Page 39 of Melting the Ice

“Can’t keep up, old man?”

“Fuck off. You’re only a year younger than me.”

“So, have you thought about just kissing her and seeing what happens?”

“More than I want to admit,” I muttered.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

So many things. So many fucking things.

But it didn’t stop me from fixating on the idea of walking back into my condo and doing exactly that as soon as I got off this damn treadmill.

JOSIE

I pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven. The edges looked a little crispy once again, but it wasn’t my fault that the timer had gone off while I was working on the perfect shading of the hero’s flexed abs in a drawing for a new author client, Jane. He was showing off for the heroine while wearing a cape and very little else.

The cookies were fine and loaded with chocolate chips. Maybe they would put Micah in a less grouchy mood after his workout. Yes, I’d totally been messing with him with my yoga poses and questions, but I couldn’t help myself around him. I was flustered because I wanted him, and driving him crazy was just too enjoyable to pass up. I giggled at the memory of him dropping puzzle pieces and then stomping out of the condo.

Okay. I was kind of being an asshole, too. I shouldn’t mess with his routines, but it was just so damn easy. I pulled out a baking rack and moved the cookies off the cookie sheet, snagging one and blowing on it before I took a bite.

Shit. That was hot but so good. Chocolate really did make even boring oatmeal edible. I slid another one onto a plate and sat down at the kitchen island with my tablet. Putting the finishing touches on my drawing, I sent it over to Jane and then checked my Etsy shop for new orders. I had a shift tomorrow night at Tipsy and a few dogs to walk and play with today. Yeah, I didn’t have my own place or car, and my savings account was minimal, but I loved my variety-filled life. The thought of people stuck in one boring job just so they felt responsible was stifling.

I fixed my messy bun and scanned through my emails. There was a new request for an author avatar and logo. She wanted graphics that fit the romantasy genre, one of my favorites. I loved that I was getting more clients weekly just from word of mouth. Opening up my calendar, I scheduled her in and messaged her back with dates before I pulled up another spicy image I’d started yesterday. The hero had full-sleeve tattoos, and it’d taken everything in me not to add a few of Micah’s to the arms.

He’d definitely lose his mind if his tattooed arms wound up on a sexy illustration online. Not that his own photos on a quick Google search weren’t spicy already. It wasn’t like I’d looked him up online that often, of course. They were just easy to find.

Heat pooled in my belly, and I did a little shimmy in my seat. Freaking hell, I shouldn’t want to make out with him as much as I did. It was probably the forbidden aspect that made me keep thinking about what I wanted to do to him. And the forced proximity.

Yeah, I’d been reading too many romance novels lately.

I needed to clear my head. What could I make for dinner tonight? Maybe he was going to avoid the condo all day or eat elsewhere. I should have felt a bit guilty about that since it was his day off and his condo.

Taking the last bite of the cookie on my plate, I slipped off the barstool and walked into the kitchen, then opened the fridge to get some inspiration. I was already defrosting steaks—ooh, maybe shrimp and steak tacos. I usually made a delicious chimichurri sauce to go with them, and I’d just grabbed cotija cheese and tortillas yesterday.

The front door opened, and I stood up, calling out, “Steak and shrimp tacos for dinner tonight? I mean, if you’re eating here.”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, I’m here.”

He sounded off, but any thoughts of teasing him dissipated when he walked in front of the island in all his sweaty glory. I sucked in a breath as he tugged his shirt off and wiped his face with it, his arm muscles bunching as he shifted his body, the tattoos on his arms dancing. My body clenched with a rush of heat.

His shirt passed over his face. “Did you make cookies? And it doesn’t look like a bomb went off.”

I rolled my eyes, getting my wits about me again. “Very funny. It’s that refrigerated cookie dough, and I added chocolate chips. If you’re not going to be nice, you can’t have any.” I crossed my arms over my chest, pretending to pout, and did not miss how his eyes were drawn to my boobs.

Ha. Take that, you with your stupid hot arm porn just out and about on display.

“I’m very nice.”

There was a grit in his voice that had me shivering all over again.

“We’ll see. They’re very tasty but only for good boys.”

“I’m a good boy, too.”

Why were his comments sexually charged? Or was I imagining that?

“Uh, I’m going to jump in the shower. Tacos sound nice, too,” he said.

---