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Joshua and Evan smiled at me together. “We’ll see that you pay up, too.”
I took the grill back, and furiously put out orders until we were all caught up. As the darkness deepened I sent Evan outside to take more photos of the truck and the throng of ‘ravenous’ people surrounding it. For posterity of course, but also for the website.
It wasn’t until about nine o’clock that the crowd slowed to a trickle and people began filing away. I took a few more last-minute orders, shut down the grill, and flipped the LED sign from OPEN to CLOSED.
Then I took a long, deep breath… and sat the fuck down.
“Holy shit.”
I’d underestimated a lot of things, but especially the amount of help I’d need. The guys were of course temporary, and already I had a few people in mind I planned on poaching. One was from the restaurant — too bad, Trey — and the other was an assistant from one of my cooking classes.
For now though, I focused on the moment. I soaked in the stillness of the summer night air. I scanned the near-empty picnic area, where so many people had enjoyed my food.
This had been my dream for so long, and now that dream was finally realized. Thanks in part to my hard work, sure. But mostly, thanks tothem.
My hand slid down, over what we were now calling my baby bump. I couldn’t wait to give back to them. I couldn’t wait until—
“Hey…”
I went to turn, and a heavy hand dropped to my shoulder. It squeezed firmly but still gently, as a pair of lips whispered into my ear.
“Let’s get everything cleaned up,” Joshua murmured softly. “And then get you home.”
Thirty-Three
EVAN
“Today was damn impressive,” I told her from my end of the couch. “But I still don’t know where you learned all that stuff.”
Quinn writhed in pleasure, groaning out loud as I continued massaging her tired feet. I had to be careful, because the soles were still scratched up. But apparently the intense pleasure she derived from my twisting hands was overriding any pain she felt.
“My father was an executive chef for most of my life,” she purred. “He taught me to cook.”
“But executive chefs are never home,” I pointed out.
“Oh, he came home. It was just always after midnight. Always after my mother was asleep, but I was still up.”
My eyes were locked on her sexy legs, which glided involuntarily against one another as I continued the foot massage. With a pillow behind her head, and her blonde hair spilled out behind her, Quinn looked like a princess. One with her pretty eyes closed, and her pouty lips just barely parted.
“This is total fucking heaven,” she groaned. “You know that?”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m supposed to be rewardingyou, and instead…”
Her sentence trailed off in another moan as I moved to her tired calves. They were like two giant knots, ready to be untangled.
“Just shut up and enjoy the massage,” I joked. “After today, you earned it.”
I let my fingers knead their way across the balls of her feet before digging into the heels. Every moan made me hornier. Every groan, every whimper… it all turned me on.
“My mother was an ER nurse in Manhattan,” she murmured softly. “She met my father after he sliced his hand wide open, while shucking oysters at a restaurant across the street.”
“Sounds romantic,” I chuckled.
Quinn was too invested in her own pleasure to even chuckle back. Her expression was placid and far away, like she was in a trance.
“Think about it,” I told her. “You’re only here because of a knife-wound. You exist simply because your dad got clumsy, or an oyster fought back, or a combination of both.”
