Being a Chef, you learned a thing or two.
1. You work well with your hands.
2. You're not afraid to get down & dirty.
3. You're all about pleasing.
4. You can satisfy every taste bud.
5. You can go on for hours without breaks.
6. You know how to han...
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I look at the brownies on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. All this hard work for nothing. I didn't think the dinner would have ended that way. The ladies are definitely something else. They reminded me of how the guys and I used to be in college. I take off my blazer and cuff links. I need to clean up before calling it a night.
I know Charles and Tameka are going to want to know how the night went and if I sealed the deal with getting a wife. There is a knock at my door, probably Nick coming back to apologize once again for his friends' behavior.
"I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon." I smile at the beauty in front of me.
"I forgot my purse. I'll just be out your way in a second. May I come in?"
"That is a question I would like the answer to as well." I open the door wide enough for her to step in. I lock the door and smirk at her. "I think we need dessert, don't you?" Say yes.
"Sorry. I'm going to have to take a rain check on that." She smiles back. "I have work in the morning, and I can't be up too late, prepping for my restaurant's first Mexican night. Tons to do and so little time."
"Please just stay for a few. I made brownies, and now I feel a little sad no one even got the chance to taste them." I pout. Hell, I really was sad my brownies didn't get any action tonight. This was the fifth batch I made and it came out perfect.
She puts her purse back on the couch. "You have exactly ten minutes, Mr. Beckett."
"Please, once again, call me Tristan." I touch her lower back, escorting her into the kitchen. She takes a seat on the stool. "Would you like ice cream with your brownies?"
"Sure." She nods. "Also, I would like to give you your props for tonight's dinner. It was amazing and very well seasoned."
I look at her, appalled. "What, just because I'm white, you didn't think I knew how to season my food?"
"Hey," she looks at me with wide eyes. "I didn't say that. You did. However, not all black people know how to season their food, either. So it doesn't matter if you're white or black in my book. You just gotta know how to season your food. I'm a chef." She smiles at me.
I place two scoops of vanilla ice cream in a bowl, then add a brownie on top. I place the bowl in front of her before making my own. I freeze at the sound of moaning, turning around slowly; her eyes are closed, and another delightful moan slips from her lips.
"I take that as the brownie meets your expectations."
Her eyes open, and she nods. "This is delicious. I must say you've outdone yourself tonight."
"Do I get a reward?" I wink, and she bites down on her lip, shaking her head no. "Just teasing," I add, turning back around to make my bowl. Once I finish, I stand opposite of her, sitting down and eating my dessert. I watch her very closely as she eats, and man, it's a fucking turn-on. "So tell me why you wanted to become a chef?"
