SATURDAY: Light, Full-Bodied & Screwed (Hookup Café Book 6) Read online

  SATURDAY:

  Light, Full-Bodied & Screwed

  FIFI FLOWERS & MAX ANTHONY

  Champagne Girl Studio

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  Copyright © 2017 Fifi Flowers

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Design by Susan Garwood of Wicked Women Design

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  Published by Champagne Girl Studios

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  www.FifiFlowers.com

  WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.

  Other Books by Fifi Flowers

  -Windows Series-

  A Window to Love

  -Awakening to You Trilogy-

  Awakening to You in Boston

  Awakening to You in LA

  Awakening to You

  -Downtown Series-

  Just A Number

  -Brother Duet Series-

  Drawn to a Cowboy

  -Encounter Series-

  Reclining Nude in Chicago

  Taming the Curator

  Falling in Paris

  -Encounters Holiday Series-

  Love Me Now

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Other Books by Fifi Flowers

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Fifi Flowers News

  Chapter One…

  Up at the crack of dawn, I hit the gym, and then made my weekly pilgrimage to the Little Italy Mercato Farmers’ Market—I liked to get there when it opened at eight a.m. on Saturday mornings. I brought along several canvas bags in my large metal folding shopping cart. Not only did I purchase incredibly fresh seasonal produce, but there were some great vendors that sold olive oils, spices, and more. One of my favorite parts was “sampling goodies” as my farmers’ market accomplice and friend called it—I called it getting my grub on because every booth owner was pretty much willing to have you try their goods. That morning I had berries on the brain as I wanted to do a layered mascarpone and berry parfait dessert so I needed to try a few different ones; some blueberries from here and some strawberries, raspberries and blackberries from there.

  “Hey, handsome.” I knew the voice without turning around.

  “Good morning, Jolie.” I often ran into her on Saturday mornings and time permitting, we grabbed a cup of coffee from the Joe’s on the Nose truck parked on Cedar. I met her through Pansie, the owner of the café where I worked, when she started donating coffee and cookies baked by her cousin Marzi, who owned the bakery portion of the café, to a local shelter for the homeless where Jolie volunteered regularly. Happy to get involved too, I often went over and made soup or I sent my sous chef with a pot I made for them. I loved giving back, it made me feel good to help others less fortunate than me.

  “Make sure you get your blueberries from that guy,” Jolie casually pointed me in the right direction when I clued her in on my menu. “Please tell me you saw my fishermen.”

  “Not yet, but I will be heading over.” Jolie had hooked me up with a great tip. They didn’t have everything I needed, like sea scallops, lobster, and shrimp, but I had gotten those the day before from a fish market I frequented.

  I knew they would have yellowtail so after I dropped off my farmers’ market items I planned to hit up the fisherman at Seaport village—fresh fish straight out of buckets on the boardwalk. I was looking for some fresh fish and shellfish for seafood dishes. I had a local—from the Temecula area—wine rep that was coming in to do a wine pairing with seafood. Her deal was to dispel the myth that all seafood should be accompanied by white wine or champagne. So I was given a specific list of fish and shellfish to purchase, but I was allowed to use my own imagination as to how they were to be prepared. I liked the challenge.

  Bags filled, my belly full from sampling and drinking a latte, I kissed each of Jolie’s cheeks, saying goodbye, telling her to stop in and see me soon, then walked a few blocks to Cafélicious. I absolutely loved working at the café and the event nights were usually so much fun. I thought it was a mistake at first to do wine night on Saturdays but it was usually a quieter couples crowd so it kind of made sense. Fridays were often filled with people happy to be starting their weekend and in no mood to cook. Unwinding Friday. Mondays and Wednesdays were our other event nights—Poetry and Music—less about food and more about drinks and entertainment. On those nights we limited the offerings to appetizers and desserts—allowing me to vary between the two days as to when I took a day off besides Sundays when the café was closed.

  Sitting down with Pansie and Marzi when I first came on board as a sandwich and soup maker, they allowed me to run wild with specialty sandwiches. Of course, I only took that position because Pansie had offered me the job of head chef once the full café launched. She had purchased the building to start her business and the one next door, but she had to wait until the shoe repairman, who was occupying it, retired before expanding.

  “Please hang in there,” I could still hear Pansie saying or begging when some fucking customer complained about my fancy sandwiches, wanting a basic slapped together meat, cheese and bread mess they could make at home.

  “When we put together a full menu I am adding no substitutions on the menu in bold fucking letters,” I told Marzi as she baked heavenly sweet treats in the kitchen with me on the opposite side of her work area.

  “You just make the sandwich as it’s listed and I will throw a couple orgasm cookies on the plate next to it,” Marzi said, adding, “and that should shut them up but good.” Those cookies of hers were sinfully delicious and I love that she and Pansie always backed me up. They made me want to stay and I looked forward to the day that I had my own kitchen on the new side of the café.

  Once it finally happened, we made up the café menu; simple, one sheet, changing seasonally. We did have a few staples; a grilled cheese sandwich, hamburgers, a chicken sandwich, Margherita flatbread, two salads, steak, shrimp, chicken, fish, and always a soup of the day. However, all of the basics were often updated with new and inventive ingredients to give a different flavor—giving it my signature chef touch.

  I hadn’t planned on being a chef, though I always loved to cook since I was a young boy helping my mother in the kitchen. She is a great cook! I have learned so much from her and I’ll be honest, many of my recipes are hers or they have been approved by her. I value her opinion… judgement and know that if she gives me the thumbs up, it’s a winner—a real crowd pleaser. I’ve never known anyone to complain about her food. Just the opposite, people are always asking her for her recipes. I, howe
ver, know how she cooks—never measuring anything—and everything is done to taste. So making something exactly as she does is not easy.

  Following her methods, I think I get them pretty close. And I have used them to feed other people like my friends, girlfriends, and their families. A few moms have told me over the years that I can cook in their kitchens anytime. It was those comments that had me thinking about becoming a chef. But it was my father who steered me in a different direction discouraging me with words like; long hours, early hours, late hours, stuck in a hot, messy kitchen, and forever cleaning up.

  So when I graduated from high school I went straight into a four year college with the goal of being a teacher and, most importantly, a sports coach. I was always a natural at sports and I tried pretty much all of them; flag football, basketball, soccer, baseball, swimming, tennis, and even golf. But cooking never really left me, as I found work as a personal chef thanks to watching the cooking channel, and the words I remembered, “You can cook in my kitchen any day of the week.”

  With a bit of research, I figured out different ways to have a few clients during the week and do dinner parties on the weekend. Word of mouth—compliments to the chef—hooked me up with a good selection of clients. I had a single guy who wanted to eat healthy, a working couple whose nanny was a horrible cook, and a woman who wanted to learn to cook. All of those clients had me shopping for them, prepping things, and then giving them step by step instructions how to put it all together for a meal. I did, also, have a career-driven couple that had me actually cook dinner for them twice a week and they kept me busy entertaining their friends on the weekends with my kickass cuisine.

  Food was no problem. It was the wine selections—which I could not purchase as I was underage when I began my service—that had me stumped and hurt my business a little. Wanting to remedy that, as soon as I was about to turn twenty-one, I enrolled in bartending school and gained knowledge in not only wines, but learned how to pour a solid drink. Finished with school, legal age, my instructor found me bartending gigs as well. I was so busy with working so much and studying to be able to graduate the following year that I lost my future wife.

  Charlotte was my college sweetheart and I really thought that I would marry her. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and we had similar life goals. We were going to graduate at the same time, do our student teaching, and then hopefully find a high school where we could both work. She had visions of a big church wedding, a honeymoon in Hawaii, a two-story house, and three kids. It sounded okay to me and I wanted to give it all to her in the beginning. But by the time we dressed in our cap and gowns and accepted our diplomas, she was stepping off the stage in the opposite direction—away from me.

  I had no desire to student teach or teach in a high school even if it included coaching my favorite sport. I wanted to be a chef… to own a restaurant someday. Knowing that I needed some formal training, I went to my parents and asked them if I could move back home to be able to afford culinary school. Thankfully, they were both on board. So I withdrew all of my savings from the bank account but five hundred—required to keep my account open—and enrolled in a local culinary program on a scheduled payment plan. I had no desire to have a big student loan once I finished so I still worked evenings and weekends to make the eight hundred dollar a month payment.

  One of my roommates, Deacon, said he would float my portion of the rent but I knew that there would be too much fucking around and I needed to focus. I had no control when it came to late night to early morning gaming sessions with my buddies, those games are addicting. Besides, at home, I would have my mom to sample food that we had prepared in class. We were always making large quantities in my cooking courses so students often took leftovers home—we even brought storage containers to school for just that reason. My roommates would’ve loved that too as they were always begging me or ordering me to cook which wasn’t entirely a bad thing as they cut me a break on rent.

  “Hey, dude… feed us… hurry up… we’re starving over here… and we haven’t eaten all fucking day waiting for you.” I could only imagine them if I were to bring home some of the less than appealing stuff we made in class. “What the fuck dude! Gourmet hot dogs are more our style not seafood sausage, who the fuck eats that shit?” I laughed sometimes imagining the looks on their faces.

  In the end, home won out. It proved to be the right choice for me and two years later I graduated from the program and found myself in a position a few years later working toward someday owning my own restaurant. Cafélicious allowed me to expand my skills and learn the ins and outs of running my kitchen; ordering, prepping, planning, cooking, and teaching people under me. The wine pairing dinners were taking me into a different realm, forcing me to learn more, and pushing me to step outside of my comfort zone—creating dishes that weren’t usually served in the café.

  With the fish fest, I was pulling up recipes from online magazines for different courses. I looked for simple appetizers that involved scallops and shrimp, but decided to use the shrimp for a salad course instead. Then had to decide what kind of soup I wanted to serve; cioppino, bouillabaisse, clam chowder or lobster bisque. For the main course, the rep requested a seared ahi and I came up with a spicy fresh fruit salsa—I hoped that it would fare well with her wine selection.

  I didn’t want to disappoint her. And once I saw her walk into my kitchen area, I wanted to do nothing more than to please her—only my thoughts had nothing to do with food or wine and a whole lot to do with sheer pleasure. I imagined her on her back and me above her, ramming my rock hard dick into her tight little pussy. I had never seen her before, she was substituting for the usual rep that had absolutely no appeal to me whatsoever. Darla, the rep of the night, looked gorgeous with long dark brown hair and amber eyes that sparkled as she spoke to me. I found myself swallowing several times before I was able to enunciate properly so that I sounded like I knew what the fuck I was talking about—I couldn’t afford to look bad in front of her.

  Chapter Two…

  Right into my workspace she bounced. Bounced, I say because she had two outstanding assets that were hard to miss.

  “Hi, I’m Darla,” her hand reached out for mine and when I didn’t reciprocate with a handshake, she looked down to where my hands were busily arranging plates.

  “Vin, nice to meet you. We will be ready to serve immediately,” I told her before turning my attention back to my student staff for the evening. I often called on my culinary school for volunteers for our events, there were always students anxious to put their skills to work in a real kitchen. I also used Marzi’s kitchen since she had more counter space for prep and plating dishes. It also didn’t interfere with our regular dining room customers. Wine events were always done out on the back patio for privacy and crowd control; no prior reservation equaled no entrance.

  Seeing that I was busy directing the staff, I thought for sure she would go off to the patio and arrange her things, but she remained. Fuck! She smelled amazing! She was way too close to me. I didn’t want to be rude so I did my best to nod my head as I tried to busy myself as she began to school me or maybe she was teaching all of us.

  “Ask people what are the best wines to pair with fish and other seafood… most people automatically say whites. Common ones they know like a Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay and they do fare well with it, but it’s perfectly acceptable to shake it up a bit. I have to say that I do like a Riesling, champagne or a sparkling wine with raw oysters…” I swear she paused to capture my attention and if I wasn’t mistaken, she licked her lip and bit it when I did respond.

  “They aren’t on tonight’s menu. You didn’t request them.” I would’ve gotten them for her but I would’ve been wanting her all alone… to myself… by ourselves watching her put them to her lips… sucking them into her mouth. My mind was running fucking wild and I think she had similar thoughts.

  She sounded a little flustered when her next words escaped her lips, breathy at first. Maybe I was affecting her
as much as she was getting to me. “I was just telling you what I like… but you’re right.” Her tone changed. “We are not having those tonight.”

  “I have made some sea scallop appetizers to start… have a taste.” I speared one with a fork, making sure that she got a taste of each element that would be presented to the people taking part in the wine dinner.

  I later learned that it had been a big mistake to have the wine rep… the fucking gorgeous wine rep sample the items I would be serving. I also should’ve kept my mouth shut about the preparation and every taste that I hope the diners would savor on their palates. And maybe she… Darla shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to me because when I went out to help deliver food I heard words that hit me with a fucking wallop.

  “Chef Vin, will you please describe the appetizer for us. He told me earlier and I simply could not present it to you as beautifully as he did.”

  What the hell?! The past reps had never asked anything from me but courses as they needed them. Suddenly, I was on the spot and I felt like I was back in school or in a competition trying to sway test tasters to select my creation. On the spot, I stepped out of the shadows to greet everyone and then launched into my description.

  “Seared sea scallops on a cloud of carrot, ginger and citrus purée. In the middle, on either side of them, are some seasoned and candied mushrooms, the green watercress is basically for color, but it is edible and adds a nice little clean touch.”

  Adding a slight bow with my hands behind me, I backed up, and let Darla continue as I turned to disappear.

  “Because it is the beginning of our evening together I have selected a sparkling California wine to toast to an enjoyable night.” I heard as I started to walk back toward the kitchen and I believe she gave a toast. I couldn’t say for certain because I was trying to remember everything I had to do to make sure we were ready for the salad course.