Page 9 of Best Things in Life

“Why do you need to meet our cook? You can’t hire her away from us. Others have tried and failed.” I laugh at his paranoia.

“She’s that good, right? Think, nitwit, that’s why I want to meet her. I’m all-in on culinary arts and being a chef and world-class restauranteur. It’s only my life’s ambition, my dream.” I wave a hand in the air. “Or did you forget all about that?” It’s a test question that I’m insane to ask and my heart beats a staccato rhythm while I hold my breath waiting for his answer. He stops walking. We’re at the end of the BMOC House driveway and he takes hold of my arm.

“Of course I remember, Sar.” His words are hushed as if paying reverent respect to our dead past, and my gut tumbles around not knowing which way to go while my heart beats even faster. His hand on my arm feels like a brand and I should pull away before I’m forever marked and can never escape the shadow of him and me, of us.

“I remember every fucking little thing about you.” He takes his hand off me and I hold in a whimper of disappointment. He swipes both hands though his thick, wavy hair. Between us our kids would have had wildly dark wavy heads of hair and we used to joke about it. Why the fuck can’t I forget all these stupid little things?

The answer is standing right in front of me—because Nate is standing right in front of me. Stepping back, I finally wrench myself free of his space.

“I said we need to be civil—and that does not include touching me.” I say the words through gritted teeth when I’d rather cry, suddenly overwhelmed. But the animal look he gives me settles me, even with my heart still pounding. In a twisted way I’m comforted to feel his attraction. To know I’m not the only one being tortured—though I can’t let him know that.

He takes a big breath and turns away, takes a few beats to gather himself, and I do too. He clears his throat, glances back at me.

“I can be civil. But only if we avoid each other as much as possible.” I nod, relief and disappointment mixing up in my gut so the last thing I want to do is eat lunch. Then he says, “What did Bigs say about us all going to the football game together?”

“I didn’t mention it to him—the all of us part. But who cares. He’s a big boy—”

“Pun intended?”

“Oh my god—are you fishing for dirt about his dick?”

He laughs. “Fuck no. I’ve seen him in the locker room. We’re teammates, remember?”

“You’re the one who needs to remember that,” I say because I’m desperate to ward him off. I get the feeling that old spark between us could come between me and Bigs. Part of me is thrilled with the spark—my lady parts. The rest of me knows I need to remember Nate is the traitorous snake who left me behind to pursue hockey first forever.

And forever isn’t over.

Chapter 5

NATE

This is an occasion to go in the back door if there ever was one. Leading Sarina around the back of the house, I open the door to the kitchen and step inside ahead of her to check for Bigs. I’m relieved the only one here is Majik the Magnificent with her apron still on and the mouthwatering scent of a chocolate cake in the oven. The old woman turns to us, her bored been-there-done-all-the-shit look in place.

“Majik, I got someone I want you to meet. This is Sarina Torini, she’s—”

“I know who she is. Good to finally meet you Sarina, after all the talk.”

“I could say the same,” Sarina says. She doesn’t bother with a handshake let alone a hug, reading Majik perfectly. There’s a slight lift in one side of the old cook’s mouth. She always did enjoy sass and a good old-fashioned challenge from a cocky student.

“I’ll be heading up—”

“What’s your hurry, cowboy?” Majik’s nickname for me gives Sarina a reason to smirk. I take a deep breath, not bothering with an answer though Sarina prompts me with an arch of her perfect brow. My chest tightens. I want to kiss her brow and then work my way down her face to her lips, then—

“I’ll get right to it, Mrs. Majisky.” Sarina cuts into my fucking unhealthy mini fantasy. I can’t afford to get so easily distracted and don’t remember the last time—

But then I do remember. It was our senior year and she made me late for a fucking playoff game. Fuck.

Concentrating on the here and now with a mighty effort, I listen to her cut a deal with Majik, her raw ambition showing through loud and clear so that I can’t help a swell of pride.

“Though I’m new to the Culinary Arts program at SPU, I am a junior and would love a chance in your intern program to cook one night at BMOC House.” Sarina’s expression is all business, but I see the nervous tell, the slight twitch in one corner of her mouth, her eyes blinking, almost fluttering the way she used to… fuck.

Majik takes her time considering her proposal. Two, three beats go by and I’m almost ready to say something to Majik that I know would be unwise, but she relents before I lose my mind. As much as I do not want Sarina at BMOC House for any reason, invading my personal space, taunting me with her sensual presence, I’m on her side in all things, against anyone who stands in her way—no matter how irrational and ill-advised it may be.

“You got it, sister. I’ll call the department and arrange it. Give me a few dates that work for you.”

“I’ll text—”

Majik laughs. “No texting, honey. I’m old school.”