Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Sawyer

Ash was already in the resort kitchen when I arrived an hour before boat launch two days later.

"Hey, Sawyer, about time," he said. "There's a lot to do before we head out. This isn't like your other job. You can't just show up and drive the boat."

I glared at the large knife gleaming in his hand. Probably not the best time to tell him where he could shove this fucking job.

"I'm here now," I said shortly. "So how about we get to it?"

He pointed to a pile of sweet potatoes. "Wash and peel those while I finish my other prep."

"You can do that while I drive the boat. Just tell me what to load up and let's go."

Ash shook his head. "It's a short drive, and I've got other things to do after this."

"Folks might not even show up for a while," I argued.

I wasn't sure why I was arguing, other than I was in a foul temper. My mother, the traitor, chose that moment to come up behind me.

"Sawyer, hon, the chef always knows best." She flicked the bill of my ball cap. "You should know that by now."

Over the weekend, I'd tried talking to her about lending Ash some qualified kitchen staff instead of me. I'd pulled out every possible argument to appeal to her chef's sensibilities about who she'd want in her kitchen.

She hadn't even batted an eye. "We're far too busy in the restaurant to hamstring ourselves right now. Besides, you boys need to learn to get along. Skylar thinks working more closely will do the trick. I figure you'll either become friends again or kill each other. Either way, problem solved."

"Damn, Mom, that's harsh," I'd said, shocked.

She'd laughed and patted my face. "Don't worry, hon. I know you're a survivor."

I stomped over to the sink, still peeved, and started washing fucking potatoes.

I'd made it through peeling about half the pile when Ash came over, leaning in close to look over my shoulder, breath hot on my neck.

I edged away. "Do you mind?"

"This is all you've got done?" Ash asked, sounding disappointed.

A heavy weight dropped into my gut. I didn't want to care what fucking Ash thought of my work performance. Hell, I wasn't a sous chef, I was a boat driver.

I was just wired to care about everything I did.

"I'll try to go faster."

"No, that's okay." Ash nudged me away. "Go put ice in the cooler by the door while I finish this."

"I can go fast?—"

"Just do it, Saw. I don't have time to argue every little thing."

With a growl, I turned on my heel and went to the walk-in freezer to retrieve bags of ice. The refrigerated air cooled my heated cheeks.

We hadn't even left yet, and I already wanted to toss Ash in the fucking lake.

For the next twenty minutes, I loaded coolers and carted them out to the boat. Ash chopped mushrooms and onions and peppers and fucking who knew what else right up to the last second.

Either, running a food boat took a hell of a lot more work than I realized, or Ash was keeping busy so he could make me do all the heavy lifting.

I returned from my trip down to the boat. "C'mon, Ash. Haul ass."

He closed the lid on a mini cooler that held falafel—why that had to be frozen, I didn't know—and picked up a box full of pantry ingredients.

I held the door while he crossed the room. As soon as he got to me, he shoved them both into my arms.

"Carry that like a good boy, would you?"

"Fuck off."

Ash laughed as he dashed out the door ahead of me. "Being the boss is fun!"

"Until your employee kills you," I muttered.

He looked back at me as we made our way down to the dock. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I said with a serene smile. "Just admiring this beautiful day."

Ash snorted, clearly skeptical, but he didn't call me on it.

Getting to the boat was sweet relief. Ash couldn't make me do all his grunt work while I was easing the boat out of dock and driving it to the spot over by the marina.

Apparently, Ash had tried a few places last week and it got the best drive-by traffic.

The boat moved like a snail. A pontoon houseboat wasn't built for speed, and with all the kitchen equipment, it was even more weighed down.

As we puttered along, I realized he'd played me by saying he wouldn't have time to prep while we made the drive.

"You play dirty, Ash Dixon!" I called.

"What?"

"You play?—"

The door opened and Ash emerged just as I yelled, " dirty."

"Dirty?" He looked appalled. "My kitchen is pristine. I have to work extra hard at it on a boat, but I clean it every night."

"No, not the kitchen," I said with a snort. "You."

"Me?" Ash looked down at himself as if expecting to find stains on his clothing.

He'd removed the button-up he wore at the resort, revealing a turquoise tank top that hugged his torso like a second skin. His shoulders gleamed bronze in the sunlight.

Ash glanced up with a mischievous grin. "I guess I'm dirty sometimes. But I don't know why you're thinking about that."

Heat rushed into my face. "That's not what I meant."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's not," I insisted. "You play dirty. That's what I said."

His lips twitched. "It's okay, Saw. You're a little obsessed with me. I get it now."

"I am not obsessed ," I spluttered. "With— What? No! I just meant you were playing me with all that prep you couldn't do when…" I trailed off as he continued to laugh at me. "Oh, fuck off and go cook something. I was promised food."

Ash's eyes sparkled.

"Careful, Saw. You eat my food, you might get even more hooked on me."

He ducked through the door before I could smack the shit-eating grin off his face.

Damn it. Why did I let him get to me like that? He was obviously just goading me for fun. He'd done the same thing on the DreamBoats, and it'd worked every damn time.

Cash's words came back to me. You've carried a major grudge against him for a long-ass time. You ever asked yourself why you couldn't let it go?

This was why. Because Ash was fucking insufferable!

We finally arrived at the spot a few hundred yards from the marina. I brought the boat to a stop and set the anchor.

I didn't go inside, though. Fuck that. Ash could tell me if he needed something. I leaned back against the railing and closed my eyes, basking in the sunlight. It was about ten a.m., because folks who went out early on the lake would be hankering for an early lunch.

By noon, the sun would be glaring down on me like I was her enemy. But for now, she was warm and comforting.

The door opened. The smell of something delicious wafted out.

I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to give up the few minutes of peace I'd managed to find. I waited for Ash to bark an order at me, but he didn't say anything.

Finally, curiosity got the best of me.

I opened my eyes. "What now?"

Ash stared at me, a strange look on his face. He held a cardboard container in each hand.

"Ash?" I prompted when he didn't speak. "You in there?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat and thrust a container at me. "Here. I cooked something."

I took it and looked down at the sampler. Falafel, a triangle of some kind of grilled cheese, a sweet potato-and-beet slider, and some kind of carrot-radish slaw.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's lunch."

"You're fucking with me, right?" I asked. "Where's the brisket you were serving last week?"

"These are the new menu items this week. I wanted to test them out."

"Great, so I have to be a vegetarian guinea pig?"

"You could always go hungry," he said tightly. "But I suggest you stuff your big mouth and enjoy what someone else made for you."

He stomped back inside, letting the door slam behind him.

Whoops.

I think I hurt his chef's ego.

My stomach growled, telling me that vegetarian or not, I should take his advice and stuff my face. I started with the grilled cheese, since that looked safe enough. The gruyere hit my tongue like gooey heaven, and I had to admit that it was fucking delicious. I wolfed it down, then moved on the falafel. I'd had it once or twice, categorized it as just okay and moved on, but the spices Ash had used, combined with the dab of sauce on it, elevated it. It was perfectly crispy, so obviously Ash had worked out his fryer problems.

I tried the carrot slaw next. It wasn't bad. Fresh, a little sweet. I wasn't sure it was better than regular slaw, but points for trying, I guess.

I left the sweet potato-and-beet slider for last. This looked just plain weird.

I picked it up with two fingers, eyeing it with trepidation. But before I could overthink it, a sport boat loaded with six guys—towing a large tube with two more behind it—swung toward us.

I tossed the mini sandwich in my mouth, surprised by the flavors that burst on my tongue. The sweet potatoes were smooth and flavorful, but the zing of the cumin-spiced beets really made the dish, along with the aioli spread.

Damn. I didn't even miss the meat.

That said, who in their right mind was going to order it?

The tube swung toward our stern, and I nearly choked. "Whoa, be careful!"

Tubing was the easiest of all the water sports, and as such, it attracted a lot of amateurs. That didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

The driver veered and slowed further, and the tube just missed slamming into the side of our boat. Ash wanted to make headlines for his weird gourmet food, not tragedy.

I bit down on the lecture I wanted to give the driver and slipped through the door to the kitchen. Ash was in the window, rattling off his specials.

"You should try our spinach-artichoke quiche or we've got a really amazing focaccia with goat cheese and?—"

"I thought this was a burger boat," the driver cut in. "We're not really looking for dainty appetizers."

"Yeah," another guy called with a laugh. "Supersize me!"

"This isn't a fast-food drive-thru," Ash said, sounding offended.

Shit, he was going to scare these guys off before they even ordered. They'd been playing on the lake all morning. They were being dicks about it, no joke, but clearly goat cheese and quiche wasn't gonna cut it.

I barged over, hip-checking Ash to the side.

"I'll take their orders. You just get out the steak."

"But the specials—" Ash started to protest.

"Steak?" one of the guys asked, perking up. "Now, you're talking."

Ash slapped his phone down beside me, the screen open to the menu app.

"Fine, but stick to the menu," he growled.

"Or?"

"It'll be your ass I sear on the grill."

I chuckled as he stomped away. "Chefs, right? So touchy."

The guys all laughed, and I took a quick scan of the menu, omitting all the compote, croquette, and freaking souffle wording that might send these guys running to keep their toxic masculinity safe.

"All right, so we've got seared steak bites, mini meatball subs—" I glanced over my shoulder. "Why didn't I get that for lunch?" I turned back to the window without waiting for an answer. "Chicken tacos, grilled cheese, or some salad and vegetarian options if that's your speed."

Ash shoved his way back into the window. "It's not just grilled cheese, it's a trio with different flavors. There's a prosciutto and gruyere that?—"

"Yeah, it's amazing," I cut in. I could tell these guys weren't foodies who would appreciate the fine details. Keeping it simple was the key with frat bros like these. "I tried it before you arrived."

"I'm more of a meat and potatoes guy," the driver of the boat said. "I want that meatball sub. How small are they?"

"Eh. I'd get three."

He nodded. "Done."

The other guys chimed in with their orders, and soon Ash was too busy to protest. Another boat pulled in before they were gone, and we served them too.

We barely had time to exchange snarky remarks as I took orders and Ash hustled to make the food. A lot of it was prepped, but he still had to grill, fry, and heat things, and the temperature in the kitchen continued to climb.

A lot of the customers used the app to order—and Ash did sell one of his sweet potato sandwiches to my surprise, as well as a lot of falafel—but mostly, they went for the tacos, the meatball subs, the things that were familiar and Midwestern. It was a shame, because even his weirder food was delicious, and these people were missing out.

After my first couple of attempts went nowhere, I stopped recommending the gourmet-sounding items and went for the ones that were sure to win people over, making sure to describe them in down-to-earth ways.

The marinated portobello mushroom thinly shaved and seared with roasted bell peppers and caramelized onions, with jack cheese and pesto became a mushroom cheesesteak sandwich.

Ash grumbled about it, occasionally butting in to put it in his chef-speak, but mostly he had no choice but to roll with it because we were too damn busy.

When we got a spare moment to breathe, I headed straight out the door to the fresh air outside. The sun was high in the sky and I was overheated and pouring sweat.

I stripped off my T-shirt and tossed it aside.

The door banged open a minute later. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I turned, spreading my arms to catch more of the sweet breeze. "Cooling off. What does it look like?"

"You can't just strip down. That's not sanitary."

"I'm not near any of your precious food right now. Relax. "

Ash marched over, eyes burning. "I'll relax when we're done working. We should be cleaning up in there before the next wave hits."

"Not happening," I said flatly. "I need?—"

"You need to do what I say and stop sabotaging me!"

I laughed in shock. "Sabotage? All I've done is help you."

"By insulting my food? Or only encouraging people to order half my menu items? Or ignoring me when I ask you to recommend the new specials?"

"You've got too many choices on there, and it's too damn fancy. People out on the lake don't want some frou-frou shit."

"I didn't start this business to sling burgers," Ash exclaimed, eyes sparking with frustration.

"Well, you're not gonna be slinging anything if your customers don't want what you serve."

"How would I know if they want it? You didn't give them the fucking chance!"

"You heard those guys today. They were about to drive off and order nothing . I saved your ass by winning them over. I can't help what people want. You should be thanking me."

Ash growled in frustration. "I knew this was a mistake! You just won't ever quit fighting me, will you?"

I stepped closer, bringing us chest to chest. "Hey, you started this fight."

"Well, maybe I should fucking finish it then."

"Yeah?" I smirked. "You gonna kiss me again and run away?"

Ash's eyes flared. "I'm not running anywhere. You want to punch me, punch me. I'm tired of this bullshit, Saw. I've tried keeping my distance. I've tried apologizing?—"

I shoved him against the exterior wall of the boat cabin and pinned him there with one hand at his throat. "That was a bullshit apology. Mel was waiting for you!"

He bared his teeth at me. "She's just a friend, for fuck's sake! I know it's been a while since you've had a girlfriend, but certain parts have to touch?—"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Why don't you make me?

Something primal in me responded to the challenge in his eyes. My left hand balled into a fist, but I wasn't a violent guy. I hadn't punched anyone since sixth grade, and I'd felt guilty as fuck for weeks afterward.

The simmering resentment and the angry tension built up, winding me tighter and tighter. I squeezed his throat, leaning in so close we shared the same air.

"Go on," Ash whispered. "Do your worst. Put me in my place, Saw. I can't take it anymore, okay? Just do something. Kiss me or punch me or?—"

I slammed my mouth down on his, kissing him hard. Anything to break the tension. Anything to shut him the fuck up.

Our teeth clanked together and his incisor sliced open my lip, but in my adrenaline-fueled state, it felt fucking great.

I held his throat in a tight grip and kissed him harder.

Ash moaned and shoved his tongue into my mouth, tasting like fresh strawberries, and I sucked the flavor from his lips and tongue.

He tilted his hips forward, and something hard rubbed against my thigh.

His dick.

Because Ash was a dude.

Who I was making out with in broad daylight.

I jerked back, gasping for breath. Ash's eyes were wide and dark, nearly drawing me back in for more.

"Sawyer," he said in a choked voice. "We need?—"

I didn't want to know what we needed. Couldn't handle it. Not right now.

"We need to cool off," I interrupted.

Then I grabbed Ash's arms and shoved him over the side of the boat. I stepped up onto the side and jumped in after him.