Page 30 of Go Cook Yourself

But none of the reactions compare to Ruby’s. Her chest flushes beneath the V of the open checked shirt. She bites her lip, and her gaze travels down my body. She hums as her stare reaches my boxers. Suddenly, her wide eyes dart to mine. She’s ruby red.

“I’ve suddenly remembered I’ve got to be somewhere.” She stumbles through her words.

“Where? You can’t get out of clearing up that easily,” Wicksy says.

“Where have you got to be, Ruby?” I say her name slowly as I cover myself up with the apron. I want to pump a fist in the air.“I thought you were here until the climax of the evening. Surely, you can’t go until you’re satisfied. Do you need help finishing?” It’s like my whole face twinkles.

Her chest rises and falls dramatically. “I’ll tidy tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got this sorted,” Kath adds with a smirk. “Some nights, we just need to get off.”

I glance at Kath. She didn’t just say that.

Ruby makes a choked noise. She’s still staring at me as if all her Christmases have come at once.

“Yeah, you go and do whatever you need, Rubes.” My eyes track her body. “And make sure you do itexactlyhow you need to.”

I barely blink before she rushes to the door. She crashes through it and is gone. Did I push the joke too far?

“Now, let’s get this done,” Kath says, not allowing my thoughts to linger on a flushed Ruby.

Chapter Seventeen

Ruby

I haven’t seen Garett since last weekend when he stood in just a pair of boxers in the kitchen and I ran for the door like a cross between a horny teenage lad needing a wank and a prim old lady who couldn’t stand the sight of nakedness.

I wince as I unhook my seatbelt, I see the Cloud Cookery School van. The memory of his hard chest flashes to the front of my mind again. I knew he was hot. He was number one on my list of sexy chefs for a reason, but that body was like something else.

“And yet you panicked and ran away,” I mumble, “when you should have climbed him like a fucking monkey scrabbling up a tree.”

I push the door of the cookery school with my shoulder, my pulse out of control, but it’s still locked. His van is in the car park. I fumble with my keys and after dropping them twice, I open the door, and walk into the cookery school. No one’s around when I enter the building and most of the lights are off. Maybe he’s doing something in the back office. I’m early to set up each station, as Kath is busy today.

I’ve hallucinated his god-like body all week. Whenever I attempted to plan my baking for Clive Macdonald’s competition,I’d linger on the dark hair covering Garett’s tanned chest. And I still can’t believe I talked about him riding me hard the other week. I totally blame the way I am around him on my joy and not on his warmth from that time I hugged him or the scent of cinnamon that I can always smell or those damn arms that are like a beacon of sexiness or his chuckle that’s the cutest sound in the whole damn world.

I retie my hair, holding my hairband in my teeth. I sound like one of his needy fangirls.

“Garett?” I call out, but there’s no response except for my voice echoing around me.

I recall his hips with that perfect V I want to trace with my tongue. And his thighs are pure muscle. How does a man who spends his days in a windowless kitchen get a body like that?

I’d love to straddle those thighs. My horniness was a ten all week, but I only got my little bullet vibrator out a couple of times because it’s nearly out of batteries and I haven’t found time to get to the shop. Why do bullets take such tiny rare batteries? I need my powerful vibrator, but it’s still at my old place. Although if I was using that one as much as I need to, Amber and her neighbours will be questioning why someone spends so long vacuuming a bedroom in a garden shed cabin or cleaning their teeth with an electric toothbrush.

So, instead, I’ve been needy with arousal and made a lot of dick-shaped strawberry and white chocolate cookies instead. They’re based on what I imagine is hidden under his boxers, but I’d need to see his dick in the flesh to recreate him perfectly. I chuckle to myself. I’d probably combust the second I saw it. Based on his boxers, his cock is the sort that women would run marathons for.

My mobile rings, pulling me out of my Garett dick fantasies, and I cancel the call immediately. I’ve only had two missed calls from Neil today, which is an improvement. I’ve not answeredthem or any of the others, but I occasionally listen to some of the voicemail messages to torture myself.

The phone makes abingas it receives a voice message. I creep around the school, but there are no noises or signs of people.

Paper ripped from a lined notebook sits on the demonstration counter.

Went for a run, be back soon. G

Wicksy said he occasionally drops his stuff off and goes for a run as he prefers the countryside and the local small town to where he lives. Maybe we should invest in a cookery school shower so he can wash that wet dream of a body rather than making him do some sort of sink shower where he throws water at himself. According to Wicksy, the men’s bathroom is like Rihanna's Umbrella video after he’s been in there after a run. I retie my hair for the umpteenth time that day, swallow loudly, and put my phone on speaker. If anything can erase the arousal from my body, it’s Neil’s whiny voice.

“Babes.” I shudder at the sound of it. I’ve listened to a couple of messages on the off chance I might experience sadness, regret, or, God forbid, a longing to see him again. But there’s nothing. Less than nothing. There’s a hollowness in the pit of my stomach because, deep down, I know why I feel nothing. We were over way before six years. Maybe that’s why I haven’t blocked his number. I need to continue the self-flagellation. At some point, I’ll build up the courage to tell him I want the rest of my clothes, too. “I miss you, Babes. My days aren’t full without you. I wake up, and you’re not there. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. Like, really sorry.”

Each message follows the same formula. First, apologies and then—

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