to feel like we forcing her to do anything.
“I was beaten up a lot,” I blurted out, thinking about my mum’s advice.
“What?” She looked so confused. “You look like you’d be doing the beating.”
“Thanks,” I smirked.
“No…I didn’t mean—”
“I got what you meant,” I said, pouring myself a glass of water before taking the seat opposite her.
“Why were you beat up?”
“Because I was a scrawny pale child with two mums, thick glasses, and a love for reading. Aka, what you Americans call a ‘nerd’.” Oh, the good old days! Bitter sarcasm intended.
“I can’t see it.” She waved her hands over my body, and I realized that once again I stood in front of her half-naked. I was so used to rarely wearing clothes here. Nothing I can do about it now.
“Puberty, contacts, and a few tattoos do wonders.” I shrugged, leaning forward. “But before that, it was eighteen years of being dragged into closets or washrooms and having teachers make off remarks. Each time I told myself I would fight back. I wouldn’t just let them bully me. And each time I still ended up with a busted eye or broken nose. It didn’t matter if I changed schools. My mums got into arguments about it. Brenda, she’s a poet, and although she looks tough because of her temper, she’s a big softy. She wanted to homeschool me, but my mum, Pippa, she wasn’t having it. She said it would only make me awkward and unable to stand up for myself. They were already stressed over my little brother, Charlie, being sick with leukemia. I couldn’t deal with all of it, so I left home. I went to university in London. Only stayed there for a semester, then my brother died. Instead of going home, I ran away to France.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she replied, finishing her water.
I paused, staring at her empty glass.
“Do you mind if we get something stronger than this?” I lifted my glass.
“Yes, please!” She smiled, lifting her glass to me.
Grinning, I took both of them and placed them into the sink before getting proper wine glasses.
“Tell me when,” I said to her after uncorking the red wine. Pouring it into her glass, I waited and waited and she didn’t say anything until the wine was right at the rim.
“Perfect.” She grinned, leaning over to sip the top so it wouldn’t spill over.
“Are you sure? This is very strong.”
She just waved me off and drank like she had been dying for a drink. When she finally took a deep breath and licked her wine-stained lips, her glass was as full as mine.
“Okay.” I laughed. She was so cute.
“Don’t judge.”
“Me? Never!” I shook my head before leaning over to wipe the corner of her mouth. “But what did I say about savoring the things in your mouth?”
Shite! It came off far more sexual than I’d wanted it to.
Her face turned red, which made blood rush to places it shouldn’t…not right then at least.
“You ran off to France?” She changed the subject and I picked up from where I’d left off.
“Yeah, I went to France, not knowing a word of French, thank you. I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. I ended up getting a job at the fish market. Day in, day out, gutting and handling fish. This chef, Chef Dieudonné, a man well into his sixties, came every day and personally picked out all the seafood himself. One day he didn’t show, so I biked in the rain to his restaurant. It was the first time I had been inside a professional kitchen, and it blew my mind.” I couldn’t stop fighting the fat ass grin spreading across my face. “I can’t describe it, the chaos, the excitement, and the speed at which everyone worked. For the first time in my life, I thought…this…this is what I want.”
“So you joined his kitchen?” she asked innocently.
I snorted, wishing it were that easy. “In my dreams. Chef Dieudonné was the best. Everyone who was anyone wanted to be in that kitchen. Who was I to just demand to be there? First, I
“I was beaten up a lot,” I blurted out, thinking about my mum’s advice.
“What?” She looked so confused. “You look like you’d be doing the beating.”
“Thanks,” I smirked.
“No…I didn’t mean—”
“I got what you meant,” I said, pouring myself a glass of water before taking the seat opposite her.
“Why were you beat up?”
“Because I was a scrawny pale child with two mums, thick glasses, and a love for reading. Aka, what you Americans call a ‘nerd’.” Oh, the good old days! Bitter sarcasm intended.
“I can’t see it.” She waved her hands over my body, and I realized that once again I stood in front of her half-naked. I was so used to rarely wearing clothes here. Nothing I can do about it now.
“Puberty, contacts, and a few tattoos do wonders.” I shrugged, leaning forward. “But before that, it was eighteen years of being dragged into closets or washrooms and having teachers make off remarks. Each time I told myself I would fight back. I wouldn’t just let them bully me. And each time I still ended up with a busted eye or broken nose. It didn’t matter if I changed schools. My mums got into arguments about it. Brenda, she’s a poet, and although she looks tough because of her temper, she’s a big softy. She wanted to homeschool me, but my mum, Pippa, she wasn’t having it. She said it would only make me awkward and unable to stand up for myself. They were already stressed over my little brother, Charlie, being sick with leukemia. I couldn’t deal with all of it, so I left home. I went to university in London. Only stayed there for a semester, then my brother died. Instead of going home, I ran away to France.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she replied, finishing her water.
I paused, staring at her empty glass.
“Do you mind if we get something stronger than this?” I lifted my glass.
“Yes, please!” She smiled, lifting her glass to me.
Grinning, I took both of them and placed them into the sink before getting proper wine glasses.
“Tell me when,” I said to her after uncorking the red wine. Pouring it into her glass, I waited and waited and she didn’t say anything until the wine was right at the rim.
“Perfect.” She grinned, leaning over to sip the top so it wouldn’t spill over.
“Are you sure? This is very strong.”
She just waved me off and drank like she had been dying for a drink. When she finally took a deep breath and licked her wine-stained lips, her glass was as full as mine.
“Okay.” I laughed. She was so cute.
“Don’t judge.”
“Me? Never!” I shook my head before leaning over to wipe the corner of her mouth. “But what did I say about savoring the things in your mouth?”
Shite! It came off far more sexual than I’d wanted it to.
Her face turned red, which made blood rush to places it shouldn’t…not right then at least.
“You ran off to France?” She changed the subject and I picked up from where I’d left off.
“Yeah, I went to France, not knowing a word of French, thank you. I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. I ended up getting a job at the fish market. Day in, day out, gutting and handling fish. This chef, Chef Dieudonné, a man well into his sixties, came every day and personally picked out all the seafood himself. One day he didn’t show, so I biked in the rain to his restaurant. It was the first time I had been inside a professional kitchen, and it blew my mind.” I couldn’t stop fighting the fat ass grin spreading across my face. “I can’t describe it, the chaos, the excitement, and the speed at which everyone worked. For the first time in my life, I thought…this…this is what I want.”
“So you joined his kitchen?” she asked innocently.
I snorted, wishing it were that easy. “In my dreams. Chef Dieudonné was the best. Everyone who was anyone wanted to be in that kitchen. Who was I to just demand to be there? First, I
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