Free Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) by N.R. Walker

one.”
    “Well, true. But that was before. Anyway, if you don’t cook at home, it’s not like you’d go to a store anyway.”
    “I go to the store,” he said defensively. “Just not for… food that requires cooking.”
    I laughed. “Well, you’re cooking tonight.”
    He groaned. “Really?”
    “Yep. What time will you finish work?”
    “I’ll get to your place around seven. Is that okay?”
    I looked at my watch. It was almost five. “That’s fine.”
    “I was hoping you were joking about the cooking thing. I thought…”
    “You thought what?”
    He cleared his throat. “Oh, never mind. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
    The phone offered only silence in my ear. I figured he must have had a co-worker walk in, so I finished my shopping, lemon gelato included, and went home.
    At five minutes to seven there was a knock at my door. With the jazz funk album he chose for me playing softly in the background, I opened the door to find Andrew standing there, all fucking gorgeous and smiling. It had been, what? Not even two days since I’d seen him? And he was somehow even better looking than I remembered. I wanted to grab his knitted vest and drag him inside so I could kiss him, but instead, because I had manners, I stepped aside. “Please, come in.”
    He walked in and shoved his hands in his pockets like he was nervous. “You’re playing the album I got you.”
    “I am.” I closed the door behind him and stepped right in up close, so our lips were almost touching. He smelled fresh-showered and delicious, and I breathed his scent in. “Hello,” I whispered.
    He kissed me, and I had to stop myself from pushing him back against the door and kissing him until he couldn’t stand up. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I pulled my mouth from his, all ragged-breaths and swollen lips, and could offer no more than a one-word sentence. “Dinner.”
    Andrew frowned, or possibly pouted. He looked right at my mouth and licked his lips. “We could order in. I’ll pay.”
    I laughed and took a step back from him. He was so damn intoxicating. “Tempting. Really fucking tempting, but no. I promised I’d show you how to cook.”
    He looked into the kitchen. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”
    I shook my head. “No. Why did you think I was joking?”
    He blushed from his cheeks right down underneath his collar. It was then I noticed he had showered before he came over. I remembered back to our conversation about dinner tonight and how it evolved into a conversation about rimming…
    “Did you think dinner was a euphemism for something else?” I asked.
    His eyes flashed to mine, and his voice squeaked. “Um. Maybe?”
    “As in dinner would be eating something else? Like arse.”
    He barked out a laugh. “Don’t just say it like that!”
    I grabbed his hand and led him into the kitchen, or more precisely to stand in front of a chopping board that had all the ingredients for tonight’s dinner on it. He looked down at it like it was a Chinese trigonometry equation, and trying not to laugh, I stood behind him. I put my hands on his hips and my lips at the back of his ear. “First we eat dinner, then I eat you. Deal?”
    “You can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he said gruffly. He half turned his head so his cheek was touching my nose. “Or we won’t be cooking dinner.”
    God give me strength. He was killing me. I playfully gnashed my teeth at his neck. “Later. I promise. Now, pick up the knife, Andrew,” I urged him. “We need the onion to be finely chopped.”
    He hesitated to pick up the onion. “Um.”
    “Have you ever cut an onion before?”
    “Why would I want to do that?”
    I laughed into his shoulder. “Okay, so hold the onion down on the chopping board and slice the top and bottom off,” I instructed. I put my hands over his, so while he held the knife, I guided his hand, and together we peeled and sliced the onion. He only complained about the smell and burning eyes about