Page 63 of Resisting my Roommate

“I have it all under control. Just have a seat and relax. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay.” I hoist myself onto one of the stools by the island, watching him move around the kitchen with ease.

There’s something about a man who knows his way around the kitchen that is inherently attractive, especially as he tastesthe food before adding a few seasonings. It’s obvious he’s extremely comfortable cooking. And without a recipe, too.

“How did you learn to cook?” I ask after watching him for several minutes. “Not that I’m complaining since I get to reap the benefits. But I haven’t met many men who could cook macaroni and cheese without destroying it, let alone mushroom risotto with salmon.”

He brings his wine to his lips and takes a sip. “It was kind of out of necessity, actually. When Krista and I first got married, she twisted her leg up pretty badly in a skiing accident. Tore her ACL and everything. She was on crutches for months while she recovered. And since takeout food and Ramen noodles would get old fairly quickly, I decided to learn how to cook. At first I was fucking terrible.” He laughs under his breath, a nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

To be honest, I’m surprised he’s talking about this, all things considered.

Maybe this is what he needs, though. To finally talk about his time with Krista.

Just like I needed to talk about Carson. My dad.

My mom.

“You’d think since I knew how to brew beer I’d be able to do this no problem, but I sucked at it. The first meal I attempted was baked chicken thighs. Simple enough, right?”

“I would say so,” I agree.

“Well, turns out I bought the wrong kind of thighs — boneless instead of bone-in. Not that big of a deal, except I didn’t adjust the cooking time accordingly, so they turned out rubbery and chewy. And don’t even get me started on the rice.” He shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile. “I put in way too much liquid, and it came out mushy. But Krista…” He peers into the distance for a moment. “She was so good about it. You can tellshe didn’t enjoy it, but she still ate everything because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

I don’t immediately say anything. I’m not surewhatto say. It feels strange listening to him talk about his ex-wife, especially when I can still feel her presence in this house.

“Well, it looks like you’ve learned a bit since then,” I finally remark.

“I have.” He nods, though there’s a hint of sadness in his gaze. Then he clears his throat. “How about you? Where did you pick up your cooking skills? I may have snuck a few bites of those breakfast potatoes you made your first morning here.”

“I figured.” I wink, taking a sip of my wine. “I guess I learned out of necessity, too. Even before my mom dropped me off with my dad, she wasn’t around much and I was often left to fend for myself, especially after my grandmother died when I was seven. Before that, she practically raised me. When she died, it was just my mom.”

His expression falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”

“It’s okay. It is what it is. You can’t change the past, but you can take charge of your future.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” He arches a brow. “Taking charge of your future?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“And what does the future look like for you?” He asks as he carries two plates to the island, setting one in front of me before assuming the chair beside me.

“How far are we talking?”

His brows pull in as a brief moment of contemplation covers his face. It reminds me of the concentration he exhibits when brewing beer.

And when thrusting inside me.

“How about one, five, and ten years?”

I snap out of my inappropriate thoughts and take a bite of risotto. As the creamy flavor dances on my tongue, I release a satisfied moan.

“Watch it,” Jude warns, leaning toward me. “Or I’ll throw you on the island and make you really moan. To hell with how hungry you are.” His eyes lock with mine, dark and full of lust as they trace over my mouth. “Because I’m famished for something else to eat.”

“You just had me. All day.”

“There’s no such thing as too much of a good thing, Abbey. And you?” He brushes his lips against mine. “You are most definitely a good thing.”

I whimper at the feel of him, doing everything to remind myself this isn’t real. He can say all the right things, but it won’t change who he is.

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