BENNY
Did....did....did....
....did someone just grab my bum?
AND NOT ONLY THAT....DID SOMEONE JUST MASSAGE SAID BUM....AFTER THEY GRABBED IT?
I'm no stranger to sexual harassment in the workplace. Having briefly worked in some kitchens where the testosterone was a little too free-flowing.
Got myself out of those ones real fast.
But to be touched in such an intimate manner and by a guest of all people? And in a public place with so many other witnesses around?
Surely this guy can't be so blotto already that he thinks he can try one on?
Spinning around, I feel the shock in my head begin to manifest itself on my face. My ears dimly register the words 'sorry....buddy....free grope' just as his digits depart my derriere.
I don't know what's worse? The fact he thinks I'm a guy....or....what did he say?
FREE GROPE????
His face tilts and now we're almost nose to nose. And so close. I can actually taste the malted scotch breath on my lips as it pants in and out of his own.
I take a quick step backwards. To get this fella out of what I consider to be my personal space.
You numpty, Benny!
The guy just had his hands clenched all over your ass and you're worried about getting up close and frigging personal?
Now at least, I can get a decent look at this lush. While I try to desperately locate the oxygen that seems to be evading me.
Late thirties early forties maybe? Dark hair in a longish shaggy cut with whiskers adorning his lip and chin. Steel-blue eyes that are opening as wide as mine must be.
And a tanned face that's now slowly turning beet red as the flush rises up his neck and cheeks.
"I'm so....so....sorry miss. Just an accident I swear to God. I tripped and put my hands....stop myself from fucking falling...." He stuttered again.
Cheeks glowing like he's a neon sign in a red-light district.
Not that I've had much experience in red-light districts, but I can imagine. Is....is that tux he's wearing a Prada? How on earth did he get the sleeves over those huge shoul....
'BENNY?'
'Honestly, woman....the utter shit that slides through your brain sometimes! Don't just stand there like a gawking schoolgirl, drooling over him and his body. BLOODY DO SOMETHING!'
My internal voice is yelling at me in horror. As I blink and finally take in the fact that we're becoming something of a star attraction.
His friends are being rather obvious in their delight over the situation. Two guys are standing behind him and clutching each other. Bent over, breathless and almost crying with laughter.
My facial muscles move of their own accord. Pulling themselves up into a death-like fake smile. As I whisper softly....though not very graciously....through grinding teeth.
"Apology accepted. But if I may suggest? The next time you get the sudden urge to cop a free feel? Please partake of our bread offerings on the last table. Plenty of buns over there for you to fondle....buddy."
YOU ARE READING
Cooking Up A Storm - A Norman Reedus Fanfic Romance
FanfictionSemi-mature. Completed. If you can't stand the heat? Then stay out of the kitchen! Norman just can't bring himself to heed that advice. When he and Greg hire a new chef for their restaurant. He already knows that Albany is more Flambé than Soufflé...
