Chapter Ten
“Proud of you. I wasn’t sure you would hold out, especially after he helped in the kitchen like that.”
In a coffee shop around the corner from Mangia, Mike and I sat with cappuccinos and muffins. I wrapped my hands around the mug, inhaling the spicy, cinnamon scent wafting from the foamy surface, and struggled not to snap at him.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘hold out’? Like I can’t control myself around him? Trust me, I can.”
Was it easy? Hell, no. Hearing Frisco’s story about his affair with his teacher hurt me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight, but any attempt to touch him would’ve sent him running. The experience had obviously scarred him; his eyes had turned cold and dead and I could see there were secrets he hadn’t yet revealed. I didn’t push.
“Yeah, but I know you’re into him. And vice versa. All I’m saying is, go slow.”
“I plan to go so slow, I’ll be walking backward. That work for you?”
Mike’s eyes searched my face over his coffee cup. “Don’t get your dick in a knot. I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”
“I know, I know. It’s confusing, that’s all.”
“The million-dollar question is, are you gonna see him again?”
I had no idea.
Before he left my apartment, Frisco gave me his cell number.
“I won’t call you. If you’re interested in seeing me again, let me know.” A trace of that signature cocky smile returned. “Maybe I can even persuade you to come to the city.”
“Maybe.” I shoved my hands into my pockets to prevent myself from reaching out to keep him with me. “I’ll check and see if I have my passport. I hear you need it once you cross the bridge.”
His eyes danced. “I’d love to take you to places you’ve never been.” He brushed his lips over mine and opened the door. “Literally and figuratively.”
Returning to Mike’s question, I said, “Not sure.” Even a week later, that slight wisp of his mouth on mine left a lingering effect. I found myself running the tip of my tongue over my lips as if to catch his taste. “He gave me his cell, so it’s up to me. If I want to see him, I will.”
I teetered on the edge, one minute wanting him so bad, I picked up my phone, ready to text him, the next annoyed at how he danced away from intimacy. Aside from sex. That I could tell he wanted from the way his eyes burned like blue fire when I’d find him staring at me.
And while my head was rational and I had a list of reasons to avoid him, my goddamn heart and body wanted him too.
“But you like him.”
“Likeisn’t exactly the word. Call me…curious.”
Mike took of sip of his coffee. “About what? He finally tell you what he does? ’Cause lemme tell you, Luis doesn’t give out praise like M&M’s. You gotta earn it with him, and he hasn’t stopped talking about working with the guy. It’s ‘Frisco did this,’ and ‘Frisco made it that way.’”
Surprisingly, I held back from discussing Frisco’s past with Mike. I gathered that somehow, the bits and pieces he’d told me—the affair with his art teacher, his parents’ divorce, and his subsequent estrangement from his mother—all tied in together.
“He’s had some formal training, but what intrigued me most is this sponsorship program he’s involved with.” I explained it to Mike, and I could see I’d piqued his interest. “I’m not saying we can afford to pay these kids’ tuitions, but what would you say about going to the technical schools and their culinary programs, seeing the talent, and offering them kitchen jobs?”
“Hmm…” Mike’s eyes narrowed. “I like it, but I’m not sure how much I can pay them. I’d have to see our take after this month. I mean, if the reservations keep rolling through because of that review, then yeah, I can see it.”
“I agree. I’ll make a list of the schools we can check out. Kids who can’t afford the culinary schools should get the chance too.”
“You always had a soft spot for the underdog.”
I set my jaw. “I believe in fairness, that’s all.” My phone buzzed, and when I saw the screen light up, my heart sank. “Shit.”
“Who’s that? Frisco?” Mike’s brows shot up, and a gleeful smile spread over his face.
“Uh, no. Pete.”
The good humor vanished from his face as quickly as it rose. “Tell him to fuck off. Better yet, gimme the phone and I’ll tell him.”
