Firefighter's Virgin

“Maybe,” she said, with a small smile. “If you keep reminding me.”

I laughed and kissed her, before proceeding to whisper the words in her ear once more.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Natalie

I whirled around the kitchen, trying to figure out what I needed to do next. The chicken was in the oven roasting with the potatoes and the carrots, and I had pasta boiling on the stove. I checked the cookbook for what seemed the hundredth time that hour. The recipe called for pasta cooked al dente, but I had no idea how to make sure.

“Fuck,” I blurted under my breath. “This is a nightmare.”

Just then, the timer went off on the oven, and I rushed forward to check the chicken. I opened it up and bent down. The carrots and potatoes looked golden and delicious, but the chicken looked practically anemic. I was nervous about leaving it in the oven for much longer though, especially because the vegetables were done, so I decided to take it out just to be safe.

I turned off the oven and then remembered that I needed to take my pasta out of the water. I had grown familiar with Chance’s kitchen, but that still didn’t mean I had developed any talent for actually using anything in it. The countertops were a mess, and the sink was already filled with pots and pans that I couldn’t even remember using.

“Why did I insist on cooking dinner,” I moaned.

I drained the pasta and put it into a bowl. I tried to check to see how my pasta was cooked and ended up burning one of my fingers. Then I got out my phone and Googled what to do if your chicken had no color and looked undercooked. One site suggested popping the chicken into a skillet and cooking it in some olive oil on the stovetop until it was cooked through.

Liking that idea, I grabbed another frying pan, added some oil and transferred the chicken. I put it on a low fire and let it cook through slowly. I decided to try and clean up a bit before Chance got home. I had made quite the mess, and even though I knew he wouldn’t mind, I didn’t want him to come home to that. He had another departmental meeting today, and those kinds of meetings usually ran late.

I was just about to start washing up everything in the sink when I heard a call come through. Believing it was Chance, I jumped to answer it, but I saw Missy’s name instead of Chance’s.

“Hello, stranger,” she said, the moment I picked up. “You recognize me? We used to be roommates once, a very long time ago. You probably don’t remember.”

I smiled. “You were always the dramatic one,” I said. “We’re still roommates.”

“Please, it’s been almost a month since you got back from Paris and ever since you got back, you’ve been practically living with Chance. I barely ever see you.”

“Oh, come on, we saw each other yesterday,” I reminded her.

“For like two seconds,” she said. “You said hi as you grabbed a bag and headed over to Chance’s place.”

“He was cooking me dinner,” I said. “I wanted to be punctual.”

“You mean you wanted to get to his place soon so that you could have wild sex on his kitchen table.”

I laughed. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a bit preoccupied lately. I haven’t been around much … I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“You will?” she asked. “How?”

I laughed. “Can I think on it?”

“No, I want promises,” she said. “I miss my best friend.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Bull,” Missy said, but I could tell she was amused. “You’re too in love with your hot professor to notice anyone else.”

“Hey, cut me some slack,” I said, without bothering to deny it. “He’s my first love.”

“Tell me again.”

“Tell you about?”

“Paris,” Missy said with a wistful sigh.

“I’ve already told you everything about Paris.”