Free Some Like It Spicy by Robbie Terman Page B

of a sob made her turn her head. Elena was slumped in a corner, her face buried in her hands and her body shaking.
    Surprisingly, Duffy was the first one beside her. “What’s wrong, sugar?” He put a large, tattooed arm around her slight body. “Tell Papa Duffy.”
    “I totally scr…screwed up,” Elena sobbed. “I blew it.”
    Ashton knelt next to her. “Your dish looked fine. You’re being too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’s great.”
    “Mine came out perfectly,” Morgan bragged. She had a glass of wine in one hand and lounged in the chair as if it were her throne. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I won the challenge.”
    Lance snorted.
    Morgan shot him a look that would have leveled a building. “What do you know, Mr. Executive Chef? You made lamb. How pedestrian.”
    Duffy grabbed Lance when Lance took a step toward Morgan. “Chill, man. She’s just trying to psych you out. Don’t let her get to you.”
    “This is going to be a long afternoon,” Anthony commented.
    Ashton nodded in agreement. “And the best part is, when the wait is finally over, we get to have our food picked apart like we’re fry cooks at a fast-food chain.”
    “Come on, people,” Lance said. “Let’s get our minds off our food. Who knows a drinking game?”
    “I don’t think so,” Ashton said. “We have to go back on camera.”
    Lance looked unfazed. “Have you ever seen this show? The judges take hours to critique. We’ll be sober by then. Besides”—he pointed to the shelf of hard liquor—“why do you think they put that in here? Makes for better TV than sitting around sipping lemonade.”
    “I’m in,” Duffy said. He turned to Ashton. “Come on, Blondie, you look like a girl who can hold her liquor.”
    An hour—and two bottles of tequila—later, Ty entered the room.
    Ashton sat on the floor, propped against the wall. The room had grown fuzzy, but she was still in complete control of her senses. Somehow, she’d ended up taking more shots than any other chef, but she was fine. Sure, she usually limited her alcohol to wine, and the last time she’d done tequila shots had been her first year of culinary school. And okay, there had been nothing in her stomach to absorb the alcohol.
    But she was so fine.
    She looked up at an oddly blurry Ty, who cast a rueful shake of the head. “We’ll see everyone back in the kitchen,” he said.
    The chefs stumbled to their feet and began to pile out the door. Ashton made it to her knees, wishing she hadn’t taken that last shot. At the time, she hadn’t felt much impact from the alcohol, and they’d been told it would be hours before they were called in front of the judges. Why had they come to a decision so quickly? What did it mean for her?
    All of a sudden, she was being lifted to her feet. Strong, warm arms kept her from falling. She looked up at the face of her savior.
    Ty.
    “What are you doing, Ashton?” His face hovered over hers, his breath warm on her cheek.
    “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what you have to say,” she slurred. The room began to spin, like the teacups at an amusement park. She leaned closer to him, needing his support. “What did you think of my dish?”
    “You know I can’t tell you yet.”
    She thought she felt his lips against the top of her head, but it could have just been a drunken hallucination.
    “Ashton, we have to go. Everyone’s waiting. Can you walk?”
    “Of course I can.” Embarrassed, she pushed away from him. The world went into a full tilt and her stomach roiled. Unable to stop herself, she bent in half.
    And threw up on Ty Cates’s shoes.
    In an instant, she felt a combination of better and wishing she could drop dead. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I did that.”
    Ty shook his foot. “Neither can I. Frankly, I expected you to be able to hold your liquor better. Just do me a favor, next time you want to throw a knife at someone, make sure you’re sober. I’d hate to see you end up in