5 страница

As I started to tap and slide my finger around on the iPhone's touch screen, I became aware of someone standing next to me. "Alex?" a deep voice asked and I looked up. His face was familiar but his name escaped me.

He must have saw the hesitation and confusion on my face because he added, "Mark Weiser. We met at that luncheon at The Plaza a couple of weeks ago," he reminded me. "I’m the travel writer."

"Right, how are you?" I asked. We continued with some idle chitchat about how I was settling into the city and he gave the iPhone a glowing endorsement when I told him that I was here with a friend to look for a new phone.

"Hey, I've been meaning to try out this French restaurant in town. What do you say, sometime next week, we can go for dinner?" he asked and when I hesitated, he added, "I know the owner." Was he trying to impress me?

"I’m not sure what my schedule's like this week," I tried to decline. I never was very good at saying no.

"Come on, it's just dinner," he added. "You can tell me about how your column's coming along. How about Friday?"

"Yeah, sure, I think Friday's alright," I gave in. I gave him my email address so he could send me the name of the restaurant. Thankfully he got a phone call and left me in peace. Just then, the iPhone I had been holding in my hand rang and vibrated. I pressed on the touch screen to answer it, "Hello?"

"Now look at the phone and accept the invite," a voice told me. I pulled the phone down from my ear and looked at the screen. An invitation popped up for something called FaceTime. After a few seconds, I saw Riley's face on the phone. She smiled that same one sided smile again and said "Hi."

The combination of her smile and the way she said a simple 'hi' made me smile instantly. I looked around and then saw a familiar head of blond hair at the other end of the table of iPhones. "Pretty cool hey?" she asked and I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it is. Alright, I'm sold."

We got Payton to set me up with a phone and an hour after we had entered the store, we were walking out and I was in possession of a new mobile and some accessories to boot.

"So that curly haired guy a friend of yours?" Riley asked as we got into her car.

"Which curly haired guy?" I asked, surprised by her question.

"The one who was talking to you before I called you," she clarified.

"Oh, right," I finally realized she was referring to Mark. "I met him at a luncheon a while back. He's a writer for the L.A. Times." I saw her nod and when she didn't reply, for some reason, I added, "He asked me out for dinner."

Riley took a quick glance in my direction and turned her eyes back to the road. "And?" she inquired. I couldn't quite read her facial expression.

"And I gave in and said yes," I admitted. "I don't really have many friends here, and well, he's a fellow writer so, just a little networking, you know?"

"I'm pretty sure he wasn't asking you to network," she said and it sounded like she was teasing but there was a slight edge in her voice. Was she jealous?

"I have no interest in him whatsoever," I felt compelled to tell her. "I haven't really been out socially since I’ve been here so hopefully it'll be nice to get out finally."

She nodded but didn't say anything further on the topic. "And what about Payton? Did you get a date out of her?" I teased her and she smiled but shook her head.

"I was going to ask her to meet up at a club tonight, but then found out that she's one of my best friend's ex-girlfriends," she answered. "Despite what you may have heard from Aunt Grace, I do have rules, and one of them is to never hook up with any of Lenny's exes."

"You're a loyal friend," I stated.

"Well, that and I want to avoid as much drama as possible," she explained.

"So what are your other rules?" I asked, curious to know more about this female Casanova.

"Actually, I only have one other rule," she answered. "I don't hook up with anyone under twenty-one. If they can't drink legally, it's hands off. Safer that way."

"I notice you don't say 'date', but rather you use 'hook up'," I observed.

"That's because I don't date," she replied simply and smiled.

I had insisted with Mark that I'd meet him at the restaurant as I had no interest in having him know where I lived. When he told me the name and address of the restaurant, I was quite amused and decided that I'd go with it and see if he really did know the owner of the establishment.

After we were seated at a table by the window, I saw Lenny, the manager walking towards our table and a wave of recognition washed over her face. I quickly gave her a shake of the head and wink and the clever girl knew what I meant. She introduced herself and took our drink order and informed us who our server would be.

Throughout the entire dinner, Mark basically talked non-stop about himself and his travels and how he became a writer for the L.A. Times. He revealed that he had met the owner of Claire de Lune years ago while traveling through Spain, before she was even a chef. To stress his point, when Lenny came by to check on us, he said "Send our compliments to the chef, from an old friend."

The restaurant had nearly emptied out, save for three other tables, by the time we had our coffee and I saw a familiar figure enter the dining room in black pants and a white chef's jacket. Obviously Lenny had passed on that I didn't want to let on that I was familiar with Riley as she came up to us and said "Good evening folks. And how was your dinner?"

"Riley, hey, it's Mark Weiser," he told her, shaking her hand. "We met in Barcelona back in '98. You were making your way to Asia and I had just come through there."

"Oh yeah, right, we hung out at the hostel and you told me all about Indonesia and Malaysia," Riley said with genuine recognition. "You were writing a book. How'd that go?"

"The manuscript got me into the L.A. Times and I've been writing their Travel column for a few years now," he answered. That was a pretty clever way of saying his book never got published. He went on to say how he'd been meaning to check out the restaurant and asked about how Rod and Sarah were as if he was a long time family friend. Riley, ever so politely, let him have the spotlight as he tried to impress me with is connections. Finally Riley took leave from us but not before she leaned down and kissed me on the cheek and said "It's good to see you again, Alex. You look beautiful." She had a mischievous grin on her face, but in her eyes, I saw sincerity which was also reflected in her tone.

She left us and went over to the other tables to visit with them, leaving Mark to look at me, his mouth agape. "You know her?" he asked, realizing that Riley had called me by name. I was looking beyond him, at Riley who glanced back at me and gave me a wink. I inexplicably found myself smiling in return. "Yes, I know her," I finally told Mark. "My sister is her godmother."

"Oh," was all my dinner companion offered.

After Mark left, I left my car and headed back into the restaurant. I thanked Lenny for catching my non-verbal communication and asked if I could go back into the kitchen to say goodnight to Riley. Lenny led me to the back and through the kitchen doors. She looked around for a bit and then finally pointed to the back and I saw Riley standing at the sink, her back to me.

Riley

The symphonic metal music poured out from the speakers over the sink as I grabbed the spray handle and sprayed down the pots and pans I had just finished scrubbing. It was a routine of mine to kick the dishwasher off his station to scrub down the counters and grill with the rest of the crew while I washed the dishes. He tried resisting the first couple of times when he first joined us, but after getting sprayed and my threats of letting Jason loose on him with the broom, he stopped resisting and just fell in line with my routine. He tried asking me once why I wanted to wash the dishes at the end of every night. The reply he got was, "Jorge, move your ass or I'm letting Jason have it." Threats of sodomy by my sous chef were always quite affective.

Jason understood me as he's been known to do the dishes sometimes in between seatings on some nights. Scrubbing and washing the pots and pans brings us back to our humble days of our first jobs. It reminds us of the shit we've had to take from other chefs in the past and calls up the shit we give to our line cooks and dishwasher on a daily basis. It grounds us, but at the same time, it also takes us back to a simpler time when all we had to worry about was making sure the dishes were clean. It's a stress reliever and a break from the hectic pace of pumping out plates of food every night. Being up to your elbows in hot water and suds allows you to re-group your thoughts and relax your mind.

"They still make the boss do the dishes?" I heard a female voice with a British accent ask from behind. I turned around and saw Alex and smiled. Although I had told her she looked beautiful out in the dining room, it wasn't until now, seeing her in the dark red plunge neck halter dress that my breath caught in my throat and I saw just how sexy she was.

I swallowed hard and found my voice. "Since I stopped smoking, I need to find another way to relieve the stress without killing anyone," I told her. "Where's your date?"

"He left," she answered. "I met him here. I didn't want him to know where I live." She came and stood beside me and I rinsed off the last pan in the sink.

"He was left dumbfounded after you, um, put him in his place," she said, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "He thought he was being very clever letting on that he knew you, implying that you were close friends."

"He's a douchebag," I told her before I could stop myself. I decided to change the topic before my mouth ran off on me. "So what are your plans for the rest of the night?"

"Go home and curl up with a book and glass of wine?" she answered with a shrug of her shoulders.

I looked up at the clock and checked out the cleaning progress of the crew behind me. "Lenny and I were going to go out for a drink after we're finished," I told her. "Wanna join us?"

She seemed to pause for a moment and then said, "I don't want to intrude."

"No intrusion," I told her, wiping my hands on the towel, and she smiled and nodded. I led her out to the bar and asked Lenny to get her a drink while she waited for us and went back inside to clean up. Surprisingly, I had a slight spring in my step and we finished cleaning up ten minutes faster than usual.

We were standing at the bar, Lenny and Alex on one side of the corner and me on the other, at our favorite after hours watering hole, which was just down the street from the restaurant. Lenny and Alex were talking animatedly, with Alex asking Lenny about my habits and peculiarities when it came to picking up women, and Lenny was more than happy to share every bit of information and detail that she could think of.

"So do you ever strike out?" Alex asked, after Lenny had informed her that I had probably slept with half the women in the bar tonight.

"Don't ask, don't tell," I answered and she shook her head.

"You can't hide behind that one with me," she informed me.

"It's a game of probability," I told her, without answering her question and looking around at the crowd of women in the place. "You don't go for the one who's here with her girlfriend. You go for the one who's been eyeballing you and whispering to her friends, or looks at you and then looks away as soon as you catch her eye. Then you're guaranteed a home run." At that moment, I locked eyes with a curly haired blond and she smiled. I had been catching her eye periodically in the hour or so that we had been here. I smiled back and held her eyes for a couple of seconds. I turned back to my companions and Alex had followed gaze. She looked back at me questioningly.

"I give her five minutes," Lenny told Alex and they ordered another round of drinks. After about a few minutes, I felt someone come up beside me and I turned to look. Sure enough, it was the blond. She flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink. He produced our beers and some fruity alcoholic drink for the woman standing beside me.

"It's on me," I told the bartender who nodded.

"Thank you," the blond said and smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth.

"You're welcome," I told her and introduced myself. "I'm Riley."

She smiled again. "I know. My friends told me who you are. I'm Chelsea."

"What else did your friends tell you about me, Chelsea?" I teased her.

"They told me that given the way you'd been looking at me, that if I came over here, you'd probably introduce yourself," she answered.

"Smart friends," I complimented her.

"They warned me that you were trouble though," she added, smiling teasingly and took a drink from her glass.

"I have been called that on occasion," I conceded. "Did they also warn you not to kiss me?"

"No, why?" she asked, intrigued and leaned in closer to me.

"Because once you kiss me, you will fall for me," I told her. "And I don't do relationships."

"You are trouble aren't you?" she asked, smiling. I nodded, smiling.

"Good thing I like trouble," she said and reached out, grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me in for a kiss. Her lips parted and I reciprocated, her tongue invading my mouth. I tasted the vodka on her tongue and lips from her drink. Despite the painkillers I had taken and the fact that the swelling in my nose had practically disappeared, a pain shot through me when she turned her head slightly and her nose brushed against mine. I pulled away as tactfully as I could without betraying my discomfort.

"Do you wanna get outta here?" she asked breathlessly.

As cute and a sure thing that she was, I remembered that I wasn't alone. "I can't," I answered. "I'm here with some friends. But give me your number and I'll give you a call." I handed her my iPhone and she inputted her name and number and handed it back to me. She left the bar and went back to her group of friends. I turned back to Lenny and Alex. Lenny had a shit eating grin on her face while Alex just looked at me in either confusion or awe, I wasn't sure which.

"I can't believe that line worked," she finally said. "Once you kiss me, you will fall for me?"

"It's all in how you deliver it," I explained.

"Why didn't you leave with her?" she asked and I couldn't read her expression, whether she was being sarcastic or just curious.

"Present company is more interesting," I told her with a wink.

When we finished our round of drinks, we decided to call it a night and walked back to the restaurant where the cars were. As we approached the cars, Lenny's phone rang. "Shit," she muttered before she answered it. "Hey, baby."

"Don't 'hey baby' me," I could hear Gabriella's angry voice coming through the phone. "Where the hell are you?"

"I went out for a drink with Riley," Lenny explained meekly. "I'm sorry, I know, I'm on my way. Actually, I have to drop Riley off at home first, but then I'm coming straight over. Come on, baby, I'm sorry."

"Go, I'll grab a cab," I told Lenny. I knew that Gabriella didn't get to see Lenny as much as she wanted to given the hours that we work, and when the girl is pissed off, I duck for cover as quick as I can.

Lenny looked at me as if to ask "are you sure?" and I nodded and Lenny tried to soothe a steaming Gabriella with promises of going to see her right away.

"Stop talking rubbish, I'll give you a lift," Alex scolded us after Lenny hung up the phone.

I opened my mouth to repeat that I would hail a cab, but the look that Alex gave me quelled any further protest. I closed my mouth and nodded. "Thank you."

Lenny hauled off to what I would hope to be awesome make up sex and I walked with Alex over to the Range Rover. I heard a growl and I knew it wasn't my own stomach. I looked at her and she gave an embarrassed smile. "Excuse me," she giggled. I reached out and took her hand. "C'mon," I said and led her to the back door of the restaurant.

Alex

After turning off the alarm system and turning on the lights in the kitchen, she went into the office and grabbed a high stool for me and set it down at the counter space beside the grill. I settled down onto the stool with a bottle of sparkling water that she had left me with and waited as she disappeared into what I can only guess to be the refrigerator. She came out with eggs, a green apple, a carton of milk, butter and some Brie cheese. She placed the ingredients onto the counter and disappeared again and returned with some sugar, a bottle of vanilla extract, ground cinnamon and a French Baguette.

She turned on some music and wrapped an apron around her hips and pulled out a black case from a cupboard under the counter. She opened it up and revealed her tools of the trade. She pulled out one of her knives and quickly and expertly sharpened it with a sharpening steel. I thought she couldn't look sexier. After she cleaned off the knife, she put the eggs, sugar, milk, cinnamon and vanilla extract into a bowl and handed me a whisk. I whisked the ingredients in the bowl together while she sliced the baguette diagonally into two thick and long slices and then cut slits into each slice. Next, she efficiently sliced up the apple and the Brie and then stuffed both ingredients into the slits in the bread slices. The stuffed bread was dipped into the egg mixture and then placed in a hot pan with some butter. The aroma of the bread cooking was delicious and my stomach commented positively with a growl. When the toasts were perfectly golden on both sides, she plated them and then took out a container and poured some kind of syrup into the pan, presumably to heat it up. Then she poured the syrup over top of the two slices of stuffed french toast and slid the plate over to me with a knife a fork.

The first bite held a combination of creamy cheese mixed with the tartness of the apples and the sweetness of the syrup confused my taste buds, but then soon enough, they sang out loud which resulted in a moan that escaped my throat and lips. I closed my eyes and savored every flavor that assaulted my mouth. When I opened my eyes, she was looking at me with a hesitant smile on her face, as if she was trying to gauge whether or not I'd like her cooking.

"You like?" she asked after I swallowed the first bite.

"Absolutely," I said, regaining my senses. I cut off a bite and offered it to her. She leaned in and accepted the offered morsel. "Not bad if I do say so myself," she said after swallowing the bite.

"I hope you're not seeing him again," she said right before I fed her another bite of food.

"Who?" I asked, not quite following her change in subject matter.

"The douchebag tonight," she clarified and put the dirty dishes in the sink.

"No, I doubt won't be seeing him again after tonight," she answered chuckling. "At least not socially."

"Good," she said, spraying down the mixing bowl and pan in the sink. Was she jealous?

"Blimey. Riley Starks Carson, are you jealous?" I teased her.

A brief flash of realization of what I had said washed over her face and she promptly shook her head. "No, of course not. It's just that I think you can do so much better than a guy like that."

She started to wash the bowl and pan so I got up and brought the plate with me. I fed her another mouthful of food.

"Who can I do then?" I asked before I could stop myself. "That would be better than him?"

She gave me a quick glance, probably trying to judge whether or not I was joking or flirting or serious and to be quite honest, a part of me was hoping she'd realize I was actually flirting with her. But bullocks, why was I flirting with her. It had to have been the fact that she had cooked for me and seeing her in her element that made me feel more comfortable with her. Was I curious? Of course I was curious about this mysterious girl who had women and girls throwing themselves at her every where she turned. But just how curious was I?

"From what I can tell, you need an intellectual equal," she said, having set the dishes aside to dry and was now wiping down her knife. She went back over to the prep counter and leaned back against it, contemplating her words as she ran a towel along the blade of her knife to dry it. I went over and stood beside her, offering her the last piece of french toast off the plate. "You have it," she told me. "Your stomach needed it more than mine."

She continued to wipe down her knife. "You need someone who's honest; someone who'll let you get a word in edgewise; someone who gets who you are and you're comfortable with, but at the same time, can take you out of your comfort zone without making you uneasy."

"Sounds like you have someone very specific in mind," I dared her to continue, looking at her sideways.

She placed the knife down onto the counter and turned towards me. Slowly she came closer and I held my breath, feeling my heart threatening to erupt from my chest. Finally she was inches away and I felt her soft, warm breath on my cheek. I locked my eyes onto her naturally red, curved, pouty lips which were slightly parted. She bit down on her bottom lip and I couldn't help but mimic the action. I was about to close my eyes when she started to move away and I realized what she was doing. She picked up her knife case from the counter behind me and brought it over to her side and slid her knife into it's compartment. "I think you'll know who's right for you when you meet them or when you're ready for them," she answered cryptically.

"And what about you, Riley Carson?" I asked and paused, letting the double meaning hang in the air.

"What about me?" she asked coolly, putting her knife case away. Either she wasn't taking the bait, or she was oblivious to what I was implying. She looked at me with an arched eyebrow. "Blimey. Alexandra Martin, are you flirting with me?" she mocked, complete with a British accent and all.

I couldn't help but laugh and soon enough, we were both laughing. She left the dirty plate and cutlery in the sink, citing that her dishwasher needed something to do the next day and closed up the restaurant again. She directed me to her house in Brentwood, which was a modest home, compared to the mansion that her parents lived in, but still quite a large home for a single person. I pulled into the driveway and parked the vehicle.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked and just as I opened my mouth to answer, I had to stifle a yawn.

She smiled.

"Maybe another time," I reluctantly declined. "I should get home and get to bed."

She nodded. She reached up to the GPS unit on the dashboard and with a few finger taps, she had my path home routed for me. "Thanks for the ride. Goodnight."

"Good night, and you're welcome," I told her and she slipped out of the Range Rover. I watched her enter her house and she waved before closing the door behind her. I pulled out of the drive way and started to follow the instructions to Grace's house. As I pulled up to a traffic light, the street lights lit up the passenger seat and I realized that Riley had forgotten her jacket. I turned the vehicle around and headed back to her house. As I pulled up on the other side of the street in front of her house, I saw her car running in the drive way. She came out of her house, talking on her mobile, smiling and shaking her head.

My heart and stomach dropped. Of course, she was heading out to meet up with that woman she had met at the bar. Why did she even bother to invite me in if she was going to try to 'hook up' with that woman? I mentally shook my head. Why was I feeling betrayed or disappointed? It wasn't like there was anything between us. Besides, I wasn't gay, so why was I feeling this jealousy that was bubbling inside me. As I pulled away from her house, I felt angry at myself. I had let myself get wrapped up in her flirtations and charm tonight, especially when we had gone back to the restaurant. I thought I had felt some kind of spark between us and as foolish as it sounded, she made me feel quite special, cooking for me and only me. 'That's who Riley is,' I told myself. 'She's a charmer. That's why women fall for her. She makes everyone feel special but as soon as she's done with one, she moves onto the next. Get a grip, Alexandra. You're not even gay, so why are you fretting about this?'I resolved to put Riley Carson out of my mind and focus the next few days writing up my article on what I had observed.

Riley

I was slightly disappointed that Alex was too tired to stay for a while but I saw how tired she was. I was pretty tired myself as we had had a busy night at the restaurant, so I was ready to go up to my room and go straight to sleep, but as soon as I closed the door behind me, my iPhone rang. It was my dad.

"Hey, Dad," I answered. "Why are you calling me this late? Aren't you seniors usually in bed at like ten?"

"Funny," my dad answer without humor in his voice. "Listen, you still have a key to our house?"

"Yeah, I should," I answered and went into the kitchen and pulled out the drawer in which I kept spare keys to my parents house, Sam's house and to the restaurant. "Why?"

"We've seemed to have locked ourselves out of the house," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Really?" I asked. "Where's Mom?"

"She's here," he answered and after a couple of seconds, my Mom came on the line.

"What happened?" I asked, knowing full well that my father probably had something to do with their situation.

"Your father, in his usual frantic self sometimes, fat fingered the lock code to the door, not once but three times, and now it's locked us out. We can't get in without a key," she explained.

"You didn't bring a key with you?" I asked, rummaging through the key drawer and finally found their house key.

"No," she answered with a loud sigh. "The first and only time we decided to go keyless, Rock Star here locks us out.'

"What about the garage? Can't you get into the house through the garage?" I interrogated them. I loved my parents but being beckoned in the middle of the night was a bit much.

"Someone forgot to change the battery in the garage door remote, so no, we can't get in there either," my Mom answered, having placed the emphasis on the 'Someone' part of the sentence. I could see her rolling her eyes at my dad. I was going to ask them about using the control panel to open the garage with their house code, but thought better of it. I'm sure if there was a way into the house without having to call me, my Mom would've figured it out.

"Okay, I found the key. I'm coming over," I told them and hung up the phone. I headed into the garage and backed the car out of the garage. A nagging feeling made me check my pockets and sure enough, I had forgotten their keys on the stairs when I went to put my shoes on. I ran back into the house to grab the keys and my phone rang again.

"Hi Auntie Riley," Claire's quiet voice came through when I answered the call.

"Claire? What are you still doing up? You're supposed to be sleeping," I asked, instantly concerned.

"I was sleeping," she answered. "But then I woke up. Jojo snores. He waked me up."

Jojo was their dog who often snuck into Claire's room to sleep beside her bed. "Where are your mom and dad?" I asked.

"They're sleeping," she answered conspiratorially. "I miss you, Auntie Riley."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16