Wax

Sixty One

She picked out the one right beside him, gesturing to the other on his left. "After you, Pao."

This snapped Carter out of self-induced shock. No surprises, he scrambled for the seat next to Pao. I watched it happen.

Yamazaki motioned his Japanese counterparts to the remaining seats on the far right, taking the fall and choosing the least favorable of the seven: beside Carter, on the far left. We exchanged a nod.

"Sanshoyaki Tebagyoza. Nori-crusted Hamachi sashimi. And ikaten, calamari with a surprise."

"Only the first dish utilizes the grill in front of you," the genius caught on quick. "Having multiple dishes prepared different ways consecutively could mean shooting yourself in the foot if you're not careful, Leroy." He slipped up without noticing, pausing when he did and raising a glass of water to his lips in hiding. "It, um, doesn't help that you've chosen to cook alone either. Chef Cox."

"What can I say," I set the first batch of wings on the grill. "I'm out to impress."

The sear and sizzle of the chicken as they hit the flames caught all eyes around the counter. I was doing things their way; unlike other teams who could've started cooking before the panel was seated, I wanted the experience to be authentic. As though this was just any other evening, and they were strangers looking for a good time after a long day. And everyone knows a decent chef doesn't start cooking until the order comes in.

"Ay this man scares me sometimes." Pao was shaking his head, thinking I wouldn't hear him through the crackling heat and whirr of the kitchen. "You know Banilla, I think I change my mind now. After today, he is not my favorite."

"Who even said you could have favorites?" Amelia.

"I don't blame Big P at all," Carter wanted in all of a sudden. "If I were one of you guys, I'd have my money on Leroy too."

I mused privately, wondering if anyone else in the room could see through his act. Geniuses aside, the general population liked Carter. A guy like him could cozy up to people, winning favors through words that were empty. I pretended not to hear him, keeping my gaze on the only person at the counter who mattered. He met my gaze, nearly choked on the water he'd been quietly sipping on for the past five minutes, and turned his attention elsewhere.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking when the kitchen sex was going to happen.

I figured it'd have to wait. Wasn't like we had private kitchens around on the trip and with cameras tailing us from place to place all the time, one wrong move had its consequences.

And like I'd said before... the first time had me hooked. Even thinking about it now proves exactly how much of an addict I am. The only reason I hadn't acted on my drive was the condition of my partner's back. Which reminds me... wonder if they had a pharmacy nearby selling meds for aches. Or those muscle relief patches the Japanese were known for. Guess I'll hit the store after the cook.

"—at do you think, chef?"

I caught the tail end of Carter's question before heads turned my way 'cuz I had the habit of filtering out unimportant info every now and then.

"I think you'll enjoy this." I dodged his question entirely, serving up every guest on the counter with their portion of the first dish, sanshoyaki tebagyoza.

"You know me well son," Hollywood was back at it. "I love grilled chicken wings."

Carter was missing the point. I was not his son. And those were not 'grilled chicken wings'.

"...it's gyoza. Dumplings. You de-bone the wing without ruining the skin and the meat, fill it with ground meat and vegetables, seal it, then grill it." The whole thing felt like a fever dream; having to explain all this to a man who thought himself a master of Japanese cuisine. "Sanshoyaki is a grilling technique... used a spice mix I came up with on the fly."