Read Online Skinny Bitch in Love by Kim Barnouin - Free Book Online Page A

being served to many a table at Fresh, Sara would bring me back to reality. We were talking about a menu of meat. Steak fries. Twelve dollars for a side of steak fries, but fries.
    By Sunday afternoon, I’d narrowed a long list of possibilities down to two. I sat at the kitchen table with a notebook andmy laptop while Sara made us lunch—hummus and homemade whole wheat garlic pita chips. From the delicious smell wafting over to the table, I had taught her well. “Sar, what do you think: a portobello mushroom burger and some kind of tofu stir-fry.”
    She handed me a plate. “Yes and yes. The wannabe models who come in with their steak-eating dates will all order your stuff even if they’re not vegan.”
    Good point.
    Sara turned on a Downton Abbey rerun, and I worked up some original recipes. An hour later, I had an incredible-sounding portobello burger with avocado slices and roasted red peppers and a basic but kick-ass tofu stir-fry. For added inspiration, I checked over different recipes from the school I attended, the restaurants I’d worked in, and I called my dad to get his three cents. The man never disappointed. He suggested blackened Cajun tofu for the stir-fry—brilliant as always.
    “So is it just gonna be the two of you?” Sara called from her bedroom. “Or will his chef be there?”
    “I don’t know. I’m kind of hoping we aren’t alone. Zach is too . . . something.”
    “Yeah, too unbelievably gorgeous,” she shouted back. “So what are you gonna wear? I say make him crawl.”
    “What does that even mean, you goof?” I couldn’t imagine Zach Jeffries crawling for anyone, really. “Anyway, I’ve already decided to dress like a chef. I want him to take me seriously. I’m wearing my white skinny jeans and chef’s jacket.”
    “Sorry, Clem, but you actually look hot in that.”
    I smiled. “I didn’t say I didn’t want him to think so.”
    “Smart girl,” she said. “Holy crap, I just stepped on the scale and I lost two and a half more pounds!”
    “Awesome!” I called back.
    She walked over with the scale, put it down by my feet, and stepped on it. “Two and a half pounds! Gone! And a pound and a half last week. And I’m not even starving.”
    I looked down at the digital readout. “I’m really proud of you, Sara.”
    She smiled. “You know what? I’m going for the Attractive Friend spot in the yogurt commercial—the go-see is Monday. I didn’t think I had a chance—and I know I’ve only lost seven and a half pounds, but whatever, I’m going.”
    “Yogurt. Blech. But that’s so great, Sara. You absolutely should go for it. And you’re gonna get it, too.”
    She grabbed me into a hug, then swiped a hummus-laden chip and skipped into her bedroom with the scale.

    Zach’s place was on the beach. On. The. Beach. A narrow three-story white and windows mini palace with balconies on the second and third floors. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a butler opened the door.
    I was a few minutes early, and there was no way I was ringing that bell before exactly seven. I turned to look at the beach, the Santa Monica Pier just a block away, stretching out under the still blue sky.
    At exactly seven o’clock, I rang the bell. My palms were sweating.
    No butler. Just him. He stood in the doorway in a dark blue T-shirt, jeans—low-slung, slightly worn—and bare feet. A beagle that was standing behind him eyed me, then waddled back to a red floor pillow by the fireplace and curled up.
    “Hey, Chef,” Zach said, holding open the door for me to enter.
    I dragged my eyes from him to the incredible house. There was lots of glass and leather and serious pieces of art. One wall was entirely windows.
    “This kitchen is bigger than my entire apartment,” I marveled as I followed him in. Stainless steel and soapstone counters. And no one else. Like a girlfriend. Or the chef from The Silver Steer. We were alone.
    He leaned against the counter. He had to be six foot two. Maybe three. I