Month of Sundays (2 page)

“The place you’ve been trying to get into for months with no luck?” When Jane nodded, Rachel finally realized where she had seen Griffin before. Her face was plastered on the side of every bus, billboard, telephone booth, and subway placard in town. She wasn’t easy to miss.

Match was one of the hottest restaurants in town. Open for less than three years, the waiting list for reservations was nearly that long. The critics for the
Times
,
Food and Wine,
and
Bon App
é
tit
had been raving. Not that Griffin didn’t have her detractors. There were some who dismissed her as little more than the flavor of the month. Others wished the Orange County native would take her surfer girl looks, free spirit, and all-natural ingredients back to Southern California, where they felt she belonged. But her food seemed to be tipping the scales in her favor.

“How do you know each other?” Rachel didn’t know the makeup of Griffin’s social circle, but she knew Jane and Colleen’s idea of fine dining was eating their takeout food off a plate instead of out of the Styrofoam box it arrived in.

“I picked her up,” Colleen replied matter-of-factly, rearranging the items on the table to make room for the tray of hot wings the server had brought out. She had ordered a sample platter—twenty-five wings in five different flavors, ranging, by the looks of it, from merely spicy to almost deadly. “For a few minutes, she made me forget I was married.”

“Don’t worry. I made sure to remind her.” Jane dug an elbow into Rachel’s ribs. Zoning in on the hottest wings, she dipped one into a bowl of ranch dressing and took a bite. Rachel could smell the fumes from three feet away. “Have I ever thanked you for that night?” Jane asked Griffin with a wink. “Thanks to you, that was the best ride I ever got.”

Colleen was a cab driver, so her pick-up line was supposed to be a joke, as was Jane’s rejoinder about enjoying the ride, but the subject hit a little too close to home. Rachel hadn’t ridden anything other than her hand in months and sometimes even it had the nerve to tell her it wasn’t in the mood.

Pity party, party of one. Your table’s ready.

Griffin sensed Rachel’s discomfort. Or perhaps she could tell Rachel was about to bolt. Either way, she slid out of the far side of the booth and dragged Rachel out of her seat. “Come with me.”

She placed Rachel’s hands on her sides and covered Rachel’s hands with hers, compelling her to follow. Rachel did, but at a safe distance. So she thought. When Griffin pulled up short to avoid bumping into someone, Rachel plowed right into her.

Her hands slipped off Griffin’s sides and her arms wrapped around her waist. Her breasts pressed against Griffin’s back. Griffin’s hips molded against her stomach so perfectly it seemed the body parts were made for each other.

“Okay back there?”

Griffin reached up and brushed Rachel’s cheek with her fingertips. The brief contact made Rachel’s body come alive. She wanted to place her lips close to Griffin’s ear and whisper naughty things to her while she rode one of her chiseled thighs. She wanted to watch Griffin’s eyes darken as her hands slid across her skin. She wanted to know what Griffin sounded like when she came.

Her libido had been dead and buried for months. Where the hell did this wave of lust come from? Murmuring an apology, she gently moved Griffin away from her before her suddenly erect nipples bored holes in Griffin’s back.

Maidenhead was always busy, especially on the weekends. Griffin made her way through the crowd, carved out some space for them at the anchor-shaped bar, and tried to get the bartender’s attention. “You look like you could use a drink,” she said after she ordered two flights of tequila.

“Gee, what makes you say that?”

Griffin grinned and gave Rachel’s elbow a reassuring squeeze. Rachel mustered a smile that faltered the instant Griffin asked, “What’s your porn name?”

“My what?” If the question was Griffin’s version of an icebreaker, she must think Rachel was an iceberg.

“Your porn name. You take the name of your first pet and combine it with the name of the street you lived on as a kid. My porn name is Trixie Cerrito. My first pet was a Chihuahua named Trixie, and I grew up on Cerrito Avenue. What’s your porn name?”

Playing along, Rachel joined the name of the goldfish she received for her sixth birthday with the name of the street she called home for eighteen years. “Puddles King.”

“Sounds like you’d be limited to movies about golden showers, though I hear there’s a growing market for that.”

Griffin turned to check on the bartender’s progress. Trying not to be too obvious, Rachel gave her a quick once-over. They were similar in height, but that’s where their similarities ended. Even if Rachel gave her the extra twenty pounds she was carrying around, Griffin would still look ready to march down the runway. She wasn’t model-thin, though. From the way she filled out her jeans, Rachel could tell she cooked as well for herself as she did for others, but at the same time, she was wiry and lean. Like she woke up every day at four a.m. to do a hundred crunches and go for a five-mile run. Rachel thought she could probably bounce a quarter off her abs—or her ass. The thought left her wishing she had some spare change in her pocket.

Griffin was neck-snappingly gorgeous so Rachel wasn’t surprised she found her attractive. She was shocked, however, to find herself attracted to her. Her off-kilter sense of humor was a definite plus, but Rachel wasn’t interested in a one-night stand, if that’s what Jane had in mind when she set up the blind date. She wanted to get to know the woman behind the beautiful face and the hot body.

“I don’t want to ambush you, which you must think I’m doing.” Griffin shouted to make herself heard above the music and crowd noise.

Rachel was beginning to feel surrounded, but she thought that went without saying so she didn’t say it.

The bartender, a sexy redhead in a white tank top and black jeans, placed the drinks in front of them. “
Blanco, oro, reposado,
and
añejo
,” she said, pointing out the various shots.

“In other words, one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor,” Griffin said with a grin as she reached for a saltshaker. She turned back to Rachel. “I thought Jane gave you the heads-up about tonight.”

“She didn’t.”

“Obviously not.”

If she had, Rachel would have told her what she had been telling her for months: she wasn’t ready to date yet. If ever.

“I’m sorry she didn’t fill you in,” Griffin continued. “I told her a few weeks ago that I’ve had one lousy date after another since I’ve been here, and she said she knew someone I ought to meet.”

They took the first shot—the
blanco
—and it went down so smoothly Rachel believed the rest were going to be just as easy.

“I don’t normally do blind dates,” Griffin said.

“But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Griffin shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that. I would say, though, that she was right about you.”

Most chefs were champion schmoozers. Making a living doing a job predicated on making customers happy, they had to be in order to survive. But Rachel thought this one seemed sincere.

“What did she say?”

“She said you were the quintessential New Yorker.”

“Meaning?”

“To me, New Yorkers are like Parisians without the sneer. You have the same sarcastic sense of humor and you both think your city is the greatest in the world. I love Paris, but I think New York wins based on diversity. You represent New York to me.”

“So I’m something for you to conquer?”

“I prefer ‘win over.’”

It was working. Griffin was effortlessly charming, and her quiet confidence held tremendous appeal. The woman was like catnip. Refreshing, exhilarating, and thoroughly intoxicating. Rachel could feel herself getting high.

“What else did Jane tell you about me?” Griffin recited Rachel’s basic biographical information. When she didn’t mention the dissolution of her relationship with Isabel Fischer, Rachel brought up the subject herself. “Jane didn’t tell you I’m damaged goods?”

Griffin pulled up the sleeves of her fitted Ralph Lauren button-down shirt, then licked the back of her left hand and sprinkled salt on the wet spot. “She said your last girlfriend broke your heart and if I did the same, she’d rip mine out and feed it to me.”

Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. Good old Jane. Always looking out for her—even when she might not want her to.

“Go ahead,” Griffin said, trying to keep a straight face. “Yuk it up, but I think she meant it.”

“She did.”

“Then I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Griffin raised her glass of
oro
and winked through the gold-colored liquid. “To second chances?”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They tapped their glasses, downed the tequila, and followed it with a bite of lime. Rachel slowly exhaled to try to ease the burn. It didn’t help.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Griffin said with apparent hesitation, “what did your ex do that was so heinous your friends are willing to threaten your dates with grievous bodily injury in order to avoid having history repeat itself?”

Unlike Griffin, Rachel didn’t hesitate. “We were together for eight years, then she cheated on me and left me for another woman.”

Griffin’s tanned face grew pale. Mortification or a warning sign of similar behavior?

“Eight years is a long time. I don’t think all of my relationships combined add up to half that time.”

If Griffin’s comment was meant to be facetious, it certainly wasn’t delivered that way.

A player. I should have known.

“You don’t believe in long-term relationships?”

“I believe in them, but I don’t think I inherited the gene to be good at them. So I stick to what I do best.”

“Which is?”

“Let’s just say women who spend time with me leave knowing Disney World isn’t the only Magic Kingdom.” Griffin touched Rachel’s forearm and laughed infectiously. “Did that make me sound like I was trying too hard or not hard enough?”

“The word ‘coasting’ definitely came to mind.”

Griffin leaned toward her. Her scent—crisp and clean like a warm ocean breeze—filled Rachel’s senses. Rachel knew she should back away, but she didn’t. Instead, she moved closer. “I’d love it if you stayed,” Griffin said, “but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

When she pulled away, Rachel had to make a concerted effort not to follow her. Player or not, the woman had skills.

Griffin reached for the
reposado
. “What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t planned that far ahead yet.”

Griffin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t point out that New Year’s Eve was a little more than two weeks away. “I’m having a pizza party at my apartment that night.”

It was Rachel’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I would have expected black tie and cocktails, not deep-dish pepperoni and Miller Lite.”

“When I’m not at work, I like to keep things low-key.” Griffin downed her third shot. Rachel followed suit. “If you’re not doing anything, feel free to stop by.” She reached for a cocktail napkin, borrowed a pen from the bartender, and scribbled something on the paper. She slid the napkin toward Rachel. “My address. In case you change your mind.”

Rachel folded the napkin in half and slipped it into her pocket. She appreciated the invitation but was reluctant to accept it. Griffin struck her as someone who was easy on the eyes but hard on the heart. Their brief time together had done little to change that impression. Did she want to become the latest notch on Griffin’s bedpost, or should she get out while the getting was good?

“I’ll think about it.”

Griffin looked at her, obviously sizing her up. Rachel wondered if she passed inspection.

“You’re going to make me chase you, aren’t you?” Griffin asked matter-of-factly.

Rachel twirled one of the empty shot glasses so she could focus on something other than Griffin’s arresting eyes. “I doubt I’d prove much of a challenge for you. I’m not very fast on my feet.”

“You could have fooled me.”

Rachel forced herself to meet Griffin’s gaze. She hadn’t trusted her heart to anyone since Isabel broke it. If she gave Griffin a chance, would she have the time of her life, or would she set herself up for another fall?

“One can never have too many friends, Rachel. Perhaps I can be yours,” Griffin said with none of her previous bravado. Rachel sensed a vulnerability about her that added to her considerable charm. Griffin nodded at Colleen, who was frantically waving them back to the table.

“Your wings are getting cold,” Rachel said, giving Griffin permission to leave.

“If there are any left,” Griffin said with another grin.

As much as she hated to admit it, Rachel liked the cheeky chef with the killer smile. But, then again, wasn’t that the point of this whole affair?

Oops. Poor choice of words.

“Are you staying?” Griffin asked hopefully.

Rachel shook her head. Staying wasn’t in her best interests—or Griffin’s. She had too much thinking to do. “No, I think I’m going to take off.”