Page 14 of SCRUMptious

“Wait!” he called, running after me. “What do you mean you’re on your way there now?” He looked around and then lowered his voice. “Does she workhere?”

“I’m not saying a word until she tells me it’sokay.”

“She doesworkhere!”

I mimed zipping my lips and throwing away the key, but just then Lauren crossed my field of vision as she made her way across the parking lot toward the kitchen, her bag slung over her shoulder and her head bowed against the wind. My eyes followed her hungrily as Eoin watched me watchingher.

“The cook? Really?”

I nodded and rubbed my chin, dragging my eyes away from the window. “Yeah. Her name’s Lauren, and she’s not just a cook. She’s a full-blown chef, and talented ashell.”

“What’s she doing here then?” It was sort of an unspoken fact that while we were all thankful to the organization for feeding us, they weren’t exactly known for caring if what we ate tasted good. If Eoin had asked that question about anyone other than Lauren, I wouldn’t have cared, but she was talented. It wasn’t her fault she’d gotten fucked by her formerboss.

“She was working with some celebrity chef back in L.A. who had a massive drug problem. He blew up at her on live television and the station ended up canceling the show. She’s technically still on contract for the production company, so no one back home can hire her. Everyone who actually worked in the kitchen is in limbo. And the shittiest part is they’re not getting paid either, so she took this contract to bring in some extra dough.”

“And you know all this because?”

I turned to my friend. “Because we fucking talk, okay. Because except for this week, I’ve hung out in her kitchen every other day for the past month. I told you, I really likeher.”

Eoin looked back at me thoughtfully. “You said she’s still on contract?”

“Yeah.”

“So that means she’s going back to L.A. Not to mention, Harold should be back soon. When the season ends, time’sup.”

I sighed. Trust me, he didn’t need to tell me. I’d stared at the calendar on my iPhone this morning for 15 minutes counting down the time I had left with her. “Yeah, in a few weeks.”

Eoin set his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Are you sure you want to start something up with her, knowing it can’tlast?”

“It’s already started, man.”

“Did you …” He let his question trail off. No need to speak the words aloud; I heard loud and clear what he was really asking.

I shook my head. “No, not yet. Almost though. And I wanted to—fucking bad, man—but it wasn’t the right place ortime.”

“And you’re sure she’s theone?”

I laughed cynically. “I’m not fucking sure of anything except that I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s got me tied up in knots.”

Eoin laughed with me. “Shit. I know that feeling. You’re screwed.”

My eyes flicked to the window again, hoping to catch another glimpse of Lauren, but she’d already made her way inside the building. “Yeah, I think Iam.”

* * *

I pausedbefore entering the part of the building that housed the kitchen and dining room. I’d been waiting for this moment all week and now that it was finally here, I didn’t know whether to be excited or scared. I hadn’t lied to Eoin; I liked Lauren. A lot. But like he’d pointed out, she was also leaving soon so it’d be stupid to get too attached toher.

Unfortunately, my dick didn’t care about my heart; it just wanted to be inside her. I’d always been able to maintain tight control on my urges, but with Lauren, I was ready to throw 22 years of hard-fought celibacy straight out the window. I’d asked myself a thousand times what it was that made her different, and the only conclusion I’d been able to come up with was the fact that she didn’t give two shits who my dad was or what I did for a living. Hell, I was pretty sure she didn’t have the first fucking clue who my dad was or the money I came from. And I knew for a fact she barely cared that I was a professional rugby player. Having spent her time around celebrities with more name recognition than me, what I did for a living was completely inconsequential. Maybe someday I’d feel differently, but at this point in my life I needed to know the woman I was with wanted me for me—not for my last name or some sick bragging rights.

With that thought circling my brain, I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. Throwing open the double doors, I stepped into the room, delivering the same line I’d delivered every time I stepped foot in Lauren’s domain. It was cheesy, I knew, but it’s what had worked in getting her to notice me all those weeks ago, so I’d kept it up, the words becoming our inside joke. “Something smells good, chef.”

Except it didn’t. It smelled fucking horrible, like singed flesh and burningtar.

Which made sense given that flames nearly a meter tall were shooting out of the stove, black smoke billowing from a large roasting pan on top of the burners. Lauren stood in the midst of it all, swatting at the flames in an attempt to put them out. Watching the fire come perilously close to singeing her hair tightened my gut in fear, and I swung into action. Scanning the room, I found a bright red industrial grade fire extinguisher bolted to a wall and lunged for it, the back of my ankle popping painfully in the process. Ignoring the pain shooting up my calf, I ran to Lauren’s side and pushed her out of the way with my hip, while simultaneously dousing the flames in foamy white fire retardant.

When the flames were extinguished, I dropped the empty canister and turned to her. “Are you okay?” I coughed, dragging Lauren away from the worst of the smoke.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing her hands over her chef’s coat, once white but now smudged black in several places. “Thankyou.”

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