Her First Bite

Two | Tart

I sucked at describing shit.

Well more specifically, I sucked at describing appearances - men's appearances.

Since my lazy mind was no fan of describing every nook or speck on a person's face, I subconsciously had three categories to which a man's appearance would be put into. They were short and to the point. Category One: Unattractive. Category Two: Cute but not for me. Category Three: So fucking hot, you need fuck me right now.

Most men I came in contact with were put in Category Two. I rarely thought people were butt-ass ugly so Category One was basically empty. If you were not the President of the United States, Trump, or a racist murdering rapist; you were fine in my book. Even if you looked like big foot himself, I could overlook it if your personality shined through. That beauty and the beast mind-set.

I was generous when it came to looks because looks came and go. What came out your mouth and how you present yourself to others is what stuck around forever. And that is what will put you in my category three.

I could laugh at that thought. I was such a fucking hypocrite.

If that thought was even remotely true- why was Vance in my category three? And he was not just only in my category three, he was first place on the roster. He was number one. The same person who yells at his students when even one centimeter of a measurement was off; was number one. The same person who calls his students idiots; was number one. The same person who picks out a worse-cook-of-the-day student and makes them stay behind to clean the whole kitchen was number one.

God, such a hypocrite.

I knew personality was a big factor for when I picked out a list on who I wanted to fuck but for some reason my mind let Vance slide. He must've found a way to sneak past my bouncer. And now it looked like he was fucking up my morals; fucking up my dance floor. But shit, he was. I shouldn't want to fuck an asshole but dammit I do. I wanted the asshole's hands on me. I wanted the asshole's fingers in my mouth. I wanted to taste the asshole's lips - Shit - that sounded wrong but I did want him.

So sue me for all my money - which was currently $43.21 plus some loose pocket change.

But I wanted to fuck the chef.

Time got away from me as I completed my mini I-dont-even-fucking-know rant. I was supposed to making - I squinted my eyes I as looked towards the board - apple blueberry tarts but as always I got side tracked. Damn I was so behind.

A portion of my nerves were relieved as I spotted James - the laid-back, always smiling, other young chef in training -scooch over to my stove and ask me a question. "Do you need any help cutie?"

See if anyone else were to call me that, my hand would've connected so fast against their cheek-

But this was James Tart.

Goldenboy James Tart. His personality was similar to his name. Sweet. Always positive and always handy with these nicknames. So I didn't mind it because I knew he meant no harm. I had my fair share of nicknames when it came to men. And cutie? It was on the positive side of them so I let it slide. He was just too damn nice for his own good.

"James you're a lifesaver. Yeah, I do." I moved closer to the side so he could squeeze in more and look down at my supplies. He proceeded to be the lifesaver that he was and got me somewhat caught up.

During a segment of his helpfulness lesson, little ole' stupid me, decided to wrongfully touch the hot pan with my bare hands. I let out a, "Shit." as the heat came in connect with my pointer finger and burned the skin.