Chapter 26

 

 

 

Luke

 

 

What the hell was that?

I went full caveman when I met Porter Knight. I have no fucking idea what I was thinking when I stepped up and acted like Afton was my girlfriend.

I didn’t want his eyes on her, let alone his hands.

I have zero explanation for that other than I thought I saw a flash of panic wash over her expression when Porter pressed her on whether or not she’s single.

I stand to the side as Afton pushes up to her tiptoes to get the perfect shot of a piece of salmon covered with a bunch of stuff that will no doubt impress whoever the hell is going to see these pictures.

I look over to where Porter is standing near the stove. His eyes are stuck on Afton’s ass.

Fuck this guy.

I admit her ass looks perfect in the jeans she’s wearing. The red blouse she has on is sheer, so the lacy thing she’s got on underneath is visible. I wouldn’t call it a bra; it’s more a pretty tank top.

I should know. I’ve had trouble keeping my gaze off of her all night.

Her hair is wrapped around her shoulders in a messy tangle.

This right here is perfection, so it stands to reason that Chef Knight is just as mesmerized as I am.

“Can you clean the side of the plate?” Afton asks.

I’m on it just as fast as the chef is, but he beats me to it. I can’t fault him for that. The food is his creation, after all.

“Thanks, Porter.” Afton gifts him with a smile after he runs a white kitchen towel along the rim of the blue dish.

“My pleasure,” he says in an almost whisper.

I cast myself in the role of Afton’s fake boyfriend because I don’t like this guy being near her. It’s irritating me more and more by the second.

“I think I got it.” She sighs after snapping a few more pictures. “I’ll load these up to my laptop so you can have a look.”

Porter opens a kitchen drawer before turning to face us. He presents a silver fork. “Why don’t you sample this first, Afton? You should have a taste.”

Goddamn show-off.

Afton takes the first bite and moans and groans her way through a bunch of complimentary words about balance, essence, and composition.

Before I realize what’s happening, she shoves the fork into my hand. “Try it.”

I dive in and snag a bite, and dammit, it’s amazing.

“What do you think, Luke?”

I glance up to see Porter with a perked brow. He’s waiting for me to answer the question Afton just posed, so I do. “It’s good.”

The son-of-bitch pitches me a look that tells me to go straight to hell, but I stand my ground and set the fork down even though I want to lick the plate clean because it’s that damn good.

I won’t give him that satisfaction. We’re in the middle of a silent pissing contest, and from where I’m standing, I’ve taken a firm lead.

“I’ll start on the next dish.” His attention is focused solely on Afton. “Your boyfriend is welcome to enjoy the terrace while we work on that.”

There is zero chance in hell that’s happening, Chef.

“Luke can help too,” Afton offers.

I can’t deny her, even though the last thing I want to do is lend this guy a hand.

Porter tosses me an artichoke. I catch it with ease. “Clean that up. Try not to butcher it.”

Little does he know that Marti assigned me to prep duty for an entire summer when I was fourteen. I’ve cleaned more artichokes than I care to admit.

I glance in Afton’s direction to find her smiling at me.

I raise both brows in silent response before getting to work with the hope that we’ll be out of here before the clock strikes midnight.

 

***

 

“I’m sorry that I…”

“No.” Afton’s hand lands on my bare forearm. “Thank you. I need to thank you for stepping up like that. Porter is aggressive.”

“Porter is an arrogant ass,” I add.

Afton laughs as we wait on the sidewalk for the Uber she just ordered. The plan is for me to help her haul her lighting and camera equipment back to her place.

We haven’t discussed what’s going to happen after that. 

“He’s a good chef,” she admits with a roll of her eyes. “The rest of it I can do without. I’ve never seen the appeal in a guy like that.”

“A guy who wears a chef jacket in his own kitchen?” I tease, wanting her to tell me straight out that he’s not her type.

I want to be her type. Truth be told, I want to be her only type.

“Afton!”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath when I hear Porter’s voice coming at us from the rear.

I thought we were done with him when we left his penthouse five minutes ago.

“Porter,” Afton says his name as she spins on her heel to face him.

He ditched the chef’s jacket for a gray T-shirt from a concert tour. To be precise, it was his former band’s last concert tour. I suppose there’s something to be said for advertising your past accomplishments by wearing them on your back.

“I’m heading to a club.” He keeps his eyes trained on her face. “You and that guy you’re dating should come by, or just you if he needs to call it a night.”

“I’m standing right here,” I point out.

Porter laughs like his ignorance isn’t intentional. “I didn’t see you there.”

I’m as big as a linebacker. He fucking saw me.

I wrap an arm around Afton’s waist. That pulls a shiver from her, so I tug her closer.

“This is really a thing?” Porter eyes us up. “He’s a lot different than that guy you were engaged to. What was his name again?”

Jesus Christ.

A man can only take so much taunting from a fancy chef with a balls-to-the-wall attitude, so I do what I know will shut him the hell up.

I reach for Afton’s chin, tilt it up and press my lips to hers.