Free Served Hot by Annabeth Albert Page A

dinner together like this every night. But I couldn’t get those words out. As happy as I was, I wasn’t sure whether David felt the same way. He’d asked me to be patient and I wasn’t sure whether expressing my deepest desire would be too much pressure for him.
    “Can’t afford my own place. As close as my business margin is most months, I need roommates.” There had been more than one month when I’d been late getting money to Seth, but he’d been far more understanding than the average landlord. “But man, I am not looking forward to sorting through ads and trying to find sane people.”
    “Well . . .” He trailed off, and I waited, my heart in my throat.
    “Yeah?”
    “Doesn’t Portland have some roommate matching services? Some place that sorts out the crazy people for you and matches you with a list of places?”
    “Not sure.” I minced the onion into a pulp and started in on the celery, chopping hard enough to make the board shake.
    “I’ll ask Carol at work to check for you. Her husband’s a Realtor.” He nodded, like it was all settled. Asking his friend to use her Realtor connections should have made me happy— he wanted me safe and not living with crazy people. But my stomach felt sour and I wasn’t sure I’d have room for soup with all the disappointment churning in my gut.
    He reached around me to grab the cutting board, dumping the contents into the pot before adding a package of precut squash and some herbs. The kitchen smelled like sizzling onions and pungent rosemary and home—like the promise of comfort on a cold night. I need this.
    “Um . . . David?” I really needed to simply tell him. “I was thinking—”
    “You need a distraction,” he said at the same moment.
    “You want me to flip on the Blazers game?” I asked, chickening out on telling him what was happening in my head. I watched far more sports these days. My dad would be so proud. Heck, he’d probably trade me for David. He and David had talked more about sports when my folks came for Christmas than I’d talked to my dad in total in the last year.
    Thanks to a number of holiday fund-raisers, David hadn’t gone back home to Idaho for Christmas, but my dad had snuck in a Blazers game with us while they were here, and we’d had a cheery Christmas Eve meal in Portland’s small Chinatown. I’d suffer any amount of sports talk for more cozy holidays like that.
    “Wasn’t what I was thinking.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back against his front. He dropped a kiss on my neck, right in the spot that always made me shiver. “I was stuck in a long, boring meeting all afternoon. Very, very dull. Had plenty of time to . . . think.”
    “Think, huh?” I leaned into him with a big sigh. Being pissy wasn’t nearly as much fun as this—and flirty David was still a rare treat, one to be savored.
    “Uh-huh. Thought about you the whole way home too.”
    “I thought about you last night.” I tilted my head to give him more access to my neck. “All alone in my tiny little cold bed.”
    “You could have come over. My work thing was over at about nine.”
    “Mmm.” I couldn’t speak as he idly licked along one of the tendons in my neck.
    “Next time you should uh . . . text me while you’re thinking of me.” I swore I could feel his blush against my skin.
    “Yeah? How about I call you instead?”
    “That . . . might work.” He was hard against my back and he sounded more than a little excited at the prospect. And nervous. Which just made me want to try it all the more. Edging him past his comfort zone was my new favorite hobby.
    “Tell me what you were daydreaming about.” I spun in his arms, the cabinets digging into my back.
    “How about I show you instead?” Claiming my lips in a scorching kiss, he went from gee-this-is-nice to must-fuck-or-die in less than ten seconds. Whenever he took charge like this happiness hummed through my senses, canceling out all the worries and thoughts usually