Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [104]
Miranda let him hug her, only slightly surprised to register that he was tall enough for her to rest her chin on his shoulder. She wanted to savor this moment, when she finally felt connected to Jess, the way it used to be when he was little—only better, because he was all grown-up. But she knew the next thing she had to say wouldn’t be quite as welcome.
Steeling herself, she pulled away and said, as gently as she knew how, “I understand that being gay isn’t something you chose. But honey, Frankie Boyd is a choice, and a very dangerous one. He’s older than you, more experienced, and look at the way he lives! No sane person would get involved with someone so unstable.”
“What’s so unstable? He’s got his own apartment, he pays his rent, he’s got a good job.”
Miranda must have made a face without meaning to, because Jess jumped all over it.
“What? Suddenly being a chef isn’t good enough for you?” he asked. “Wonder what Adam would say if he knew that.”
“Don’t talk to me about Adam Temple right now—I’m so angry at him for not telling me what was going on with you, I could scream.” She couldn’t help but think that if she hadn’t been blindsided by Jess’s revelation, she might have reacted better.
“But look,” she continued. “This is what I’m getting at. The restaurant kitchen culture, especially now, in the age of the celebrity chef, is insane. These cooks have women throwing themselves at them all the time. It’s like being a rock star; crook a finger, and anyone you want will be thrilled to bend over your kitchen counter.”
Adam had sure cashed in on the chef hoopla, Miranda remembered. He’d slept with that investor, Eleanor Bonning, to get capital for his restaurant. How could she have forgotten that?
Easy. She simply hadn’t wanted to think about it. In the glaring light of Adam’s personality, his easy charm and warm, flirtatious manner, it had been easy to rationalize what Rob had told her. But she shouldn’t have forgotten. Adam was someone who believed the end justified the means—and that included lying to Miranda about her brother.
Nausea threatened to overtake her, but Miranda forced herself to keep going. Jess watched her with big eyes, his face open and searching. He was finally listening to her.
“Sex doesn’t mean to them what it does to you and me,” she told him. “I don’t know how far you and Frankie have gone.” Jess flushed and ducked his head, and Miranda hurried to say, “Nor do I want to. But honey, his reputation, even in the kitchen, among his friends and colleagues who presumably like him—he’s known for short-term flings.”
No one in the kitchen had ever used such decorous language for Frankie’s exploits, but she couldn’t bring herself to repeat what she’d heard verbatim while staring into Jess’s wide blue eyes.
It would be cruel and unnecessary. She could see in his face that he knew exactly what she meant.
Please, oh, please let him believe me. I want him to be happy, and Frankie is going to make him miserable.
Jess stared down at the rough-hewn rocks beneath their feet. When he met her gaze, his eyes were older, somehow. It shocked Miranda out of her brief moment of hope.
“I heard those same rumors when I first started working at Market,” Jess told her. “And there’s nothing concrete I can show you to prove that what Frankie and I have is different. He could be playing me. Except that he’s never broken a promise to me yet.”
Jess met her stricken stare head-on. “He could be seeing someone on the side. Except we’ve spent part of every night together for the past week, so I don’t see when he’d have the time. It doesn’t matter. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
Miranda’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. All those nights he’d gotten home late, told her he’d been out with the other servers. God. She’d known, of course, that this thing with Jess and Frankie had to have been going on for a while,