Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
"It didn't mean anything. I have needs, and you're, well, ah—" I hurry into the elevator when the doors open. Sadly, Felipe does the same.
"What am I?" I cock my head, waiting to hear this.
"Cold."
That might be true. It was awkward with Felipe when he'd try to hold my hand or do anything affectionate. I chalked it up to me not being okay with PDA, but Brooks tossed that theory out the window with our elevator makeout session, which I'm sure cameras caught.
"You're right," I agree. I see a spark of surprise and maybe hope that I'm about to cave and give us another chance. That will never happen. "We don't connect. There is no spark. We should both walk away."
"I want to talk about this first. I've been thinking a lot about us." I haven't been. I only thought about it when people on TikTok asked about Felipe and where he was.
I never showed him in my videos, but he'd always tag me on TikTok and Instagram when he'd go try a restaurant with me. Since he wouldn't answer them, they are now asking me what's going on.
"Felipe, there is nothing to talk about." This conversation is getting old real quick.
"I'm serious, Slater; I've come to a conclusion on what is wrong with you." The elevator doors slide open, but I turn to fully face Felipe.
"What's wrong with me?" I can't wait to hear this.
"You're asexual. That has to be it."
"Because I didn't fall into your bed?" It takes everything I have in me not to burst into laughter. I keep myself in check because it will only piss him off, and this conversation will stretch on.
"It's fine that you are, and that's why you're still a virgin, but we can come up with a plan. I can go do my thing discreetly, and we can still be together." He's lost his mind. "We're good together. We work. I miss us working together."
There it really is.
"We don't work together." Felipe enjoyed the places I could get into, and he wanted to go with me so he could do his own postings, trying to build up his own following. He loves the attention. I'm in it for the food. What can I say? A girl's got to eat.
"Slater—" I can see he's getting pissed off now.
"I have to go." I pause before I step out of the elevator. "Let your followers know we're not together."
"You don't want me to do that." There is a clear threat in his tone.
"I promise you, I do." With that, I turn to leave, and thankfully, he doesn't follow me.
One man down, and now a baby daddy to go.
Chapter Four
BROOKS
One Cup, Tea Cup is predictably busy. There’s only one table open, and that’s because it has a reserved sign on it. I had called in a favor. The owner, Carrie, had not wanted to help me until I told her I would be engaged in public groveling. She immediately changed her mind and asked if she could set up a live feed.
I think she was kidding.
She rushes toward me when I enter, a gleeful smile on her face.
“You don’t have to look so happy,” I grunt when she reaches me.
“No. I do. The mighty Brooks Neal is being felled today. If only Culinary School Carrie had known this would happen, she wouldn’t have felt so defeated back then.”
“I didn’t think I was that bad of a classmate.” You’d think I sabotaged one of her dishes by the glee she’s exhibiting over my situation.
“You were impossible. Your prep was always perfect. Your knife skills impeccable. Your dishes always turned out right even when you took risks. The teacher thought that you could do no wrong.”
I stare at her blankly because these don’t seem like legitimate complaints. “You wanted me to burn the roux?”
“Yes, that would have made me feel better, but since your roux was always perfect, that’s why I’m so happy to host you today. Finally, Chef Brooks has a flaw.” She claps her hands together and then trots back to the counter before I can reply.
I don’t have a response anyway because I was the best chef there. I don’t feel like apologizing for that, unlike how I know I need to bend the knee for Slater. I sit down and rehearse what I’m going to say. I’m sorry I had you followed. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was. Genuinely, I thought you knew. I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were. I don’t spend that much time on the internet or social media. I never would’ve slept with you if I knew you were a critic—actually I can’t say that because it’s not true. I would have had her if she was a bride at the altar preparing to be with another man. I wanted her—still want her—that much. What’s also true is that now that we have slept together, she needs to move in with me. The plan is sound. I apologize and then explain how we navigate our future.