GETTING BACK ON MY OWN.

LOLA

Standing in line with the others, we waited for chef Clementine as he inspected our designs one after the other.

"It looks a bit too...I wouldn't say shabby. Maybe, you could concentrate more next time."

"Uuuhm...I don't know, but something is definitely wrong with this."

"Okay. Great job."

I listened to his comments on the works before mine, and it made me wonder what exactly he would say to me.

I had been out of it the entire time I designed, my cuttings weren't straight and my line works were just as messy. A part of my icing design was shaky, on the edge of falling.

I knew very well why I had turned out like that, and he knew too, but he is probably going to brush it off.

I held my breath when he approached mine.

Adjusting his apron, he tilted his head to look at my own designed cake sitting pathetically in front of me.

My fingers folded inwards beside me.

"Hmmm...what is your name again?" he asked, but it was very obvious he was putting up an act. He had asked me my name while he guided my fingers through the cut and designs earlier.

"Lola," I replied reluctantly, wishing the attention of everyone wasn't on me like it was right now.

"Your work shows great potential, but you could definitely do better. Do you understand?"

I nodded, letting out a heavy exhale.

By the time he was done checking everyone's with at least one rebuke about each of them, he turned to me.

"See me before you go. I want to look at your design again."

I nodded, biting down in my lower lip.

I waited till everyone was done clearing up and arranging, more than half of the class already clocked out before going over to see chef Clementine like he had requested.

He was bent over on some kind of project at the far end corner of the class, sitting on a long stool.

Clearing my voice to catch his attention, I tried my best to control how fast my heart was beating.

When he finally looked up, I was more drawn to the beauty sitting on a platter before him. 

There were several colors of cones icings and cakes deets arranged on the table, and his forehead wrinkled with a calculative tiredness.

"That is...nice," I commended, unable to hold my words back.

"That?" he sneered, nodding to the cake he had just worked on.

"It's the least of my efforts brought to reality," he finished, turning around to face me.

"That is quite impressive," I added.

"Enough about me," he said, waving my compliments aside. "You seem like a very interesting woman," he continued, his eyes swaddling across my skin causing me to wince uncomfortably.

"Mr. Chef, I do n..."

"Call me Clementine. You don't need to be too extra."

"Mr. Clementine," I corrected, exhaling sharply. "I do not understand what you mean by that."

"Oh, come off it, Lola Langford."

I was shocked to my bones hearing him call my name like that. He knew I was a Langford, yet he continued to play that risky game he started earlier.

"I'm not sure what you mean, and I do not want to overthink it and risk causing serious misunderstandings between us," I insisted.

"Okay. I see you like to be spoon fed," he smirked. I frowned at how little he was playing himself to be.

"You're a very attractive woman. How about we get together for wine one of these days? Maybe, I could even teach you a few cake techniques after that."

"I'm sorry, but I'm married," I replied defensively, squaring my shoulders at his audacity.

"You think I don't know?" he asked, adjusting in his seat.

"Then, we are done here," I snapped, walking out on him and his childish tactics.

I hurried over to my lockers to grab my bag, and when I had gotten it, I searched for my phone to reach Connor — tell him about what had happened, just to cool off.

"F*cking bast*rd. Thinks he can get in between my legs because he has a nice head to his neck," I muttered angrily as I descended the stairs that led to the exit of the building.

I was about to dial Connor when I saw a couple message notifications across my screen.

There was a link when I clicked it open. With shaky fingers and a heart that has been dealt more than enough for the day, I clicked open the link to see pictures of me and Chef Clementine from when he was guiding me through the practicals.

One of them was even a close shot of him smiling against the skin of my neck like he was about to kiss me there, his waist clearly stuck against the flesh of my ass.

My breathing dipped and the phone slipped through my fingers to the floor, tumbling over to the next step.

I searched around me like there was any possibility of me catching the culprit — of course, there was no one.

My head was heavy, hot at the same time. My thoughts were misaligned in the worst possible pattern.

I thought about who it could be — perhaps, one of those other women because they were jealous?

I thought about how extreme it could get if Eddy finds out about these pictures.

Breathing hard, I felt like screaming down the walls, but a better plan occurred to me. If I was going to be framed like this, I might as well get guilty, so that it'd be fair.

Without thinking, I headed back upstairs with a burning rage that left me thinking one thought.

Chef Clementine was leaned over in the same exact position I had met him before our last conversation.

Chewing my pride up like candy, I swallowed it whole, then walked straight towards him.

He must have heard my footsteps, because before I reached him, he had turned to face me with a confused expression that was totally understandable.

I didn't say one word. I didn't give him the chance to say anything before I allowed my bag to fall off my shoulders, then wrapped my hands around his neck and sunk my lips in his.

"Hmmm..."he groaned, frantically gasping for air, but I didn't let go. Eventually, he held me down, kissing me even more deeply.

We sucked on each other for some time before finally breaking off.

With his hands still wrapped around my waist, he looked up at me and a smile grew in his eyes. I was speechless. 

Then, I felt his hand crawl up the skin under my skirt, past the elastic of my underwear, then over the inner fold of my vulva.

I winced, not too sure I wanted that.

"Relax," he muttered, pressing me more into himself.

Then, with his forefinger, he tickled my folds while maintaining an insane eye contact with me until my skin stiffened and my legs began to give away.

"No!" I suddenly snapped, pushing him away.

"Why?" he asked, getting up to face me. I didn't answer. I couldn't say any more words.

With my breathing heavy and uncontrolled, I grabbed my bag off the floor and hurried off to the exit.