Gentleman Nine(5)

“Is it okay if I put her down? Not sure if you want her on your furniture.”

I waved my hand. “Sure. Yeah, it’s fine. Although, I’m pretty sure she’d prefer to stay with you indefinitely.”

“I don’t know what it is about me that she likes so much.” He gently placed the cat on the ground. She weaved in and out of his legs while purring. Channing then headed over to the sink to wash his hands. “Anyway, hope you’re hungry.”

“What did you make?”

He wriggled his brows. “Ah…the chef never tells.”

“The chef never tells the ingredients, but you can tell me what it is.”

“No. I’d rather you taste it without judgment first.”

Crossing my arms, I shook my head in amusement.

Channing proceeded to open a bottle of white wine he had chilling in the fridge. With a loud pop, he freed the cork then poured two glasses.

Holding up my palms, I said, “Oh, no. I can’t drink. I’m going back to work.”

“You think you’re going back to work, but you’re really not.”

I knew damn well that if I took even one sip of alcohol, I wasn’t going to be heading back to the school.

“You’re a bad influence.”

He flashed a mischievous grin. “You have no idea.”

I got chills. “Oh, yes, I do. And some things never change.”

He winked, and it felt like someone had turned the temperature up in the kitchen.

Once we sat down to eat, my body cooled off a bit as I became more acclimated to having him here. He’d fried us…these things…wrapped in bacon. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

Channing filled me in on his new position as a quality engineer at SeraMed while the kitten was by his feet the entire time.

“So what exactly does a quality engineer do?”

“The company I work for out in Chicago owns SeraMed. They sent me here to oversee a new medical product they’ve created that SeraMed is manufacturing. My job is to make sure it meets quality standards and specifications and then suggest changes, if needed.”

“Sounds complicated. But I always knew you were smart.”

“It can be a lot of pressure to not screw up, particularly when you’re dealing with medical products and people’s lives. But you know, work hard, play harder. I don’t take my work home with me.”

Once I cleaned my plate, I asked him the question that had been nagging me. “Okay, can you please tell me what the hell that was I just ate? It was delicious, but I had no clue what I was consuming.”

Channing was laughing at me. “What do you think you ate?”

“My best guess would be fried clams wrapped in bacon.”

He wiped his mouth and smirked. “It was fried escargot wrapped in bacon, so you got the last part right—the bacon.”

Oh, my God.

“Escargot? Isn’t that snails?”

“Yup. I picked them up at that market I told you about.”

“I just ate snails? They tasted like clams!”

“Escargot fuck yourself, Channing? Is what you want to say to me right now?” He was cracking up. “Tell me you would’ve eaten them if you knew, though.”

“I absolutely wouldn’t have.”

“See…sometimes it’s better not to know things. We can enjoy something as it was meant to be enjoyed without preconceived notions. Snails are a delicacy—and an aphrodisiac.”

“I remember hearing that. Oysters, too. But I don’t get it. How is that even possible? How does an oyster, for example, make you want to have sex? Does that make any sense to you?”

He licked his lips. “I actually know where that connection came from.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It has to do with the famous lover, Casanova. Rumor had it that he ate fifty oysters a day to build up his stamina. Somehow, they associated the oysters with sex for that very reason.”

“Well, it takes a Casanova to know a Casanova, I suppose.” I winked. “So, really, what you’re saying is, it’s more like folklore. There really isn’t a scientific reason?”

“Well, have you ever looked closely at an oyster?” he asked.

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“It looks like a labia.”

“A labia…”

“Yeah, you know, the—”

“I know what a labia is.” I briefly fanned myself with a napkin.

“Eating an oyster is kind of like…” He hesitated. “Well, you know what I’m getting at.”

Chills ran down my back as I stared at his lips. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“So, maybe Casanova was…practicing his technique,” he said.

“Interesting theory.”

“Isn’t it?” He smiled.

Desperately needing to move away from the sexual topics, I said, “Anyway, what I just ate—snails—are absolutely not meant to be eaten.”

“Neither are cows or turkey and all the other things we consume every day.”

Pondering that for a moment, I said, “I suppose that’s true.”

“Speaking of turkey…have you spoken to Rory?”