Episode 27: Spiced Tension
Chef’s voice didn’t carry any anger or displeasure, but after being in an eighteen-year marriage with a man who could hide his volatility behind charm, Sugar immediately became worried.
She blinked in confusion. “W-what? Why?”
“I don’t know how you expect me to keep my hands to myself all night when you look so perfect.”
Her worry melted away instantly, replaced by a heavy spike of arousal.
“Who says you have to?” she asked, finally locking the door and turning to face him.
Chef arched an eyebrow. “You givin’ me permission then?”
She smiled teasingly. “I thought I already gave you permission on the phone.”
“You sure did, didn’t ya?” he replied, his grin widening into something smug and sexy, making her knees weak. Mischief danced in his gray eyes.
He leaned down slightly, his face hovering just above hers. For a moment, Sugar thought he was going to kiss her. She could almost feel it: their first proper kiss.
“We best get goin’ before we’re late,” he said, pulling back.
Disappointment washed over her like a bucket of cold water, but she nodded and stepped forward to leave. Before she could move, Chef took her hand, catching her off guard. He escorted her to his Mustang and opened the passenger door like a gentleman.
“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing inside.
As she slid into the seat, her hand still in his, Chef kissed the back of it, then winked at her. She closed her eyes, biting back a sigh as her heart thudded violently in her chest. She watched him round the car and settle into the driver’s seat before the Mustang roared to life. He backed out of her driveway, and they were off.
Halfway down the street, his heavy, calloused hand found its way to her left knee, his fingers gently stroking back and forth. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and warmth spread across her flesh like wildfire.
She looked over at him, but his eyes were locked on the road ahead.
Deep down, though, she knew he was watching her.
A question burned at the tip of her tongue. “Why didn’t you kiss me at the front door?”
There was a moment of silence. Chef cocked his head slightly, his expression thoughtful.
“I thought about it,” he admitted.
“I saw you thinking about it,” she replied, “but you didn’t. Why?”
“Cause if I kissed you, Sugar, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself. I would’ve unlocked that damn door and carried you back inside to have you all to myself,” he replied, his eyes snapping to hers as he said the last words.
His hand inched a little higher on her thigh.
Her breath hitched before she swallowed hard.
“That would’ve been... interesting,” she whispered softly.
“The thought of me makin’ love to you is only interestin’?” he teased, amusement lacing his voice.
“First of all, it wouldn’t be making love. It’d just be sex,” she corrected, “and yes, it would’ve been... very interesting.”
He chuckled, shaking his head but said nothing.
Looking to change the subject, she said, “My younger brother knows about you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You told him?”
“No, Helena did,” Sugar snorted, rolling her eyes. “He even found your social media profile and showed it to me.”
“And what did you think?”
“It was...” she trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Interestin’,” they said in unison. She shot him a glare, and he returned it with a playful grin.
“There was one thing that stood out to me,” she admitted.
“And what was that?”
“Your relationship status,” she answered. “Apparently, you changed it to taken the night you invited me to the jazz club. Care to explain?”
“I am taken,” he replied.
Sugar blinked. “By who?”
“By you, Sugar Magnolia Wallace.”
“We’re not in a relationship, Miles Thibodeau. We have a thing.”
He arched an eyebrow again. “A thang?”
“Yes, a thing.”
Chef grew quiet for a moment.
“Fine, we have a thang,” he said, his southern drawl emphasizing the last word. “So, my relationship status is still accurate.”
Sugar frowned. “What? How?”
“Like you said, there’s a thing between us. That night at the jazz club, you promised me I’d be the only man in your life, and you know you’re the only woman in mine. So, I’m taken by you, just like you’re taken by me.”
Sugar opened her mouth but didn’t know how to respond. His logic was undeniable, highlighting the flaws in her original agreement—her conditions.
“I suppose, in a way...” she trailed off.
As the Mustang stopped at a red light, she added matter-of-factly, “For the time being, of course.”
Chef turned to look at her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burned into hers. She shuddered under his intense gaze. For some reason, it felt like an unspoken challenge simmering in his stormy gray depths.
Her heart raced, her pulse drumming loud in her ears against the terrible silence that filled the car. She turned away, pretending to focus on the world outside the window. His hand remained on her thigh, a constant reminder of his presence. When the light turned green, the car lurched forward, and she watched the city slip by, recognizing familiar street names and landmarks.
They were headed to the Docks.
As they navigated the grim streets, she caught glimpses of the river through the gaps between buildings. Eventually, Chef turned into a loading area behind a dilapidated warehouse. Cars were parked everywhere, and people of all kinds milled about, heading toward a rusted entrance door atop concrete steps.
“This is it?” she asked, her brows scrunched in confusion.
He said nothing, getting out of the car and coming around to open her door, offering his hand. She hesitated but took it, stepping out. A heavy feeling settled in her chest. Was he upset with her? Why did she feel so guilty?
She waited while he retrieved a duffel bag from the trunk.
“Do you come here often?” she asked, desperate to break the silence.
“Not as often as I used to,” he said, closing the trunk.
Relief washed over her. Maybe, she had overreacted. Maybe, he wasn’t mad after all.
“Can you help me understand why people enjoy getting beat up for fun?” she teased with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“That ain’t why folks box,” he replied as they approached the warehouse.
She crossed her arms, intrigued. “Then why?”
“Boxin’ ain’t just about two people punchin’ each other till somebody falls. It requires strategy, thought, and plannin’. It’s almost like chess. You gotta be one step ahead of your opponent and figure out their strengths and weaknesses. It exercises you physically and mentally,” he explained. “The beatin’s just a nice bonus.”
Sugar giggled despite herself.
They climbed the steps, and Chef opened the creaking, rusted door for her. She stepped inside and was immediately awestruck. In the center of the hollowed-out warehouse was a spacious boxing ring, surrounded by a rowdy crowd. Cheering and booing filled the air as two men battled it out under the harsh glow of an industrial spotlight. Against one wall was a functional, fully stocked bar.
“You thirsty?” Chef shouted over the roar of the crowd.
Sugar nodded. “A drink would be nice!”
Chef took her hand and led her through the crowd to the bar, where a familiar face greeted them.
“Ain’t this a surprise,” Gizzard shouted with a grin. “Good to see you again, Ms. Sugar!”
She smiled. “Good to see you too, Mister Gizzard!”
Gizzard nodded at Chef in acknowledgment. “Boss!”
“Anything she wants, it’s on me,” Chef replied loudly.
Gizzard winked. “Absolutely. I’ll be sure to add a nice forty percent tip.”
Chef smirked before leaning down to speak in Sugar’s ear. “Gizz’ll take good care of you. I gotta go suit up. I’m up after this match.”
As he pulled away, she kissed him on the cheek. “A kiss for good luck.”
He gave her one last look before disappearing into the crowd.
