Page 132 of Mr. Infuriating

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.”

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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.

“Sixmonths? 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.

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