Scorched (Frigid 2) - Page 17

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“Holy crap,” Andrea breathed, staring up at the cabin as she walked up the steps to the wrap-around porch. “How did you guys end up with this place?”

I stepped aside as she stopped beside me. Looking at the wide wrought-iron entry door and the floor-to-ceiling window across the front, the cedar log cabin was a McMansion. Big enough for more than just the four of us, an entire soccer team could be housed comfortably in this place, but I was glad I wasn’t going to have to fight a shit-ton of guys for Andrea’s attention this week.

“My mom knows the owner,” Kyler answered, shoving the key in the door. His mom ran a hugely successful bar restoration company, which afforded some hellish contacts. “So, we lucked out with this.”

“I’ll say.” Andrea grinned as she glanced at me. I expected to be on the receiving end of one of her death glares, but the grin had reached her eyes, warming them. “I cannot wait to see what the inside looks like.”

Kyler pushed open the doors and a rush of cold air greeted us. Letting Andrea head in before me earned me an arched look, which I returned with a grin. She shook her head as she crossed the threshold.

She came to a complete stop, and I nearly plowed into her back—definitely not in the fun way either.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, stepping to the right. An awed look crossed her pretty face as she took in the high ceilings and the exposed rafters, the huge fans and skylights above the sitting room. I couldn’t believe, with the kind of money she came from, that this was the first extremely nice home she’d seen.

I’d have bet she grew up in something like this.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned that grin to Sydney. “Wow.”

“And you haven’t seen the rest. Kyler’s mom sent us pictures of it. There’s a living room on the other side of the kitchen, then a sunroom. Five bedrooms upstairs—three of them have their own bathrooms.”

“And there’s a media room in the basement, fully loaded,” Kyler added.

That caught my attention.

We crossed into a room I wasn’t sure had a purpose other than to look nice. With its white wicker furniture and thick cushions in pristine condition, I would bet money no one had ever used it. The stairs leading up were to the left, just outside the kitchen, and Jesus, the kitchen was bigger than my mom’s kitchen and living room back at home.

Andrea stared at the stainless-steel vent hanging from the ceiling above the gas grilltop stove. “I’m going to make this kitchen my bitch.”

Sitting the luggage down, I pushed my sunglasses up. “You can cook?”

She shot me a long look. “Yes. I can do things other than drinking my weight in liquor.”

Normally I would’ve fired back with something equally biting, but I managed not to. I deserved an award. “So what are you going to make me for dinner, then?”

“Ha!” she laughed, sitting the groceries on the counter. “Keep wishing for that. Never going to happen.”

Sydney grinned as she joined Andrea, helping her unload the groceries. “That sucks for you, Tanner, because Andrea can really cook.”

“Yep.” She shoved a large pack of ground beef in the fridge. “Yep. I can.”

Leaning against the counter, near the sink, Kyler grabbed a water bottle from the stash his girl was trying to put in the fridge. “Her lasagna is banging.”

I frowned. “You’ve eaten her lasagna?”

Kyler flipped the water bottle in his hand. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s fucked up,” I muttered, oddly…jealous.

Andrea giggled as she looked at me over her shoulder. “Maybe you should’ve been nicer to me, huh?” She turned back, picking up the case of beer and shoving it onto the bottom shelf of the fridge. “Then you’d be all up and familiar with my lasagna.”

“That’s not what I want to be all up in,” I said under my breath.

She stiffened. “What?”

“Nothing. Just clearing my throat.” I ignored Kyler’s wide-eyed gaze as I picked up the luggage. “But guess what? I have your stuff and I’m going to pick your room for you.”

She whipped around, arms at her side. “You are not picking my room.”

“Oh, yes I am.” I took a step back and waited as Sydney and Kyler exchanged looks.

Andrea’s eyes narrowed.

Our gazes locked, and then I wheeled around, heading for the stairs, not even attempting to keep the grin off my face when I heard her curse. I was acting like a fourteenyear-old boy desperate for attention. And I was—desperate for her attention, that is. Like a kid with a new toy, I didn’t want to share her with Kyler and Sydney. A second later, she was right behind me. “I’m picking my room,” she insisted.

“So, you say.” I climbed the steep stairs at a rapid clip.

She groaned. “You’re a tool. And your legs are too long. And you walk too fast.”

I laughed as I reached the landing. When I glanced down, Andrea was still several steps below me. “It’s not my fault your legs are short.”

“My legs are not short.” She finally joined me at the top, her cheeks flushed pink. “Your legs are just abnormally long. You have freak legs.”

“You know what they say about long legs…”

Her eyes rolled. “They do not say that about long legs.”

“They do in my world.” I stopped at the first door and elbowed it open, revealing a massive room with a bed big enough for the four of us to sleep comfortably in. Across from the bed, a huge-ass TV hung from the ceiling. “I think this must be the master.”


Tags: Jennifer L. Armentrout Frigid Romance
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