Page 107 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

PERRI

I do have excellent resistance.

Well, most of the time.

I’m not winning any medals in restraint tonight, but I’m disciplined in general and always have been. In college, at the academy, at work now—I get in, do the work, go the distance.

But there’s always temptation to lose focus, and Derek McBride is the strongest temptation I’ve ever known.

But temptation doesn’t pay the bills. That’s why I used the trick I learned ages ago to yank myself out of nightmares—count loudly to three and wake myself up.

Making out with Derek, and riding his hot, hard ridge, was a flirty, dirty dream rather than a nightmare, but the same trick worked.

One, two, three.

And I was out of the zone.

Now here I am, in the kitchen, watching him cook.

The sight of him making my dinner is testing me, and I’d like to snake my hands around those abs, explore his twelve-pack, and trace all his ink.

Must resist . . .

One, two, three.

There. Better.

But still, there’s just something about a man who can make a meal.

Double points if that meal is for me.

And triple points if he surprises me, which he’s doing. He’s not just throwing together the basics. He’s whipping up a chicken stir-fry, adding in asparagus, carrots, and peppers then tossing in spices, and my mouth is watering.

“You might be the perfect roommate,” I say as I pour myself a glass of wine and offer him a beer.

He arches a brow as he sautés the chicken. “How do we have beer? Pretty sure I forgot to pick some up when I was at the store. I bet I was undressing you in my head in that aisle, and that’s how it happened. Slipped my mind when I slipped off your shirt.”

Laughing, I grab a bottle of pale ale. “I snagged some myself. I had a feeling you were a beer man. Was I right?”

He looks over at me, a smile edging his lips. “You picked up beer for me?”

“Why, yes, I am the perfect housemate. Go ahead and say it.”

He winks. “Perfect landlord. And yes, I’m a beer man. But I’m an everything man, truth be told. Tonight, though, I’ll take a beer gladly.”

I uncap it for him, and he accepts, tipping the neck against my wineglass. “To your resistance. May we see how long it lasts.”

I clink my glass. “It’ll last so long.”

He shakes his head, smiling as he turns down the burner.

A few minutes later, he’s served the stir-fry.

I grab the plates. “Want to eat standing up?”

He scoffs. “Kitten, I made you a meal. Sit your ass down at the table.”

“Well, la-di-da.” I shake my ass as I move to the table.

“Yes, do that. Do more of that, and I won’t feel bad at all at my resistance cracking in two.”

I shake my butt once more before I sit.

“Temptress,” he mutters as he digs into his food.

I take a bite of the meal, and it’s delicious. “You can cook.”

He wiggles his brows. “I can indeed.”

“What other hidden talents do you have?”

“I’m quite handy.”

“Me too,” I say, grabbing another forkful.

“That so?”

“Can you imagine an un-handy cop? Lame.”

“True that. What are you handy with?”

“I can fix a washer. Hang a door. Change a tire.”

He wipes a hand across his forehead. “You need to stop being so hot.”

I lift my wineglass and enjoy another sip. “You have a thing for competent women?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Competence is so sexy.” I smile at that.

We eat some more, and I ask him to tell me about his sister. “What’s Jodie like, besides being an amazing baker? Were you always close?”

“We were. She’s five years older, so she’s been like a second mom my entire life. Her dolls became useless once I arrived. She doted on me instead.”

I smile at the sweetness in his tone when he talks about her. “That’s adorable.”

“I remember at one point when I was in middle school, my parents were talking about some changes in the dress code at school and Jodie said, ‘And what is Derek going to wear? Are you going to let him wear gym shorts to school? Because I don’t think it’s a good idea.

’ And my dad said, ‘Well, we won’t have to worry because Derek has a third parent in you. ’”

I laugh. “That’s sweet and funny.”

He takes a drink of his beer. “She’s always looked out for me, so I figure the least I can do is the same.”

“And your parents? They’re not around?” I ask carefully.

He shakes his head. “Died a few years ago. It’s just us.” But he doesn’t sound sad, more like he’s accustomed to this reality.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Me too, but they were older, and it was their time, I suppose.”

I nod, understanding him. “I hear you. It’s still sad, but when you can make peace with a loss by knowing that—well, that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” He takes another bite, chews, then adds, “Anyway, that’s probably another reason why Jodie and I are still close.”

“Did she ask you to move here when her husband was assigned overseas?”

“I volunteered. My contract was up in San Francisco and I’d heard about the gig, so it seemed like a good time. Plus, I was getting tired of the insanity in the city. I don’t mind the change.”

“Is her husband in battle?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. He’s a military chaplain.”

My ears perk. “Oh, that’s interesting. You don’t hear about that often.”

“He’s a minister a few towns over. He had this chance, and Jodie wanted him to take it. He really wanted to help the troops.”

My heart squeezes for his family, for the guts and bravery it takes to help others who put themselves on the front lines. “That’s lovely, and lovely, too, that you came up here to help.”

“It’s nothing anyone else wouldn’t do.” He shrugs. “What about you? I take it you’re close to Shaw, even though it seemed like you wanted to wallop him the other day.”

I laugh. “That about sums us up. We needle each other pretty much all the time. I think it’s because we’re eleven months apart. We’ve always competed for everything.”

“Everything?”

I finish my last bite and set down my fork. “Yup. We were in the same grade at school too.”

He smiles. “No kidding.”

I hold up a hand to vow. “It’s the truth. I was the youngest, and he was the oldest, and I was kind of crazy motivated, but he was too. We competed for everything—affection, praise, sports, grades, who did chores faster. It created this bizarre dynamic. Still does.”

“But it works for you guys?”

“Weirdly, yes. I love him madly, but he exasperates me, and I know he loves me, even if we want to kill each other sometimes.”

We finish dinner and as we wash our plates, Derek mentions Arden. “I met your friend at the bookstore earlier. She said she’s known you since you were six.”

I smile widely. “She’s like family to me. So is Vanessa. We’re all so close.”

“She seems like she looks out for you. And I had the distinct impression you told her about me,” he says with a sly note as I set the last plate in the dish rack and turn off the faucet.

I wipe my hands on a towel. “And what gave you that impression?”

He shrugs in that way that cocky men do—casual, sexy, confident. “The way she checked out my ink. Almost as if she was told about it by a certain . . . kitten .”

I snap the towel against his waist. He grabs it and tugs me close. “It’s okay that you like my tattoos. You can touch them too.”

Like that, he lights the match, and the fire in me roars through the roof. I’m a flame around him.

Maybe right now, I’m not so flame-resistant. I run my eager fingers up his strong, muscular arms, then down them too, tracing the sunbursts and bands, loving their look, savoring his skin.

He murmurs, a husky, raspy sound that heats my blood, that makes a pulse beat between my legs.

“There’s more to touch, Perri.”

“I know,” I whisper, dancing my fingers down to his birds, tracing the outline of one, then another, traveling perilously close to the waistband of his shorts, and what lies beneath. What I desperately want more of.

He breathes out hard, rough. For a second, maybe more, it hits me—I have this power over him. He wants me in the kind of bone-deep way I want him. Sure, he’s told me from day one, but his body says, undeniably, how much he craves me.

Resistance, I remember.

I need it.

There’s so much at stake. The job. The rent, since I haven’t had a reliable tenant in ages. My goals, because I want that promotion. I’ve worked my butt off for it. I need to keep my eyes on the prize.

I dust a quick kiss against his delicious lips. “No mercy, no sympathy.”

“Damn your mantra.”

“ Our mantra,” I correct.

He steps away, his dark eyes holding my gaze. “Kitten, I’d like to find out how strong your resistance is. And I fully intend to test it.”

“How will you do that?”

“You want to win your kissing contest, right?”

“I do.”

“Then we will be practicing every night. And you’ll be practicing your resistance. Mark my words.”

With that, he turns, heads to the stairwell, then up and out of sight.

It takes every ounce of my resistance not to follow him up the steps.