Late Nights and 99 proof

Chapter Nine- RYAN

Ryan's POV:

Present Day

I wear the apron provided and place all the required ingredients on the island. The knives I have to work with are dull so each cut into the steak is precise, being sure to cut all the way through.

"Yum, what is that smell?" Tasha leans on the countertop. She's wearing her sunglasses on her head and her hair is messy. Her sunburned skin is a shade of red and her cheeks are pink. "I'm starving!"

"Making tacos for dinner," I tell her and her eyes widen in excitement.

"Steak tacos, Ry? You went all out!" We chuckle and I run the lettuce under the cool water briefly.

"What are we drinking tonight?" Ana opens the frig and pulls out a bottle of red wine. "Nebbiolo? cheap..." She places it back onto the shelf and slams the door closed. "Where's the real wine?" 

"Don't let Viv hear you say that," Tasha mumbles and I was a second from agreeing with her but Vivian joins us. 

"Don't let me hear what?" 

"Nothing, Jamie was just saying how your wine taste was great!" Tasha lies.

"Oh thank you, It's from Naples! I brought it back from my trip." Viv picks a seat close to Tasha. Just by her body language, I know she wants to say more but no one asks questions about her trip. Honestly, I didn't care but I could tell she really wanted to talk about it. So I did what most people do when the food is not going to be finished as scheduled, I improvised. 

Which I immediately regretted.

"You went to Italy?" Of course, I knew she went to fucking Italy, I follow her on Instagram and when I ignored her friends request on Facebook, she called me every damn day until I accepted it. She's a blogger or vlogger, whatever you call it. 

"Yes, It was so beautiful! I have to show you guys the pictures I took," She reaches for her phone and scrolls through a few photos before revealing to us all just how self-centered she really is. All the photos were of her but not like showing the scenery or anything important just her selfies in the hotel bathroom mirror and the location stamped at the top. 

"It was such a beautiful place!" She lays her phone face down onto the counter. 

"Yeah, really nice place," Tasha's sarcasm makes me have to turn away quickly so I didn't have to explain my laughter.

"He actually cooked for us!"Jef peaks over my shoulder celebrating my masterpiece and I smirk, letting a spoon full of sour cream dress the guacamole. Bambi trials him sending me a quick wave. 

According to Jeff, men don't cook. 

"That's a woman's job! You should let the ladies do stuff like this man and come hang out with us at the pool table," Fuck him. I get women BECAUSE I can cook.

I Ignore him. I own three restaurants, and I've cooked for people he probably has never heard of, there's nothing he can tell me about my profession that I haven't already heard. Especially from other men. Half of them don't even know what their girls' favorite meal is nor do they know how to use a stove. Most of my buddies never even turn theirs on. 

He lives in the '50s, where women were housewives and cooped up in the house all day waiting for their beloved masculine to come home, but times have changed. Men cook, and women work. Some people do both. It's not uncommon but in Jeff's world, everything is gender assigned. Most of his morals though, I second. Our fathers were from the same litter, what can I say.