Page 48 of Can't Kiss the Chef

I pull up the group message. “I’m so sorry Byron. I never would have invited him if I knew you didn’t want him here.” I say honestly.

The group message was only sent to Indy, Margo, Marcus and Josiah.

I learned at a young age that life loves to kick you when you’re down and this moment could be used to study the theory.

Dalton:

Here ??

“He’s here. Do you want me to tell him there was a mixup?”

Byron shakes his head, “It’s too late to send him home. Go get him.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I’m tempted to hug him but I get stage fright from the prying eyes of our friends.

18

Byron

That right there is the problem with group chats. We all have too many of them, and it’s too easy to text the wrong fucking group.

I’d rather pluck my eyes out than watch Lola walk back into the house holding Dalton’s hand. Instead of using my paring knife to gouge my eyes out, I find the girls’ liquor cabinet and pour myself what has to be the equivalent of a triple shot of tequila into a water glass. I down it in one go.

“Take any open seat. We are just waiting on my brother.” Lola tells him in a tone so sweet it sounds fake. If Dalton knew Lola he would know that. If Lola really felt comfortable with Dalton she wouldn’t need to put on this act.

I glance across the room with a fake as fuck smile to match Lola’s peppy buttery words.

My stomach starts to turn, at the sight of them flirting. Lola giggles at something Dalton says while she reaches out and lays her hand on his forearm. He places a chaste kiss on Lola’s cheek, before taking the empty seat next to Margo. It happens to be the seat furthest away from anyone on the Westvale hockey team.

Lola almost floats back to the kitchen. A childlike giddiness radiating off her.

“Ollie should be here any minute if you want to start plating.” Her shirt rises up as she reaches for a stack of dishes. Who knew a sliver of back could be so sexy.

I hold up the stack of plates I brought with me. “One step ahead of you.”

“You haven’t let anyone back here, have you?” She says abruptly.

“No, Lola. I understand what a blind taste test is.”

Her eyes draw up to mine. A meek smile on her face.

“Sorry, it’s just that if I win, I want it to be because of the food, not some kind of blind loyalty.”

She’s getting antsy, asking questions she already knows the answer to. I think if she wins tonight it’s a sign to her that she made the right decision to change her major. If she fails, she’ll start to believe her parents were right.

I take her face between my hands. Her green eyes darken below her pinched eyebrows.

“Your food is amazing, and everyone knows it. You don’t need tonight to prove that to yourself,” I hesitate for a second. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been killing it all semester.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see bubbles flowing over the top of my cooking pasta.

“Fuck,” I mumble. I turn my back to Lola to turn off the flame and bring the pot to the sink.

Lola’s where I left her, her eyes are still locked on me. “Let’s get this show on the road,” I flash her a smile, while pouring the pasta into a strainer.

It takes about ten minutes to get both meals plated. We go around the table first with my dish, telling everyone not to take a bite until they have both in front of them.

After everyone has a plate of Lola’s food sitting in front of them we run through the rules.

---