Page 7 of My Surly Valentine

I give my head a shake, then lock the door behind me, realizing I’d better give something else a good shake in the shower to release some of this pent-up lust.

Fifteen minutes later, I sit down at the table. Hazel serves up some kind of fancy beef and pasta dish that she seems very proud of.

It’s all I can do to keep from moaning when I taste it. “That’s it. You’re hired. Full-time chef at this cabin. I’ll pay you anything you want, forever.”

Hazel laughs, her eyes glowing. She asks me a few questions about Hope Peak as we start to eat, then the conversation turns to all the books on my shelves.

My plate is almost clean when I ask, “So, what’s this job you’re so excited about?”

She beams. “I’m the new slush pile reader for an up and coming literary podcast.”

I blink, staring blankly. “Do ordinary people know what that means?”

She smirks. “Any literary press, magazine, or podcast that accepts submissions from writers ends up with an enormous pile to go through. Someone needs to read everything and categorize it.”

I nod, forcing my hand to stop reaching for hers. “As in, weed out the bullshit?”

“Exactly. I’ve settled on three categories.Not ready yet, which is my polite way of saying no thank you.So close– which is how I’m going to tell people that their work is almost there, or just not quite the right topic for us right now, but please submit again. The pieces that are extremely well written and on topic go in theHeck yespile and will be sent to the producers with my notes.”

“What kind of topics?”

“The producers and host have a list.” Hazel grins widely. “That’s why I think I’ll be able to keep the job. I’ve been compiling a spreadsheet that categorizes everything they’ve done in the past year and a half, plus all the topics they’ve said they’re interested in for future shows. There’s also a spot for current trends in movies, television, and books. So I can categorize everything both in quality of writing,andrelevance to the topics we’re looking for. I think that’s my secret sauce.”

Leaning back in my seat, my chair creaks. For all that I make sturdy stuff for other people, I’d forgotten how cheap the furniture at this cabin is. “So you’re streamlining the flood of submissions to make it easier for them to make their selections?”

“Exactly.”

“What if there’s a piece you love and desperately want them to choose?”

She smiles, her eyes dancing. “I was thinking that maybe I’d add a few stars to those.”

We chat more about the podcast as we wash the dishes together; I’m fascinated by her. She’s studied English lit, but instead of sticking with the classics, Hazel seems focused on bringing modern literature to the masses.

She curls up in bed with her laptop to read, and I sit at the table with my own book for a while. Hopefully she doesn’t noticethat I’m turning the pages at an alarmingly slow rate. I can’t focus on anything but her.

She’s only been here for one full day and my cabin already looks nicer. She’s quiet and leaves me alone when I’m reading. Well-mannered. A hard worker. Gorgeous, and quick to laugh. Everything a man could want in a woman. But it’s her raw sensuality that’s really making it impossible for me to concentrate. Every time she looks at me with those big, curious eyes, the need to tear her clothes off hits me again.

If I instinctively wrapped my arms around her in my sleep when we’d barely spoken, how will I be able to control my urges tonight? Although I’m sure as hell going to try…even if I have to wake myself up every hour to check.

Once I see Hazel yawning, I stand up and stretch. “’Bout that time?”

“Yeah.” She jumps up to plug in her laptop and goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

I strip down to my shorts and jump into bed before she returns. My back is toward her as she slips under the covers and turns off the light, whispering, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I wait for her to fall asleep. She doesn’t. The wind is whistling outside, and although the cabin is warm enough, the sound seems to rattle her.

After about twenty minutes of listening to Hazel toss, I roll over to face her. “Are you cold?”

“Maybe just a little, I guess.”

Don’t say it, don’t say it,don’t say it,I mentally yell at myself.There’s no way she–

“If you want to back up and use me as a heater again, feel free.”

Dammit.

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