Chapter Thirteen
Rico watched as Ashna left the room. Or, more accurately, she tore out of there the moment they announced that they were twenty minutes from shooting their first cooking segment. It was as though she were making a break for it after someone had locked her up for years. Granted, the set was a bit chaotic, but everyone other than Ashna seemed to enjoy it. This was just their second time on set, yet laughter rippled around them. Ashna swung wildly between being warm and fuzzy with the cast and crew (with obvious exceptions) and toppling headfirst into misery.
What had possessed him to start down this insane path? There was a reason you weren’t supposed to make decisions at emotionally overwrought events like bachelor parties. If that wasn’t a thing, it needed to be. Someone needed to warn sods everywhere to keep their heads when their friends were getting hitched.
How hadn’t Rico anticipated quite how miserable his presence would make her? Or had he? It’s not like he meant her any harm. All he needed was to move on. To convince his stubborn subconscious that there was nothing to hold on to. Meanwhile the darned thing was holding its poker face and giving Rico nothing.
When he followed Ashna into the lobby outside the staging area, he was at least eighty percent certain that it was to make sure she hadn’t passed out or something. He was being a good Samaritan, that’s all. Before he could catch up with her, DJ Caine, their host, stepped into the lobby. Rico had never heard of DJ Caine—not that he was up on the chef stardom business—but evidently Ashna had more than just heard of him.
The moment their eyes met, they flew at each other like lovers at the climax of one of those rom-coms Rico suddenly found himself inside. DJ wrapped Ashna in a hug. Ashna, who had been icy enough to give Rico frostbite, melted into this giant. Apparently being a fancy chef left you with enough time to be a gym rat. Who knew? Not that Rico wasn’t fitter than everyone in the building. Who cared that he wasn’t as tall as this guy. The best thing about football was that you didn’t have to be tall or big, you just had to know what to do with the damn ball. That’s why it was the most played sport on earth.
The chef might be big, but Rico could totally take him.
Whoa, time out! No one was taking anyone. What the hell was wrong with him? If any of his friends had said something so ridiculous, Rico would have smacked them upside the head. Reaching back, he squeezed his rolled-up ponytail.
“You holding up okay?” DJ asked Ashna, pulling away and making some sort of nauseatingly understanding eye contact.
She nodded, soulful eyes shying away from DJ’s gaze, and gave him another hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Ah! So this was why she was doing the show. To be close to her boyfriend.
Well, good. That made everything easier. Rico stepped away, giving them space as they chattered away, a little too intimately for public, if you asked him. But what did he know?
“You really lucked out with your star, love!” DJ said suddenly, and turned to Rico before Rico could make his escape.
Walking up to Rico, DJ held out his hand. “Huge fan, sir, huge fan! That run you had in the ninetieth in the final when you went top corner, bloody hell! The keeper had no chance! Wait till I tell my sister I met you, she’s going to clean pee her pants.”
Rico let him pump his hand. So the man knew his sport, so what?
“DJ Caine.”
“I know.” Rico shoved his hands into his pockets, his tone somewhere between stiff and downright sulky. “I was there for the introductions.”
Ashna glared at him and he felt like a piece of shit. He hated when someone was a prick to fans.
“I’m sorry,” he said into the awkward pause, because what was he doing? He could not let her take away his decency. He’d lost enough of himself to her. “I meant you’re our host, so I know who you are.” He reached out and squeezed the man’s bicep. Holy shit! He’d been going for his shoulder. DJ looked alarmed. Rico had never felt like a bigger ass. “Very impressive credentials. Excellent. Excited to work with you. Fabulous,” he gushed like an overcompensating moron.
DJ and Ashna exchanged confused looks and Rico excused himself before he embarrassed himself even more.
He headed back into the competition area, hating how idiotic he felt. Suddenly the atmosphere in here resembled a high school dance. Everyone seemed to be immersed in the business of impressing one another. Song, the Korean drama star, caught his eye and gave him a self-conscious wave from across the room. She was the only person in the crowded studio standing by herself. Her partner, an impressively tattooed Mexican American chef, was off talking to the mystery writer.
Rico turned around to see if his own chef had followed him. Not that he needed to check. Rico had always somehow known if she was in a room.
That was more than ten years ago, you knob.
He made his way toward Song.
She gave him a grateful smile when he stopped next to her and it felt like reclaiming his dignity.
“Pretty wild setup, huh?” He threw a glance at the six fully functional kitchens under one roof.
“My mother used to give me a hard time about never entering one kitchen—now I’m inside six at once!” she said brightly, eyes shining with humor.
For a moment, they absorbed their surroundings in companionable silence.
“So this is for her then, for your mother, you being on the show?” He leaned back into the counter, trying to take the weight off his leg.
Her smile dimmed. “My sister lives in San Jose, I wanted to spend some time with her. Haven’t seen her in years. We . . . well, I’ve been working nonstop for the past ten years and she’s got a family, children, a dog, you know, a real life.” She blinked at him and waited for him to respond, but he knew she wasn’t done. “That sounded a little regressive, didn’t it? Sorry, I guess I’ve heard my mother repeat it too many times. She must have gotten inside my head.”
This time the smile she gave Rico was so stoic, he patted her shoulder, not her bicep, thank God. “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be, that all women eventually turn into their mothers?”
She looked mock-horrified, “Please tell me that isn’t true.” Her voice had a happy lilt to it that made everything she said sound enthusiastic.
“Well, based on what I’m seeing, if you have turned into your mother, she must be quite lovely.”
The research Rico had done on each contestant indicated that after him Song was the biggest star here in terms of fan following. How entirely unaffected she seemed by it was even more impressive than her stardom itself.
“Thanks!” she said with that enthusiasm she couldn’t seem to contain. “Actually, my mom is spectacular. Raised my sister and me by herself. So, I guess it’s not such a bad thing to make her happy by finally learning how to cook, ha?” She threw a look at her chef, and Rico wondered why she had picked him. Sure, the network wanted everyone to believe that the pairings were surprises, but one of the biggest television stars in the world wasn’t going to leave who she got as a partner to chance.
“Mexican food is my favorite,” she said finally. “My sister’s too, and of course our mother’s. My sister already makes the most amazing tacos.” Then she grinned her first real grin, not the one perfected for the cameras. “We’re a teeny bit, um . . .”