minutes before she arrived, Michael inform ed me that I was expected to perform more than one service that night.
Michael continued to string up lights in the next room. I did the polite thing.
“Julianna, this is Michael. Michael, this is Julianna, my assistant for the evening.”
Michael put down the lights and came over to us, hand out. “Nice to meet you, Julianna.” He quickly threw me a look , then turned back to her. “How nice of you to help Jo out.” His voice dripped with mischief. “Excuse me, I have to finish up these lights.” With a sideways glance at me, he walked away.
I unwrapped the sandwich Julianna had brought. “This was so nice of you. I’m starving.”
“I figured you might be. You seem the type that doesn’t take care of herself.” Her eyes shot open. “I don’t mean that you don’t look good,” she stammered. “You obviously work out and take care of yourself in that way. I meant that you probably don’t make sure that you get everything you need.”
I pursed my lips playfully. “I know what you meant.” We both sat down on stools at the counter and dove into our sandwiches.
“When are the others coming?”
“The students? I told them to come around five.”
She’d gotten me a California sandwich, and it was fantastic. The first bite I took was like a key to heaven—just the right ratio of tomato, avocado, and Monterey jack cheese, on a great multigrain bread. It even had a green olive slice, a rarity for a first bite. It almost made me cry. Not the sandwich, but that she’d remembered that it was my favorite kind. One of the many things we’d talked about over the last couple of weeks. I took another bite and looked at her. “What made you say that?” I asked her as I chewed.
“What?”
“That I don’t take care of myself.”
“I can tell.”
She was right, and it kind of disturbed me that she knew that about me. How did she know? Was she psychic? I hoped not because the thoughts I was having about her at that very moment were not professional.
When we’d finished, I got up and pressed the preheat button on the oven. “Time to get started.”
“So what do you want me to do first?” she asked. Now on her feet, the warm bloom of a satisfied belly on her cheeks, she almost looked as if she’d just been satisfied in a different way. At least, that’s how I imagined she looked. Now I felt my own cheeks flush as I envisioned what kinds of things would rouge the skin on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs . . .
I turned away so I could pull myself together, and pull my thoughts away from Julianna’s body.
“We need to get the hors d’oeuvre toppin gs started. Why don’t you start cleaning and chopping up those mushrooms over there?”
“Sure.” She pulled boxes of mushrooms out of one of the crates and set herself up at the island counter. She had on a pair of black casual slacks that hugged her curves perfectly. I’d told her to wear full-length pants, preferably black, because it not only looked professional but it was for her safety. And, boy, did she look good in them. The loops on her pants were beltless and I couldn’t help but imagine hooking a finger in one of those loops and pulling her to me.
I was about to turn back to my own workstation when I caught Michael looking at me, an evil grin splashed across his face.
“What?” I mouthed silently. To my horror, he came back over.
“Have you seen Brit’s bedroom?” At my puzzled silence, he continued. “She has a huge bed.” He glided his eyes over to Julianna, innocently chopping mushrooms, then back at me. His teeth gleamed white. The oven beeped.
Oh, so now I was supposed to think that Brit was going to get me and Julianna in bed? He was going way off and he was working my last nerve.
I untied a bag of walnut halves and threw the twist-tie across the counter. I dumped the walnuts onto a baking sheet, pushed it into the oven, and set the timer for ten minutes.
As I pulled a
Michael continued to string up lights in the next room. I did the polite thing.
“Julianna, this is Michael. Michael, this is Julianna, my assistant for the evening.”
Michael put down the lights and came over to us, hand out. “Nice to meet you, Julianna.” He quickly threw me a look , then turned back to her. “How nice of you to help Jo out.” His voice dripped with mischief. “Excuse me, I have to finish up these lights.” With a sideways glance at me, he walked away.
I unwrapped the sandwich Julianna had brought. “This was so nice of you. I’m starving.”
“I figured you might be. You seem the type that doesn’t take care of herself.” Her eyes shot open. “I don’t mean that you don’t look good,” she stammered. “You obviously work out and take care of yourself in that way. I meant that you probably don’t make sure that you get everything you need.”
I pursed my lips playfully. “I know what you meant.” We both sat down on stools at the counter and dove into our sandwiches.
“When are the others coming?”
“The students? I told them to come around five.”
She’d gotten me a California sandwich, and it was fantastic. The first bite I took was like a key to heaven—just the right ratio of tomato, avocado, and Monterey jack cheese, on a great multigrain bread. It even had a green olive slice, a rarity for a first bite. It almost made me cry. Not the sandwich, but that she’d remembered that it was my favorite kind. One of the many things we’d talked about over the last couple of weeks. I took another bite and looked at her. “What made you say that?” I asked her as I chewed.
“What?”
“That I don’t take care of myself.”
“I can tell.”
She was right, and it kind of disturbed me that she knew that about me. How did she know? Was she psychic? I hoped not because the thoughts I was having about her at that very moment were not professional.
When we’d finished, I got up and pressed the preheat button on the oven. “Time to get started.”
“So what do you want me to do first?” she asked. Now on her feet, the warm bloom of a satisfied belly on her cheeks, she almost looked as if she’d just been satisfied in a different way. At least, that’s how I imagined she looked. Now I felt my own cheeks flush as I envisioned what kinds of things would rouge the skin on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs . . .
I turned away so I could pull myself together, and pull my thoughts away from Julianna’s body.
“We need to get the hors d’oeuvre toppin gs started. Why don’t you start cleaning and chopping up those mushrooms over there?”
“Sure.” She pulled boxes of mushrooms out of one of the crates and set herself up at the island counter. She had on a pair of black casual slacks that hugged her curves perfectly. I’d told her to wear full-length pants, preferably black, because it not only looked professional but it was for her safety. And, boy, did she look good in them. The loops on her pants were beltless and I couldn’t help but imagine hooking a finger in one of those loops and pulling her to me.
I was about to turn back to my own workstation when I caught Michael looking at me, an evil grin splashed across his face.
“What?” I mouthed silently. To my horror, he came back over.
“Have you seen Brit’s bedroom?” At my puzzled silence, he continued. “She has a huge bed.” He glided his eyes over to Julianna, innocently chopping mushrooms, then back at me. His teeth gleamed white. The oven beeped.
Oh, so now I was supposed to think that Brit was going to get me and Julianna in bed? He was going way off and he was working my last nerve.
I untied a bag of walnut halves and threw the twist-tie across the counter. I dumped the walnuts onto a baking sheet, pushed it into the oven, and set the timer for ten minutes.
As I pulled a
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