Page 3 of Spicy Professor

"How was your first day Professor?" Garrett slides into the seat across from me, a smug smile on his face.

Great. All I want is some peace and quiet while I grab a quick bite to eat at the nearest café. Instead, I'm going to be stuck listening to Garrett gloat over that stupid bet.

"Fine. The little fetuses aren't as annoying as I thought they would be." I take a sip of the lukewarm coffee the frazzled server set on the table, not carrying that she forgot the cream I ordered. I'm going to need the straight black coffee if I'm going to get through this conversation with Garrett.

"Lighten up. They're hardly fetuses. Besides, isn't Hannah Winston in your class? She's twenty-seven."

"How do you know Hannah?" Jealousy creeps in at the thought of Garrett knowing Hannah on a personal level.

"Settle down, big guy. Hannah is a friend of Grace's." He lifts his left hand and wiggles his fingers showing me his wedding ring. "I'm a taken man."

How could I forget? He rubs it in my face every chance he gets—that and the fact that he has an adorable six-month-old baby daughter.

"Whatever," I say, changing the subject. "Isn't there any other way I can repay the bet—wash your car for a year, take care of little baby Jessica?"

"Sorry, loser. A bet's a bet. Besides, the students can't be all that bad?"

Honestly, I can't answer that because once I got Hannah in my sights, none of the other students even registered with me. "They're not bad. They're just too young and happy."

"So the complete opposite of your old, grumpy ass."

"Very funny. You know you're only two years younger than me, right?" The lukewarm coffee is now ice cold as I bring it to my lips for another drink.

Where is that server with my food? The sooner it arrives, the sooner I can get out of this place and back to my apartment—not that there's a wife or a baby waiting for me there. Hell, I don't even have a dog or a cat to welcome me home at night.

One more reason to be pissed about this damn bet. If I hadn't lost, I could be anywhere other than around my lovesick best friend.

Don't get me wrong, I love Garrett, Grace, and their baby—it's just hard being around someone who is so in love all the time.

Maybe someday I'll be just as lovesick as my best friend with a wife and a bunch of kids, but for now, I'm fine being single.

A vision of Hannah with a baby in her arms pops into my head, and I have to wonder if fate dropped her into my path or if a meddling best friend thrust her in my direction.

Hannah

"Hannah, can you take this to table five for Sara?" Kate, our head server, hands me a plate of what can only be described as baby vomit topped with more baby vomit.

"Gross. What is that?" My shoulders lift as a gagging sensation runs through me.

"Chef Pierre calls it courge poivrée de deux façons. Whatever that is?"

"First of all, we all know his real name is Pete, not Pierre or even Peter. And whoever eats this is going to need a lot of courage even if its name is literally acorn squash two ways."

"True, true, and I didn't know you spoke French."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." I brush my hair off my shoulder with a flick of my wrist. "Now, I'd better get this to whoever was brave enough to order it before it gets cold unless it's supposed to be served cold."

Kate laughs as I wrinkle my nose at the plate on my serving tray. I can't believe the crap Pete gets away with serving at the cafe. If I were in the kitchen, instead of serving, I would create spectacular dishes for our customers.

I honestly think the only reason people keep coming back is that they believe "Pierre" is a French chef trained at the finest culinary school in France. In fact, he's just plain old Pete from Wisconsin who went to a junior college culinary school. It pays to be friends with the busboys—they have all the dirt on everybody.

The café is busy tonight, and I'm glad—I can really use the tip money. My savings are dwindling fast since I don't want to take out student loans to pay for my culinary degree.

I expertly weave my way through the crowd of customers and servers, not spilling a drop of the baby vomit on my tray as I work my way to Sara's section at the far end of the room.

"Here's your courge poivre de deux façons," I say with a little flourish of my hand as I set the unappetizing meal down in front of none other than my new Professor. "What are you doing here?" I narrow my eyes, waiting for his explanation.

"Me? What are you doing here?" He scowls at me, then at the plate of orange mush sitting in front of him, and then back at me. "I most certainly didn't order whatever the hell that is."

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