Page 54 of Mr. Infuriating (Mister #1)

Gretchen

I’d been right—Gabe’s house was beautiful inside, too, although it wasn’t as pristine as the outside. It was clean and tidy, but also homey.

I kept a vigilant eye on Jake to make sure he didn’t get into anything he wasn’t supposed to. Brittany and Brayden were eleven and thirteen, there was no need for the house to be baby-proofed for them.

My little walking wrecking ball, on the other hand…

Gabe noticed my hyper-vigilance and put his hand on my arm.

“Relax. There’s nothing he can touch that can’t be replaced.”

“But I’d rather not have to replace anything.”

“Gretchen, between Brayden and Britt and their friends, there have been plenty of kids in this house. We live here. This isn’t a museum. Stop worrying.”

I willed myself to lower my shoulders and offer him a small smile.

“I’ll try.”

His eyes were kind as he stared at me, and I felt the familiar flutter in my belly. I needed to squash that bullshit immediately. I wasn’t making a fool of myself again.

I tucked my hair behind my ear as I cleared my throat and looked away, searching for something to talk about.

I finally asked, “Um, are you hungry?”

“Yeah. What should we order for dinner?”

“We don’t have to get delivery; I can make us something. ”

“You’re my guest. I’m not going to ask you to cook.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, I enjoy cooking. I’ve missed doing it. Jake can be a picky eater, and it’s no fun cooking for one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Although let me see what ingredients you have before I get ahead of myself.”

“My housekeeper does a good job of making sure my pantry and freezer are stocked, and she tries to have more fruits and veggies when the kids are going to be here, but a lot of times it ends up getting thrown out.”

He walked me into his gourmet kitchen. The cabinets were exquisite. If my kitchen ended up half as beautiful as his, I would be a happy woman.

I glanced around the spacious room.

“Any cupboards that are off-limits to open?”

He furrowed his brows. “You can look through every drawer, cupboard, or closet in this whole house. I’m an open book. Although, you go through a thirteen-year-old boy’s room at your own risk.”

That made me laugh.

“No thank you. I work with thirteen and fourteen-year-olds all day, I know better.”

I opened the door to his pantry and found shelves from floor to ceiling that were lined with enough supplies to last a year.

I knew whose house I’d be going to in the event of the apocalypse.

Even though the pantry was as big as Troy’s and my first apartment, Gabe’s presence behind me left me unnerved .

His tone was hopeful when he asked, “Are there ingredients for lasagna?”

I turned to face him and shook my head.

“I don’t think I’m ready to try that again.”

His dumb, handsome face fell in disappointment, and I almost reconsidered.

Almost.

A quick survey of the pantry’s contents gave me an idea, provided he had hamburger or its vegetarian equivalent.

“I thought I’d make something all four of us would enjoy.”

****

Gabe

Having Gretchen cooking in my kitchen made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time: contentment.

I offered to help more than once, but she shooed me away each time. So, I sat at the island and made small talk while admiring her ass as she flitted about like she belonged there.

“Is there any chance my kitchen is going to turn out as amazing as this one?” she asked as she stirred the hamburger frying on the stove.

“Yours is going to be nice. I think you’re going to love it.”

“But not like this.”

“Well, no, not quite. But to be fair, this kitchen took me almost six months to remodel.”

She turned the burner down and looked at me with wide eyes.

“ Six months? You were without a kitchen for six months? ”

“I didn’t live here. I rented an apartment while I gutted the place and worked on it nights and weekends for almost a year.”

“You outdid yourself, Gabe. Your home is stunning.”

I wanted to puff my chest out with pride. It meant a lot that she appreciated my craftsmanship. As I fantasized about pulling her into the pantry for a quickie, I realized I’d never had sex in my own home.

Any hookups I’d had over the years had taken place in hotel rooms, the woman’s place, the backseat of my truck, and one bar bathroom.

Not Flannigan’s.

I’d never risk pissing Derrick or Maverick off. My days of drinking my favorite tap beer for free would come to a crashing halt.

But I hadn’t met anyone I was willing to allow into my space, even for a night.

And now I’d not only welcomed Gretchen in with open arms, but I’d asked her to bring her son along, too. While one of my kids was here.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The difference is, I told myself, I’m not sleeping with her. Yeah, we’d hooked up before, but this had nothing to do with that.

So what if I’d just imagined covering her mouth with my hand as I fucked her from behind in the pantry?

I’m a guy. It didn’t mean anything. We fantasize about everything from football to fishing to fucking. It wasn’t like I was going to act on it .

It didn’t matter how much I liked her being there; I’d put boundaries in place on Friday night for a reason, and I intended to keep them.

No matter how fucking sexy she looked in my kitchen.