Page 29 of Quarterback Sneak

“It’s not mine.” Shock made her mind spin and a lump formed in her throat. “It tastes different. Better. No better than better. Mine is excellent. This…” A slow burn overcame her initial reaction and she waved the spoon in the air. “These are the flavors the critic will be rating me on and they’re not mine.”

Beth unceremoniously dipped her finger in the custard and brought it to her mouth. “It’s good and it’s your recipe. Sam assured me he followed the directions to the letter.”

Cooking was the one thing Ivy excelled at. Throughout the years, she’d developed the ability to fuse flavors and create memorable flavor profiles. Her skills with spice and a new spin on old classics had earned the James Beard nomination. And in one afternoon, Sam had managed to eclipse her success. Pain radiated through her heart, followed by a despair. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I can, however, recognize my own stuff. I can’t put my finger on it. This is definitely richer, the spices more intense. It’s friggin’ fantastic. Damn it, I shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“Are we still talking about the dessert, or is the ghost of boyfriends’ past haunting you again?” Beth snatched the spoon from Ivy’s fingers and jolted her out of the tirade that was building.

Glaring, Ivy stole the spoon back and, scooping up a large spoonful, stuck it in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to answer.

“That’s what I figured.” Beth smirked. “Well, if you want my opinion, the difference in flavors was caused by something simple like the manufacturer changing the recipe for the mint tea, or the cream coming from another dairy, not some sinister plan Sam concocted to show you up.” Alice entered the kitchen, putting a halt to their conversation.

“Chef Ivy, we’re done. I wanted to thank you for everything. Although my critic is being his usual closed mouth self, I assure you he enjoyed the food. I’ve never watched him polish off a dessert before. Whatever you are doing, keep it up. And please consider asking Sam to volunteer to do the segment with you. It will go a long way to benefit your charity.”

Ivy inwardly flinched at the compliment. Another unintended slap. “I will.”

The moment Alice left, Ivy went upstairs to her office. She shut the door and stared at her reflection in the blank computer screen. Sam wasn’t Kevin; he had no ulterior motives, no hidden agenda for being with her. Beth must be right about the dessert. Many hidden factors could influence the flavors. Despite the knowledge, it still stung her pride that her perfect boyfriend surpassed her best efforts without even trying. Then there was the invitation for his cameo on 3Square—another thing not his fault—yet she still blamed him. How pathetic was she?

Chapter Twelve

Sam rested his arm across the doorframe and tried not to stare at the sexy sight of Ivy leaning against the back door of Vicenzo’s, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath from their run.. Unlike the last time they’d dashed up the Market stairs, there were no reporters to ruin their morning.

Except something wasn’t quite right with Ivy, and hadn’t been since the photoshoot. She’d been silent throughout their five-mile run and it was apparent by the dark circles under her eyes, she hadn’t slept well.

He skimmed his knuckle along her sweaty cheek, savoring the silky texture of her skin. “You’ve been awfully quiet this morning. Is something wrong?”

She lowered her gaze, shutting herself off from him. “I’m still trying to recover from yesterday. I’m not 100% convinced the critic liked any part of the meal except for...”

The muscle under her skin twitched at her hesitation.

Yep, something was definitely wrong.

Sam tilted her chin up with his thumb until she was forced to look at him. “Everything was delicious, but even if it weren’t, worrying about it won’t change things,” he said.

She presented a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know it’s a waste of time. I can’t help it. Worrying is what I do.”

“Well, maybe if you had a distraction, you could get past it.” Unable to keep his hands to himself, he allowed his fingers to tangle in her damp hair at the base of her neck. He hated to see her obsess over something she had no control over, yet he understood her angst. She was a perfectionist and demanded more from herself than anyone else, a trait he regretfully shared. “You could play hooky and we could sail to Bainbridge Island and go swimming.”

Ivy raised her arms and slid them around his neck, the stiffness in her easing somewhat at this suggestion. “I don’t have a suit.”

“You won’t need one.” He allowed his palm to skim down her shoulders and along her spine until he reached the arch of her back. Fingers spread, he cupped her bottom and pulled her in.

“Yeah, right.” A throaty giggle escaped her lips and she rested her lithe body against him. Her actions inflamed him and he ached to do more than kiss, however the dank alley they were in didn’t provide the most romantic or private setting.

“I wish I could but I have a catering event at the Seattle Center tonight.”

The ringer on his phone cut the air and the sound of mariachi music doused the mood.

“You really need to change that tune,” she said.

He nodded his agreement and hit the accept button. “Let me call you back, Howler.” Before his friend could answer, he hung up and tucked the phone into his back pocket. “When is it over? I’ll pick you up and take you somewhere nice.”

“Or we could hang out at my place. There is an awesome little Thai restaurant close by that delivers.” The shy curve of her smile spoke volumes.

Her suggestion and the meaning behind it shot straight through his ears and settled in his pants. “Text me when you’re done.”

“I’ll do that.” She rose up on her toes and brushed her lips with his. “See you later.”

He made no move to leave but watched her skip inside, her ass a perfect picture in her tight shorts. Tonight there would be no clothes between them. No distractions. No interruptions. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sparky.

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