Page 34 of Wild Pucker

"I didn't know the Argos were playing tonight."

"Not that football!" Sam makes a face like I've insulted him. "Footie! The beautiful game."

"Oh, thank god!" I laugh. I like soccer. I played competitively until the end of high school and occasionally join pick-up games when I have time.

"Have fun," Riley calls from the couch. "Don't forget to be naughty. Entertain me!"

"Ignore her.” I whisper loudly to Sam.

Twenty minutes later, our first segment is live, and people are posting comments like mad. According to Holly, we have over two hundred thousand followers. On the drive to the restaurant she tells Sam and me about TorontoLicious, an event where local restaurants set a price-fixed menu to encourage patrons to try their food. Sam was given a list of participating restaurants and chose one close to Toronto FC's field.

It's a cute little eatery that's longer than it is wide, with navy blue tables and white chairs. It has trendy lighting, including some ultra-modern chandeliers. A long bar with a massive glass wall of liquor runs along one side of the room. It's backlit with glowing blue lights, and the accumulative effect is stunning. The bar is busy, but the hostess takes us to a private table, away from the crowd, that's quiet enough Holly won't have any trouble recording us. We're mic'd up with noise-cancelling tech, and Adam can edit out any additional sound.

Sam pulls out my chair and seats me. Our waitress greets us, explains the promotional menu, and pours us some wine.

"So," Sam grins, looking at the menu, "when you come to restaurants, are you a food snob because you're a chef?"

"No. I'm not a critic unless the dishes are absolutely terrible." I glance over the menu and spot a few things that interest me. I love making food as much as I love eating it. "You're a nutritionist, Samuel. Do you only eat healthy food?"

Sam smirks at me. "I like a big cheeseburger and fries as much as the next guy."

"Good, because this could never work if you told me you inhale kale and only eat egg whites."

The waitress returns and I order an appetizer Caesar salad with extra croutons. I never order Caesar salads from chain restaurants because they tend to glob on horrendous amounts of generic dressing. But this one looks delicious, with fresh romaine wedges and a house-made dressing emulsified using olive oil, garlic and other spices. I get the mushroom pappardelle with white truffle and Grana Padano cheese for my entree. Sam orders the same salad and the dry-aged ribeye with fingerling potatoes.

The salad is excellent, and so is the warm bread and Himalayan pink-salt butter they bring out with it—I love me some bread and butter. Sam is easy to talk to and charming, and I can practically see followers fall in love with him as dinner goes on. I avoid talking about work and do my best to ask meaningful questions. By the time our entrees arrive, I know Sam's family came to Canada when he was six, which is why he has a slight accent that's not nearly as strong as his parents. He still has family across the pond and visits once a year.

"I've lived in Canada my whole life," I say, then sigh in pleasure as I take a bite of my pasta dish. It's creamy and flavourful and delicious. I note the flavours, tucking them away in the back of my mind when I'm creating my own menus. "But, I've had the opportunity to travel. I've been to Paris and Italy to study their food, and I've been to the UK. But I didn't get to visit Scotland."

"You'd love it," Sam says with certainty. "It has a wildness to it, and it's not as bustling as parts of England. I'll have to take you someday. I have family in Edinburgh and Glasgow." I smile at the invitation. I'd love to go to Scotland, and I'm sure going with Sam would be amazing, but—just but. I throw food in my mouth to avoid the awkwardness.

"How's your steak?" I ask, changing the subject. It looks incredible and has a side of hollandaise sauce for dipping. I kind of wish I had ordered the steak.

"Delicious," Sam replies, taking a big bite. I wonder if I offer him a taste of my pasta if he'll share.

"Would you like to try mine?"

"Sure." I twirl a thick pappardelle noodle onto my fork, making sure to get some mushroom and sauce and hand it over to him. "Very good."

I wait for him to reciprocate and offer me a bite of his steak, but it never comes. Usually, the best part about going to restaurants is sharing food. Everyone orders different dishes and then try each other's food. I resist the urge to shoot Holly a look because I know she knows I was fishing for a taste and am annoyed, in a hangry way, that I didn't get one.

The rest of dinner goes by quickly. Two more segments are posted online, and I refuse to watch any of them until I get home because I don't want to get in my head. I keep reminding myself to act normal. Most of the time, I forget the camera is even there, but I know if I start watching the segments back, it will make me crazy.

My phone buzzes just as the car pulls up to the stadium. The best thing about having a driver is we don't have to worry about parking.

Riley: I can't believe that ass didn't let you taste his steak. Everyone knows plate sharing is an unwritten rule.

Lily: I know, right?

Riley: He could have fed it to you in slow motion. Food porn is gold on social media.

Sam opens my door again, giving me a hand out of the car. I suppose his chivalry makes up for his food hoarding. We're led through a hallway by a few guards. This is definitely not the general public entrance. We're the only ones coming in this way. We turn down a tunnel, which I realize is the one the players walk out of onto the pitch. When we finally step out onto the field, thousands of fans cheer us on. I glance around, and people are holding up signs cheering for Toronto, but my eyes widen when I see a few of them are for the BWB and me. Fans are fast and industrious with their signs, and I am one hundred percent sure this is the work of Avery and Holly. They just can’t resist a good photo op.

"CHOOSE CHASE!"

"LILY PICK ME INSTEAD!"

"GREAT SCOT! SAM IS HOT!"

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