Advertising for Love (Ebony Nights) by Roseland Elisabeth

Author:Roseland, Elisabeth [Roseland, Elisabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2012-12-10T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Greg set the tray down in front of her. The fragrant steam rose from the crusty Panini, the melted cheese oozing down the sides. On the tray also sat a small plate heaped high with potato chips and a bowl of strawberries with a mountain of whipped cream. A beer fresh from the fridge was squeezed in the corner, and the beads of perspiration ran down its long neck and formed a small pool of water on the tray.

“This looks fantastic.” Aisha sat up and pushed the rumpled sheets to the side. Greg’s discarded T-shirt lay in a heap on the floor by the bed, and she grabbed it and put it on before turning back to her lunch. “Did you do all of this just now?”

“Yeah, it was easy. These don’t take very long to make.”

Aisha picked up the sandwich and took a bite. The flavors exploded in her mouth. “What’s in this?”

“It’s just a grilled chicken breast, spinach and some goat cheese. Oh, and a homemade raspberry dijon mustard.”

“That you just whipped up.” Aisha took another bite.

Greg chuckled. “Well, yeah. I am a chef, you know.”

“And what about these?” Aisha held up a potato chip. “Did you just whip these up, too?”

“No.” Greg took one off of her plate and ate it. “Those I bought. But next time, I can make the potato chips too, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, you know, you really should do that because clearly you’re slipping on this whole lunch thing.” Aisha tried to keep herself from smiling. “I mean, how could you even think to serve me potato chips from a bag?” She ate one. “Oh, hold on. These are Snaps. My favorite. I’ll let the whole potato chip thing slide. This time.”

“You like Snaps too? Best potato chip on the market, especially the barbeque ones.”

“I love those.” Aisha took a sip from her ice cold beer. “You know, I grew up not far from the factory. Some days you’d go outside and the air would smell like potato chips.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” Aisha took another big bite from her rapidly disappearing sandwich. “There was nothing better than going down to the corner store on a sunny summer day—the air smelling like frying potatoes—and getting a bag of Snaps and a grape pop.”

“You like the grape? I liked the strawberry.”

“Your store had the strawberry? That’s fancy. Ours never did. Only grape and orange.” Greg scooted up next to her on the bed, making himself comfortable by propping pillows against the headboard. Shirtless, his ab muscles flexed and contracted with every move. Aisha’s sandwich now gone, she picked up the beer and leaned back. Her shoulder pressed up against his. “This was great. Thanks for convincing me to play hooky for a few hours.”

“Well, you work too hard.” He nudged her affectionately. “You need to take a break every once in a while.”

The cool bubbles tickled their way down her throat as she took a sip from the bottle. “I have to work hard.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I’ve got bills to pay.

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