Delivered
Fast
Portland Heat #3
Portland Heat #3
By: Annabeth Albert
Releasing May 26th, 2015
Kensington
Blurb
Portland, Oregon, aka Hotlandia, where the coffee shops, restaurants, and bakeries are ready to serve everything piping hot, fresh, and ready to go—like the hard-working, hard-bodied men behind the counters—with no reservations…
Sure, Chris O’Neal has
problems. His restaurant is still co-owned by his ex. His flannel-and-tattoos
style is making him accidentally trendy. He can’t remember the last time he went
out and had fun. But he’s not lonely, he’s driven. And the hot bakery delivery
boy is not his problem, no matter how sweet his buns.
Chris is old enough to
know Lance Degrassi’s sculpted good looks and clever double entendres spell
nothing but trouble. Lance is still in college—he should be hitting the clubs
and the books, chasing guys his own age, not pursuing some gruff
motorcycle-riding workaholic. Especially when he’ll be leaving for grad school
in a few months. But Lance keeps hanging around, lending a hand, charming Chris
to distraction. Maybe some steaming hot no-strings indulgence won’t hurt.
Then again, maybe it
will…
The
delivery boy had sweet buns. Not to mention prize-winning rolls. He wore a pair of those fancy
over-the-ear headphones and shimmied around the white bakery truck, his hips
and ass working in time to what was apparently a killer beat. Even the way he
climbed into the back of the truck was a choreographed dance. I wasn’t usually
one to get distracted by eye candy, but that ass . . .
I’d
propped open the service door at the rear of my coffee shop about fifteen
minutes earlier, hoping to coax a cool breeze into the stuffy storeroom where
I’d been working. I leaned against the door frame, appreciating the
unexpectedly fine view in the alley.
When
the guy emerged from the truck—headphones around his neck, carrying a stack of
pink boxes—I pushed away from the door and met him at the edge of the concrete
steps. I tried to play it cool, like I hadn’t spent the last five minutes
perving on his world-class bubble butt.
“You’re
not Vic,” I said as I ushered him into the hallway that led back to the kitchen
and storeroom.
“Nope.
I’m Lance, Vic’s cousin. I’ll be handling your deliveries from here on out.”
His smile—a wide, toothy grin—was almost as adorable as his butt. The only
resemblance he had to my usual beefy delivery guy was in the chiseled facial
features and light olive skin. He looked like he’d be right at home playing World
Cup soccer for Italy with his wide shoulders, lean torso, muscular thighs and
legs. And that ass.
Which
I was going to stop thinking about right the hell now. He was too young—I could
see that even more clearly under the fluorescent lights of my kitchen. Early
twenties, if that. His gelled-up black hair fell across his forehead in
artfully bleached strands. Too high maintenance for my taste.
“I’m
Chris O’Neal. Here, let me help you with those.” Taking part of the stack from
him, I showed him the metal racks where I stashed recent deliveries.
“Nice
setup you’ve got here.” Lance looked around the cramped but efficient kitchen
area.
“Thanks.”
Most of The People’s Cup square footage was devoted to the coffee bar and
seating area in the front, so I made do in the back with my organization
system, which bordered on the obsessive. I’d installed floor-to-ceiling
shelving on every wall, including over the cooktop and counters. The center
prep table was where most of the action happened, and its broad expanse was
covered with the beginnings of several dishes for tomorrow’s Sunday brunch.
“I’ve
been here before with friends from PSU—for your Sunday thing. And during the
week once or twice to study.”
I
made a noncommittal noise. Great. A
college kid. As if I needed to feel like more of an old, cranky perv.
“Let’s
get the rest of the boxes.” I herded him back out to the alley. I was eager to
get him and his distracting ass on his way. I had several more hours of staging
work ahead of me to prepare for Sunday’s buffet. During the week we were just
another coffeehouse, but we were known all over Portland for our Sunday brunch.
“So
are you the owner? This all yours?” Lance asked as he got another load of boxes
from the truck.
“Yeah.
Mine and my partner’s. Business partner.” I fumbled the stack of boxes he
handed me. Why had it felt so necessary to make that qualification? Like the
kid would be in any way interested in my messed-up business relationship with
my stubborn bastard of an ex.
Despite
his pretty-boy looks, the kid was probably straight; he had a confident swagger
girls his age likely found irresistible.
“I’ve
been to your other place, too—the one in Northwest. Did the delivery there
earlier. I like this location better.”
“Me
too,” I said, my voice drier than gin. “Randy give you any issues?”
Randy
had his location; I had mine. Our relationship had turned into something out of
a bad chick flick, except there wasn’t any cute ending coming.
“Randy?
Nah. It was some girl named Becky, with a nose ring and huge gauges.”
I
nodded. That sounded about right for Randy’s taste. And I was not going to care whether he was banging
her or how long she’d last as an employee. His shitty employee turnover wasn’t
my problem. I’d washed my hands of what happened at the 23rd Street store.
“You
want a cup of coffee for the road?” I asked before I could stop myself. It was
the same courtesy I’d always extended to his cousin and to most of our other
delivery people, but somehow my offer felt tinged with more than politeness.
“What
do you have on offer today?” His grin was more than a little wicked.
Wouldn’t you like to know? I bit back the
flirtatious retort. And what the hell was up with that? I did not flirt. Hell, anything other than
bitter and grumpy hadn’t been my MO for months now.
*****
Can
Lance bring out the softer side of this cranky chef? Find out in DELIVERED
FAST!
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23450162-delivered-fast
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/144476-portland-heat
Author
Info
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking
romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance
out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper
shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny
stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding
happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights
supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a
rewarding day job and wrangles two toddlers.
Represented by Saritza Hernandez of the
Corvisiero Literary Agency
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