Free 30 Days by Christine D'Abo

Harrison’s. Normally, I’d bring along a bottle of wine, but given my track record with beverages recently, food seemed like a more civilized option. I’d be less likely to dump it over his head at any rate. I grabbed a pen and started making notes.
    The scent of roasting garlic and tomatoes filled my condo for the remainder of the afternoon. I so rarely did this sort of thing anymore the act of sautéing had a calming effect. I loved to cook, but it was hard to get up the energy when I was making a meal for only me. Maybe I made a bit more than what I planned to bring over tonight, but that was cool. Leftovers were my friend.
    My mind wandered as I prepared the ingredients I’d picked up. It was fun to imagine Harrison’s reaction as he bit into the skewers. I wondered if he’d lick the juice off his fingertips, if he’d suck them into his mouth to get every last taste. It was surprisingly difficult not to duck into my bedroom and get myself off. Who knew that my masturbation drought would end in such a spectacular way—porn and neighbor fantasies. Woohoo!
    I’d been so busy banging around in my kitchen that I’d actually lost track of time. A loud knock sent a bolt of panic through me. Shit, it was five-thirty and I hadn’t even showered yet. I grabbed my hand towel to work the garlic juice from my fingers as I jogged to the door.
    â€œHarrison.” This was still way too early. I peeked out the door to see if there was someone else around. “Everything okay?”
    Now, I know I’m not very observant when it comes to the opposite sex. I’ve never been one to notice when a man or woman was checking me out. I used to assume that was because it rarely happened. However, I’ve been told time and again from a number of people that yes, I do get my ass checked out and yes, I’m oblivious. That said, even I could tell there was something heated in the way Harrison was staring at me. I’d thrown my hair into a bun and hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup. My T-shirt and shorts were hidden beneath my linen apron, which was stained from years of use. Not my most attractive look.
    â€œYou’re cooking.”
    There was something in the way he said the words that didn’t seem right to me. “Yes. I thought I’d make an appetizer to bring over. I wasn’t sure what you had in mind, but I couldn’t come over empty-handed.”
    He licked his lips. “It smells wonderful.”
    â€œI’m a woman of many talents.” And holy shit I was totally flirting.
    Rather than retreat from it, I kicked my hip out to the side, flicked my hand towel across my shoulder, and braced my hands on my hips. If I was actually going to go down this road with him, then I had to own it.
    â€œAre you still good for me to come over in thirty minutes, or do you need more time?”
    His lips tightened and his gaze narrowed. As quickly as his body tensed, he let out a sigh and relaxed. “I had a meeting run late. As long as you don’t mind watching me cook, come on over.”
    Rob had zero talent in the kitchen. Most of the men in my family barely knew where the kitchen was, let alone how to make anything beyond cereal or toast. How cool was it to be with a guy who could do more than pop something in the microwave. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be there as soon as the skewers are finished and I can get cleaned up.”
    â€œYou look fantastic the way you are.” He gave me a nod, his gaze briefly slipping down my body, before he marched down to his condo. “We can start our chat when you get here.”
    As tempting as it was to watch him go, I shut the door and dashed back inside to get ready. Ogling would have to wait.
    There were rules to get ready for.
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    It took me a tad longer than thirty minutes to finish cooking and appear presentable. It would have taken far less if my goal was to continue with my