NAKED Cheerleader and other Stories Read Online Free PDF

drifted to sleep, she thought about how nice
it was to be a homeowner.
     
     
     
    NAKED Restaurant Critic
     
    She slid the small bite of veal around her
square plate to sop up the orgasmic sauce. Gastrogasm. That’s what
it was. The savory sauce with the tender meat, both perfectly
seasoned and cooked to perfection and about to slide into Aniston’s
mouth onto her tongue—this was what she lived for. She had the best
job on the planet. She got to taste exquisite food for a
living.
     
    Many publications actually paid for her witty
declarations about a chef’s ability or lack thereof. Often times it
seemed odd to her that this was the case. Doesn’t everyone enjoy a
delicious meal, after all? But apparently her tongue was like no
other. She had been able to name the individual ingredients of a
dish or sauce since she was a child. And now she was getting paid
for her talent.
     
    “There are worse ways to make a living with
your body,” her mother used to say. Her mother was proud and
disappointed of Aniston at the same time. She had always wanted her
daughter to go to culinary school but Aniston didn’t want the
lifestyle of a chef. Eighty hour work weeks, no time to partake in
the sensual joys of life. That was not Aniston’s style.
     
    “I take it you like the veal,” Archer said. He
had an amused look on his face as he stood over Aniston. His crisp
navy blue monogrammed chef’s jacket did not cover his large pecs
very well. And his light scruff and mussed dirty blonde hair
exposed his disdain for details in life he deemed unimportant. He
looked like a wild animal of some kind trying to be contained for
viewing in the civilized world.
     
    “I can get you another plate if you like.
There’s really no need for you to lick that one, although that is
something I would I pay to see.” All chefs at this level had
gigantic egos. They had reason to. But Archer Cummings had shot to
the stratosphere of the culinary world like a heat seeking missile
locked onto its target. He was the newest force to be reckoned with
in the New York restaurant scene and he knew it. Or he wouldn’t be
teasing Aniston the way he was.
     
    “Mr. Cummings, the dish was…delicious,” she
said. Archer snorted and the general manager who had been hovering
around Aniston all evening gave out a loud sigh of
relief.
     
    “It almost makes up for the disastrous
appetizer. You should have put the word ‘lemon’ in capital letters
in the description because that’s all I could taste.” Aniston
paused after she had thrown out her barb. She had wanted to prick
him but not stab.
     
    Normally, she would have no problem stabbing a
chef’s ego, especially one the size of Archer’s, but she couldn’t
deny the heat she felt when he was around. He was younger and in
much better shape than most chefs. And his passion for culinary
excellence was intoxicating. It was like he lusted after the same
things in this world that she did.
     
    Archer gave her an angry look that said ‘how
dare you.’ Obviously, he was not used to being put in his place.
Aniston stood her ground with her eyes, sitting passively while
staring at him with intensity. The energy between them, filled with
anger as it was, was palpable. She waited for a response from him
that never came. Instead, he turned on his heels and stormed back
to the kitchen.
     
    Aniston felt a little bad for bruising him that
much but she supposed it was good. This way, nobody would be able
to see her obvious attraction to him. She didn’t want her readers
to think she’d gone soft.
     
    She waited for the dessert course and was
disappointed when it came. It was a crème brulee that was obviously
hours old if not days. “He’s pouting,” she thought. She couldn’t
believe his nerve. Did he not understand the stakes? Was he that
naïve? He clearly did not understand the power she had over him. Or
the power he has over me. But he could never know that.
     
    Disgusted with his immature behavior,