Haint's in the Kitchen (Haints Misbehaving 2)

Haint's in the Kitchen (Haints Misbehaving 2)
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele

When time allowed, Russ Brakes always visited his restaurant’s dining room. He loved the ring of forks and knives meeting chinaware. As he strolled through aisles and skirted tables, conversations hummed. Russ smiled at regulars, said hi to diners he hadn’t seen before. A happy customer was a returning customer.

Russ straightened his chef’s jacket as he scrutinized a petite guy entering the restaurant. Their eyes met as the hostess led the guest to a table. Enjoyed that ass last night. Russ had admitted to himself a long, long ago he was a wanton bastard -- a man whore who ordinarily chose men comparable to his own size, and once was always enough. Didn’t occur often but if a conquest was lucky, Russ allowed them to top him. Damn if the thought didn’t dance across his mind tonight.

Hotter than hell didn’t adequately describe what Russ felt swiping moisture from his brow. Co-mingling with food aromas was an odd odor he couldn’t put his finger on. “Christ.” Normally calm and collected, something else took place. It centered in the area of his groin. “I’m walking around with a fucking boner.” He glanced about to see if anyone heard him. Damn it. Reaching the nearest table, Russ noticed a man dabbing his plate with a roll. “How are you tonight, sir?”

Up in years, the gentleman sported a black suit displaying excessive wear. He stopped sopping gravy and one bushy gray brow arched. “Good evening.” His lips stretched upward at the corners and brown eyes studied Russ head to toe. “You the cook?”

“Russ Brakes.”

The old dude smelled awesome and Russ struggled not to snuffle air. What was the scent permeating space around the diner’s table? “Brake Away is mine and I’m head chef.” Russ glanced at the table. “Can I have the waitstaff bring more bread?”

The guest pulled a tattered cuff back and peered at a wristwatch. “I must decline your offer.” Standing, he pushed his chair in. “Late for an appointment with a friend.” He waved his slip. “Might I pay up front?”

“I can take it for you.”

“No, no. You need to get back to work.” A few steps, he stopped and turned, eyes brighten. “Unusual to find wild game in an establishment such as yours. Only acquainted with one other person who cooked such a damn fine meal.”

“I enjoy providing a variety of meats on my menu.”

“Hmm, he did too. Farm raised animals were never sufficient.” Slits formed beneath brows. “Do you believe in evil spirits, Mr. Brake?”

“You mean ghosts?” Just his luck to engage a crazy coot.

“No. Haints. Angry they’ve left things unfinished in another life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t fear what may seem impossible. Anyway, haven’t had venison chops cooked that well since… It’s been a while.” The old dude fixed his gaze on his clean plate and shrugged a shoulder. “He was one hell of a cook and he’ll like you.”

Russ fully intended to follow, get a name, thank the stranger for picking his place… find out who he was. Instead he mumbled, “Old bastard’s nuts.”

Russ got sidetracked by the cute ass in sweatpants he’d spied earlier. “Hi, handsome.” Stuart was his name.

The way his butt swayed as he walked on by, well, last night’s plaything still excited Russ. He had loved the way lust filled the man’s blue eyes when he gazed at their reflection in the large mirror placed behind Russ’s desk for opportunities like the one last evening -- an occasion he anxiously awaited reliving. Though he suspected the man’s shyness was feigned, it was a definite turn on. Russ recalled observing the young man’s cheeks flush with excitement when Russ fisted and jerked off a nice cock. Loosening his collar, he envisioned driving deep in Stuart’s ass one more night.

“Shit, get it together!” Russ furtively adjusted his dick when the subject of his thoughts peered back and smiled before continuing toward the restrooms. “Pretty fucker. I’ll see your fine ass later.”

Russ looked over his shoulder again. The older gentleman was nowhere in sight, but beneath the table he’d left a battered leather duffel bag smelling of the same woodsy aroma Russ had noticed earlier. Grabbing the bag, Russ rushed up front, but the guy had left. Reaching the curb, Russ looked up and down to no avail. Gone. Maybe there was something inside the bag that would help him locate the man and reunite him with his belongings.