed like a complication in my life that I absolutely didn't need to deal with, even if it was the only explanation that covered all the facts.

But I couldn't ignore it anymore. Not with the way she'd been looking at me in that ring.

It was intoxicating, I had to admit. The way her lips parted when I touched her, a gesture as simple as wrapping her hands in athletic tape making goosebumps rise all over her body. But there was the small matter of that promise I'd made to myself before I came here - not to mention the fact that any kind of romantic entanglement was guaranteed to ruin our working relationship. I was batting a thousand on that one.

It was so awfully, awfully tempting.

I couldn't.

But what if I did?

She'd melt at my touch immediately, kiss like the world was about to end, hungry and giving and wanting -

I was sure of this.

And that was why it could never, ever happen.





***



The Friday lunch rush was just dying down, and Jill was getting ready to leave.

She'd asked me, well in advance, if she could take a half day. I said yes without asking why, which I think surprised her. But I expected it to be slow for a Friday, and anyway she had a solid enough work ethic that I hardly worried about giving her special treatment every now and again.

She kept glancing at her phone as her shift started to wind down.

"Everything all right?" I asked.

"Just want to make sure I don't miss my train," she said. "I have a furniture delivery coming."

"Ah, lovely. I should get around to that sometime soon."

She gave me a look. "How long have you been living here?"

I judiciously avoided answering. "I wouldn't worry too much, if I were you. They're always late."

"Yeah, unless you are. Then they're early." She sighed. "I still haven't figured out what to do with the old couch. All the junk hauling places want, like, two hundred dollars just to take it away, and I found out after I ordered the new one that this store isn't one of those places that gets rid of your old shit as a courtesy."

"Two hundred...? That's ridiculous. I'll help you get rid of it."

I said this almost as a reflex, with no actual idea of how I could help. But the look on her face made it worthwhile. She smiled, a little disbelieving at first, but then it just lit up.
#p#分页标题#e#
"Really?" she said. "Are you sure?"