Thirteen | Sloan

Widow.

The word never failed to make me wince. I looked away from Ollie, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction by showing him just how much I hated hearing it. His strong but delicate grip on my wrist loosened, and yet he didn't let go. Rather, the pads of his thumbs repeatedly brushed my skin to soothe me and prevent unwanted tears from spilling.

"Sloan?"

"Don't pity me." My voice betrayed me and cracked. "It's not what you think."

"It's exactly what I think," he mumbled. "I'm not here to pity you. I'm here to make this right. I understand now that you did not know who I was when you came into my bar that night, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you despise the night we shared when it was a big step for you."

The last sentence hit me hard, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. There were only two people who would understand why that night was a big step. TJ left this lot without ever having seen Ollie before in his life. That left one person to hunt down my one-night-stand, and I had never felt so betrayed. Hallie had no right to tell him anything about Steve and, knowing my best friend, Hallie didn't hold back on details. Ollie was right when he had said a minute ago that this was exactly what he thought it was.

"Hallie went to you," I said, practically growling. "After I told her not to."

"Don't be upset with her." Ollie sighed ruefully. "She did the right thing, and you could have told me about Steve. I would have understood."

"We broke the law," I argued, feeling myself go even more lax in his hold. "It's not something I share, and especially not with the dickhead teacher who makes my life a living hell. Why would I tell you?"

I didn't feel Ollie release my wrists or even notice until he was brushing away tears from both sides of my cheeks. The corners of his lips drooped, and I didn't know if it was the pity he was trying to hide or if what I had just said had stung. I honestly wasn't sure I cared either way.

"It's not breaking the law if you loved him the way Hallie explained. Anyone would have done the same."

Love came later. Love came when it was too late.

My shoulders quaked as I fell apart in front of Ollie, the exact person I never wanted to show any weakness to. It just gave him ammunition for a war I had no interest being in. The last thing I was expecting was for his arms to wrap around me, offering his chest as a warm place to sob into. I clutched the lining of his leather jacket so hard that the cold, rough zipper pained my hands. The harder I cried, the tighter his arms wrapped around me. I didn't know how badly I needed someone else's reassurance that what I'd done was understandable and to comfort me. Someone that wasn't Hallie—who was there for all of it.

Ollie quietly held me until I finally could take a few deep breaths and stop myself.

"I'm sorry." I released his jacket. "I'm a mess, and I didn't mean for you to get caught up in it."

I backed away, trying to free myself from Ollie's hold, but he didn't budge from his spot. He only dropped his arms in order to cup my face and brush away more fallen tears.

"Stop apologizing." He attempted to smile and failed miserably. "That was supposed to be my job tonight."

"I'm not going back to your class, Ollie. I don't care what Hallie told you. It was a sign that I wasn't meant to do this."

Ollie audibly exhaled, removing his hands from me completely. His sapphire eyes darkened, losing the sparkle they held just moments ago when he still was holding me. Losing the contact made me feel annoyingly lonely. I didn't like that, even though I hated him, he affected me. I was not someone who depended on attention—or at least I wasn't before Steve. As if I didn't like myself enough, this was making it worse.

Ollie turned away, walking back to the motorcycle that was parked in the middle of an otherwise empty parking lot. I took another deep breath and picked up the set of car keys I hadn't realized I had dropped to hold his jacket. Of course, they had landed in a small puddle from the afternoon rain, making them dirty and gritty between my fingers. That was the luck I had, and it barely fazed me as I selected the correct key. I unlocked the door and had it open a mere inch before it was pushed shut again.

"Nope." Ollie reappeared, holding out a helmet with one hand and holding the door of the car shut with the other. "Take a ride with me."

"What don't you understand about me being done with that school? I'm not your problem."

"I'm a pain in everyone's ass, and I'm not about to change that now after almost thirty-five years of being exceptional at it. I will not take no for an answer." Ollie's smug smile made my breath hitch. He lifted the helmet and dropped it over my head, minimally adjusting it to fit me. "You are going to take a ride with me on that bike, get some fresh air, and loosen up. I want to talk to you about the school thing and also something else, but I want you clear-headed."

The keys were taken from my grasp. Ollie relocked the car and shoved the keys into the pocket of his jeans. That was a place I definitely was not going.

"Ollie..."

He was correct about being a pain in the ass. He only confirmed it as he dragged me by my arm towards the large bike. Lifting one leg to swing over it, Ollie straddled the seat before turning the key and bringing it to life. It roared as his hand revved its engine, forcing me to gulp loud enough that, had the bike not been on, he would have heard it.

"Text your little friend and tell him I haven't abducted you." He laughed deeply. "He's going to panic when he sees your car still here."

TJ wouldn't be back until morning, and there was no way I was staying at Ollie's place ever again. I would call a cab or Uber if I had to, and that was only if I got on the bike with him. I wasn't sure I was prepared for that. The thing was huge, loud, and utterly terrifying.

"I've never been on a motorcycle, Ollie." I eyed the bike cautiously and took a step back. "Nor have I ever wanted to."

"And I never apologize." He offered his hand out to assist me. "There's a first time for everything."

I stared at his open hand, holding my own to my chest. This was panic-inducing, but there was something in his sapphire eyes that was daring me to get on.

"Trust me, Sloan." His hand summoned me forward, and I felt like I was caught in some Disney moment. Only instead of a magic carpet, there was a flat black motorcycle with glossy black flames painted over it. "I'll go slower than I normally do."

That didn't ease my mind any.

Inhaling a breath, I took his hand and swung a leg over the bike's seat. My stomach knotted with anticipation as he prepared for our ride. Ollie reached behind him, grabbing both of my arms and wrapping them around his middle. It forced my breasts to press up against his hard back. This was way closer than I ever wanted to be to him again.

Ollie glanced over his right shoulder with a grin. "Don't let go."

Not a chance in hell.

Ollie kicked up the stand and slowly inched the bike towards the edge of the parking lot. My eyes shut tight, and soon I could feel that we were on the road. Once the initial shock wore off, there was an exhilaration with the rumbling machine beneath me combined with the breeze of a late fall night. I opened my eyes, seeing Ollie's hair blowing wildly ahead of me. A jacket would have been helpful, but the warmth coming from the driver was more than enough. It was likely I was holding him way tighter than needed, but his comfort was the last thing on my mind right now.

Ollie stayed relatively slow. I could tell he was holding back on his speed. Perhaps on the way home, I would have the guts to tell him to go a little faster. Right now, this was perfect. We weaved through late night traffic in inner Chicago, and it was fun that he was ignoring the rules of the road to get to our destination faster. Every time Ollie had to stop, knowing the bike wouldn't fit between two vehicles, he always leaned back into me and asked if I was doing okay. For an asshole, he was now overly concerned about my wellbeing. That was Steve's doing, and it changed nothing. I would let no one pity me for my husband being dead. I didn't let TJ, and I sure as hell wouldn't let Oliver Mulligan.

It was past midnight when I realized where we were parking the bike... Mulligan's Bar. The smile I was hiding behind the helmet faded, with my belly filling with regret for getting on this bike. He had taken me right back to the scene of our night of sexual escapades, the last place I wanted to be right now.

Ollie drove past the restaurant, which gave me a little hope. It quickly faded when we took the next right, parking behind the building in a long alleyway. A single light flickered above a door, not giving enough light to see the alley in its entirety. Great. I was about to be murdered by my least favorite human on the planet.

"Why are we here?" I asked when Ollie killed the engine.

He left the bike and arrived at my side to remove my helmet. My already messy hair was now a catastrophe, and I used both hands to tame it with no luck.

"No rapturing tonight." He offered his hands out again with a laugh that I couldn't get used to. "I told you, I want to show you something, and it is right on the other side of this door."

With a lifted brow, I accepted both his hands for help off of the bike. My legs felt numb—jelly-like. They wobbled uneasily when I took my first few steps. Ollie was quick to grab my hips, steadying me with his laughter filling the silent alleyway in the middle of a loud city.

"You'll get used to that," he said.

A side glance caught Ollie's stare as his lips formed a hard line. No way was I going to get used to that, because it was a onetime deal. Well, other than when he needed to take me back to TJ's to get my car. Ollie fell quiet, just as I did after his comment, while he pulled his keys from the bike and selected a different one from the ring to open the door beneath the lone light.

I followed Ollie into a dark room that he lit by slapping his hand on an obviously familiar spot on the wall. Now illuminated by fluorescent lighting, the kitchen of Mulligan's was beaming back at us. Stainless everything—from counter tops and cupboards, to appliances and lighting fixtures—filled a large room of white-tiled walls and black-tiled floors. A whiteboard hung high beside the fridge, informing staff of tomorrow's specials with instructions from their chef. I recognized Ollie's terrible handwriting from class.

"You know," I felt a giggle coming for the first time in over a week as I pointed to the whiteboard, "I didn't realize the famous fries I had ordered that night were yours."

Ollie grinned, his dimples caving deep into his cheeks, as he dropped his leather jacket from his shoulders down to his elbows.

"You insulted them."

"You insulted my knives," I countered, running a finger across the clean surface of the prep table.

"For good reason," Ollie said. "Those knives have to go, Sloan. They're an accident waiting to happen, and you'll need all of your fingers if you plan on being a chef."

I leaned a hip into the stainless table in the center of the room and folded my arms over my chest. Those knives were as good as I could do without the means to purchase anything better. My lack of money was not something I was going to discuss with him tonight, as it was none of his business. Just like Steve was none of his business.

"I'm not going back." I released a winded sigh. "So, no problem there."

"We'll see about that," he muttered, leaving my side. Ollie moved around his kitchen with ease, retrieving various vegetables, a cutting board, and his block of knives. A green pepper was tossed in my direction, and I caught it before it collided with my shoulder. "Julienne it and I will replace fifty percent of the lab you failed. We will call that my apology for accusing you of cheating."

There was an initial shock of him being willing to break rules he set for every student on the first day of class. There were no exceptions to them—his own words. Ultimately, his offer changed nothing; I wasn't going back. I placed the pepper on the table and shook my head to decline.

His eyes rolled hard. "Oh, cut the shit and just cut the goddamn pepper already. Don't be a pain in the ass."

"You're fucking bossy; you know that?"

"It's my job to be bossy." Ollie became smug, grinning mischievously while retrieving the pepper again. He jerked my arm free from its crossed state, positioned my hand palm-side up, and smacked the pepper into it. "Cut the damn pepper... please."

Knowing he would not allow me to leave until the stupid pepper was in pieces, I narrowed my eyes and pushed my sleeves up. I slammed the pepper to the cutting board and sliced it as asked. Ollie moved to the opposite side of the table, leaning into it with a toothless smile while observing.

"Saying please doesn't make you less of an asshole; you know?" I asked, dropping the knife to select a piece of pepper to bite into. It snapped sweetly between my teeth—fresh and delicious. I recalled swearing off green peppers just last week, but I really love them.

Ollie reached across the table and grabbed a piece for himself, still smiling proudly while chewing. He was pleased with himself because I had given into his demand way too easily.

"I never said I was going to be less of an asshole. I apologized for being an asshole for treating you the way I did about our night. This isn't about that."

"What's this about then?"

Ollie didn't answer right away. Instead, he strode across the room and removed a white jacket from its hook. He tossed it into my arms before pushing himself up so that he was sitting on the large metal table. "Cook for me."

"Excuse me?" I felt all the color drain from my face. "No. Hell no!"

"Why not?" He shrugged, and I wanted to smack the grin from his face. The dimples were cute, but they were becoming annoying. "You want to be a chef, don't you?"

Did I still want that? Looking at the crisp white chef coat in my arms, I felt queasy. I loved cooking, and I was starting to think that wasn't enough to warrant being a chef. Ollie wasn't the only problem at school. My peers felt so much more advanced than me. Some had traveled outside the country to study foods and work with some of the greatest chefs in the world. I made good mac and cheese on a stove that didn't always work.

"Don't you?" Ollie asked again.

I nodded, suppressing tears once more. I didn't want him to see me cry again. Losing it once in front of him was more than enough. I cried into his chest tonight, for Christ's sake.

"Cook for me. Anything you want."

"You're a knife skills teacher."

"So?" His right brow arched high on his head. "I'm also a Michelin chef."

"Why do I need to cook for you to prove my knife skills?"

"You already proved your knife skills. You gained back half of that grade. Now, I want you to cook for me."

"But why?" I asked again, becoming more frustrated with him by the second.

"Because I'm hungry?" He irritatingly smirked, allowing his feet to dangle from the table. He looked like a child and was acting like one.

Obviously, Ollie had no plans of taking me back to my car anytime soon. I was going to have to make him food if I wanted out of here. The only thing I could think of was the recipe that got me into the program. It was quick if I made it on the stovetop without baking it, and it was likely that he had all the ingredients in the kitchen already. The lobster could be discarded. The mac and cheese was fine on its own, and I knew the recipe by heart.

"Where's your salt?"

"What the hell is with your fascination with sodium?"

"It's for the water, asshole!" I selected a pot from a hook above me that appeared to be the similar size as the one I used at home. "I need a pinch for the pasta water. Get me some salt."

His feet dropped back to the floor with a chuckle. "You sound like a chef already."

With that statement, I smiled.

>>

The room smelled of a delicious blending of cheeses. I found the kitchen very easy to use once I located everything needed. Ollie had the room organized to perfection, which really didn't surprise me. He gave me full reign of the kitchen and stayed out of my way. The only time he spoke up was when I asked him where various items were located. As hard as I tried not to, I repeatedly glanced over my shoulder to gauge his reaction, but he was like stone, showing no emotion as he observed. It was anxiety-worthy; yet I no longer cared what he thought of my skills. Now I was more worried about being judged for the Steve situation. Was this his version of pity?

"You really won't eat with me?"

I was too tired to even think about eating. I had worked with TJ all day on inventory and was now drained after a lot of fresh air and cooking.

"No."

Ollie blew on the pasta and took another bite, holding the bowl directly below his chin to prevent making a mess of the stringy cheese. It didn't stop it from clinging to his chin, unbeknownst to him. I wanted to use a thumb to swipe it away and knew better. Touching him again in any way would be a mistake.

"How will you know if what you made me is good?" His eyes lifted from the bowl, vibrant and bright blue. It was hard to see this version of him after hating him so much since the first day of class. This guy gave me whiplash when he became playful like this.

"I know it's good." My eyes fell back to the floor as I leaned against the cool fridge.

"How do you know that?"

"Because your second forkful was bigger than your first."

I looked up when he didn't respond, seeing his dimples reappear. Ollie nodded once, took another bite, and set the bowl down on the counter. He used the back of his hand to swipe away the cheddar dangling from his chin.

"You'll need to work on efficiency, but that will come with time once you become more familiar with my kitchen. I'll be more interested in how you react when this place is full of staff and waitresses are tossing orders faster than you can think."

"Wait." My stomach twisted, watching Ollie stride across the kitchen to the whiteboard. "What?"

Why was he talking as if this was going to happen again? Did he mean at school? He was the knife teacher—he won't be seeing me cook again ever.

Ollie picked up the eraser and wiped the board free of tomorrow's menu. My eyes widened, and I began shaking my head while walking in his direction.

"How do you normally cook that?" he asked once I arrived beside him, his hand holding the blue marker and ready to write.

"With white truffles and lobster in an oven." My head was still shaking. I reached out and held his wrist, preventing the marker from connecting to the board. So much for not touching. "Why?"

The whites of his teeth appeared, and even though I had his hand on his wrist, he used his strength to write. White Truffle Lobster Mac & House Salad was now written at the top of the board. My lungs felt like they were expanding to my throat.