Confused Spice

Mathis Bailey

Description

This delectable tale revolves around twenty-nine-year old Pierre Jackson, who dreams of becoming a renowned pâtissier and chef. He moves from Detroit to Toronto with his handsome fiancé, DeAndre Harris, who has just landed a prestigious job at a major news station in the city. Everything seems to be perfect...until a secret comes to light that throws their relationship for a loop. With everything falling apart, Vijay Khakwani, a gorgeous Indo-Canadian man, moves into Pierre's apartment. When Pierre's messy apron catches his eye, Pierre is propositioned to teach him how to cook, and their neighborly acquaintance gets tantalizingly close. 

Meanwhile, Vijay is also battling the odds in his life. He's constantly in between jobs and running into trouble with the law. His mother, a powerful attorney and Toronto socialite, is tired of rescuing her son and just wants him to take some responsibility. She orchestrates an arranged marriage for Vijay, thinking it will cure him of his reckless habits and put him back on the straight and narrow. In a last ditch effort to change his life around, Vijay immerses himself into Eastern spirituality. As he goes through his spiritual journey, it forces him to confront the dark secrets in his family's past. 

As Pierre teaches Vijay the art of cooking in their intimate sessions, Vijay shows Pierre the beauty of Buddhism. What will become of the two?

 

Sujets

• African immigration to the United States
• Contemporary literature
• Indian literature
• Romance
• Gay
• LGBT
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Mathis
• Date de parution: 23 février 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780995919310
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright © 2016 Mathis Bailey
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1535124423
ISBN 13: 9781535124423
ISBN : 9780995919310 (e-book)
Contents
Chapter 1: Pierre
Chapter 2: Vijay
Chapter 3: Pierre
Chapter 4: Vijay
Chapter 5: Pierre
Chapter 6: Vijay
Chapter 7: Pierre
Chapter 8: Vijay
Chapter 9: Pierre
Chapter 10: Vijay
Chapter 11: Vijay
Chapter 12: Pierre
Chapter 13: Pierre
Chapter 14: Vijay
Chapter 15: Pierre
Chapter 16: Vijay
Chapter 17: Pierre
Chapter 18: Vijay
Chapter 19: Pierre
Chapter 20: Vijay
Chapter 21: Pierre
Chapter 22: Vijay
Chapter 23: Pierre
Chapter 24: Vijay
Chapter 25: Pierre
Chapter 26: Vijay
Chapter 27: Pierre
Chapter 28: Vijay
Chapter 29: Pierre
Chapter 30: Pierre
Chapter 31: Pierre
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Recipes
1
Pierre
“N ot enough butter!” shouted the French instructor from across the room.
It was my first day of French cooking class. Learning how to make flaky dough with loads of butter was worth my 350 bucks. I love butter … and so do my hips and ass. I must have tried every Paula Deen recipe under the sun. She was my Julia Child, that is until she romanticized the whole back in the “good ole’ days plantation style” wedding thing. What was she thinking? Oh Paula. Anyway, I couldn’t wait to get home so I could practice the emulsifying techniques to make this silky chocolate ganache, which was the next week’s lesson.
As the bus rattled down Midland road I looked down at my class notes and read the ingredients: “eggs, milk, cocoa powder and butter.” I made a mental note to pick up more butter. I shoved the grease-stained loose-leaf papers back into my notebook and stared out of the window, reflecting how many strawberry tarts I’d shoved into my mouth. Guilt suddenly hung over me like an ominous dark cloud. That was a gazillion hours on the treadmill for sure. The husky Quebecois accent of the instructor suddenly came to mind: “Too much cornstarch, too much sugar, NOT ENOUGH BUTTER! ... measure, measure, measure!!!” I must say I struggled in measuring out all those damn ingredients on the topsy-turvy scale. But I managed and came out on top. I even managed to garner some praise from my fellow classmates, who wore crisp white aprons and puffy-looking chef hats. I thought this day couldn’t get any better until I arrived at my apartment building later that evening.
Nothing prepared me for what I saw, something far more delicious than the chocolate ganache recipe tucked away in my shoulder bag. He was tall, dark, and handsome. Cliché? Yes! But by god he fit the mold — everything I like in a guy. His skin glistened like rich mahogany wood. His hair was freshly lined in a close-faded cut. He had deep, dark eyes with eyelashes that would make you melt like cold butter on a hot stove. He stepped onto the elevator behind me, and we stood in silence. I could smell his natural sweet body scent as if he was just coming from a light workout. His warm-up shorts hung on his lean, muscular frame like an NBA player. He glanced my way, catching my stare. I quickly looked away, pretending to gaze mindlessly up at the red digital numbers counting up. It took every ounce of my self-control not to look back at him. Yet I could feel his eyes on me . Come on! Say something witty, Pierre. The elevator jolted and knocked me out of my reverie. It started to ascend, and I noticed he hadn’t pressed the button for his floor. Should I say something? Before I could, he spoke.
“Hey, my name is Jay,” he said, flashing a gorgeous smile. “I always see you in the gym on the treadmill. You sure can run for a long time, yo. How long have you been running like that?”
“For a few months,” I muttered, thinking , He’s seen me before? How could I have possibly not noticed this beautiful stud?
“I wish I could run like that, but my diet has been horrible lately. I need to get back into shape.” I examined his body and saw the faint definition of his toned chest underneath his white V-neck T-shirt.
“You look well in shape to me,” I said.
“Ha! Thanks, man. I try.” Modest … or was he just being cocky? Either way, it fit him well, like a tailored Italian suit. He looked roughly twenty-five, give or take. Not much younger than me. The elevator stopped on the eighth floor, and a plump white man stepped on, parting us like the Red Sea. Jay’s beautiful body scent now was being masked by a box of Chinese takeout. Unable to think of anything else to say, I looked back at the numbers on the elevator. My stop was eighteen. Another ten to go. Great! A countdown! Now I was racing against the clock. I was completely tongue-tied. The elevator halted at eighteen, and the doors slid open. I smiled meekly at Jay as I stepped out onto my floor. I inwardly flung expletives at myself for not thinking fast on my feet. I knew I was going to regret not making a move. There was a possibility that I would never see this beautiful man again. I turned toward my apartment in a gloomy state until I heard a silky voice come over my shoulder. “Ain’t that someth’n, yo. I guess we’re neighbors!”
2
Vijay
“W hat do you mean the woman in Pakistan doesn’t matter? She is seeking refuge in this country from her abusive husband. Yes, I know she is, but…”
I heard my mother’s voice booming on the other side of door. I knew she was again on one of her business calls. I knocked, and when I didn’t get an answer, I pushed it open. She didn’t look up from the mountain of papers on her massive oak desk. I strode over to the big reddish brown leather chair in the corner and plopped into it. She lifted her eyes over the rim of her reading glasses and put up a finger that said “give-me-a-minute.” I sighed heavily, containing my frustration. I looked around at all her prestigious degrees aligned meticulously on the cherry oak wall, from the University of Toronto and Ryerson University in Law and English.
“Yes! Fine! I will see if that will fly in court!” She slammed down the phone. “What can I do for you, Vijay? I hope you aren’t into any sort of trouble. My time is valuable.”
“No, I’m not. And stop treating me as if I am one your clients. Talk to me like your son.”
“Vijay, just tell me what you want. I do not have time for this.”
“You seem not to have time for anything except for your new family.” I had raised my voice.
“Is everything okay in here?” asked my stepfather, poking his head around the door, always butting in on our disputes. I don’t have anything against the guy. Frank is a cool dude. He is one of those hippie white guys that enjoys the outdoors and eats nothing but locally grown Ontario organic products.
“Everything is fine, Frank,” my mother said as she massaged the sides of her head while Frank shot me a suspicious look and then disappeared. “Vijay, just tell me what I can do for you? Do you need money?”
“No, I didn’t come here for your fuckin’ money.”
“Vijay! If you are going to use that kind of language in my house, I will have to ask you to leave. So stop wasting my time and tell me what you want. I have a very important phone conference beginning in a few minutes ... so make it quick.”
“I would like for you to come see my new place.”
“And where is this place?”
“It’s in Scarborough. It’s a beautiful…”
“Scarborough! Are you dealing drugs there?”
I drew in a deep breath. “No, I got a job. And like I said before, that was a mistake I shouldn’t have made. That life is behind me now.”
“Vijay, I do not have the time to come down to see your new place. I am swamped with work.”
“What’s new?”
“If it weren’t for me working, you wouldn’t be in that new place you’re in right now. Now if you don’t mind I have to get on a call”
“Fuck this shit. I’m leaving anyway.” I flipped the papers on her desk for effect.
“Get OUT!” she screamed as I existed her office.

“Come on man … you can do it. Give me four more,” said my fitness trainer as I was bench-pressing a shit-load of weights.
He held one side of the handles for support while veins in my arms bulged out as I tried to give two more but dropped the weight in its cradle, which made a loud clank sound, metal hitting against metal. I was done for today. I took a swig from my water bottle and strolled into the locker room. I stripped naked and took a hot shower. I rubbed the Ivory soap over my stomach and sex, creating a foamy lather. After rinsing off, I patted down my body with a white towel and sprayed on some cologne. I took a pair of jeans out of the maple-colored locker and put them on and then threw on a white V-neck. Before I left GoodLife Fitness, I gave my trainer a fist pound and strolled out the door.
I pulled up to my new apartment and parked in an empty spot in the visiting section. I was too tired to park on the third floor in underground parking and wait for the stupid elevator. I grabbed my Nike duffle bag from the back seat and headed inside the building. I nodded “what’s up” to the concierge as I strolled toward