Page 28 of Suddenly Dating
“I was calling to see if you want to get a drink sometime this week.”
“Ah... sure!” Sherri said. Of course she wanted to get a drink. She wanted to marry him, have his babies, never let him leave her sight. “When did you have in mind?”
“Tuesday? I’ve a got a late meeting but I could meet you at that bar you like in Astor Place.”
She didn’t like the bar at Astor Place. It wasn’t exactly a happening location. She’d only gone there because he’d asked her. But Sherri wasn’t going to let location ruin it, at least not this time. Sam was calling her and asking her out. She had misjudged everything! She could work with him, help him see what he did was wrong. And then she wouldn’t have to kill him.
Harry’s eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head. He didn’t know what to make of it—
“Hey!”
Startled, Harry jerked around. He hadn’t heard Lola come into the kitchen. She was wearing a short robe, and her wet hair was combed back. She was glaring at him with fire practically leaping out of her eyes as she strode toward him. Harry’s pulse jumped a notch and he dropped the pages like a guilty child.
“That’s mine!” she said angrily.
“Are you writing a book?” He sounded more incredulous than he felt—what he really wondered was what she intended to do with this... story.
“Maybe,” she said curtly. “But it’s none of your business.” She roughly brushed past him, forcing him to take a step back from the dining table. She picked up the pages he’d just read and shoved them into a file. With another glare, she whirled around and returned to the kitchen, pulled the oven open and removed a dish of what looked like macaroni and cheese. She placed it on a hot pad and began to spoon through it, distributing the heat. She glanced up at him, still frowning. “What?”
“What is that?” he asked.
“What does it look like? It’s lobster mac and cheese.”
Jesus, just cut his throat already—it would be far less painful than watching her devour it while his stomach rumbled helplessly. What did he have in the freezer, anyway—another Hungry-Man dinner?
A smile slowly took the place of her frown. “Would you like some lobster mac and cheese, Harry Westbrook?”
“No,” he said instantly. How did she kill the guys in the book anyway? Poison? But he couldn’t take his gaze from the dish, especially when she lifted the spoon and thick strands of cheese stretched up with it, tantalizing him.
“Are you sure? Because you can ask anyone—I make thebestlobster mac and cheese around. And there’s plenty.”
“You made that for you,” he said, sounding as weak as he felt. “And for all I know, that’s how you kill guys who don’t respond to your texts.”
She smiled wickedly. “I would never kill a guy with poison. Too iffy and too obvious. I made this because I had the ingredients to make it. I like to cook, what can I say? Besides, I’m not eating any of it tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to a swanky party with Nolan.” She beamed at him, leaned across the bar, and whispered, “Amy Schumer might be there.”
Her eyes were shining with delight, and Harry was reminded of those charged moments in the utility room. But his stomach was far more interested in the mac and cheese than he was in sex or celebrity at the moment. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all.” She slid the pan closer, smiling as if people practically face-planted in a pan of something she made every day. “See? I’m not such a bad roommate.” She took a plate out of a cabinet behind her, heaped a pile of the casserole onto a plate, then set it before him on the bar. She fetched a spoon from a drawer and held it out to him. “Go to town, big guy.”
Harry’s stomach rumbled loudly in response, embarrassing him. He reluctantly accepted the spoon she offered him, slid onto a bar stool, and pulled the plate closer. He spooned an obscenely large amount of mac and cheese, said “Thank you,” and stuffed it into his mouth.
The moment that mac and cheese met his taste buds, Harry almost slid off the barstool with ecstasy. It was so damn good that he inadvertently moaned, then flushed slightly when she giggled with delight.
“You’re welcome,” she said. She opened the fridge, studied the contents. She apparently didn’t find what she wanted, because she shut the door and picked up an apple from a wooden bowl and bit into it.
Harry had, embarrassingly, devoured his food in the time it took her to do this.
With her apple in one hand, Lola dipped the serving spoon into the dish and heaped more onto his plate, leaving a trail of half-moon macaroni soaked in cheese between the pan and his plate.
“No, I couldn’t,” he said unconvincingly, his hand on his belly.
“Sure you could,” she chirped.
Harry didn’t even draw a breath before diving back in. It was a feast for a king after the crap he’d been eating all week.
