All Fired Up (Kate Meader) Read Online Free PDF

to comb straight so he could make whatever he said next sound coherent.
    “Is there a problem with me living here?”
    “No,” Jack said in a tone that rhymed with yes . “Lili said that sofa you’re sleeping on now is bad for your back. Not that it seems to have affected your dance moves.”
    Shane tried to swallow the horse-pill-sized lump in his throat, but it refused to budge. The last thing he wanted was for Jack to think he was angling for some kind of advantage. The last thing he wanted was to owe Jack Kilroy anything.
    “I wasn’t trying to wrangle a bed out of you,” he said sharply. “I was just making conversation after we danced at the wedding. I didn’t even think she was listening.”
    Jack held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Oh, I know. Lili likes to take care of people and it looks like you’re her next victim. You know how Italians are. No stray left unfed. Or unhoused.”
    Shane took a few steps toward the kitchen and trailed his fingers along the edge of the sturdy farmer’s table that would be great for making pastry dough. The corner of Jack’s mouth tipped up in a half smile.
    “Are you worried about the rent?”
    “No.” Shane took another look. It was hard to find a furnished flat in Chicago and this was so bloody perfect, he didn’t know where to start. The crazy-looking art above the living room sofa might be as good a place as any. Apparently, someone had stuck egg shells onto a rug sample and daubed it with wood varnish.
    “Is the art included?”
    Jack’s lips twitched. “Sure. What do you think of it?”
    Oh hell, that backfired. What the fuck was he supposed to say that wouldn’t offend the man’s fiancée?
    Shane tilted his head like he was taking in a Playboy centerfold and held his response for a couple of beats. “It’s interesting. Almost Dadaist in its commentary on social connections and the interior life.”
    Jack laughed, a robust sound that transformed the flat into a home. “Don’t worry, mate, Lili’s medium is photography. That belongs to one of her whackadoo artist pals, but good move all the same.”
    Shane couldn’t help his smile nor the way his heart lifted at the easy way Jack drew him in. Still, there was something all wrong about this. He had to refuse.
    “We’ll sort out a manageable rent. The place has a lot going for it—the best Italian food in the city downstairs, parking around back for that sweet ride of yours, only a ten-minute drive to work.” Jack leaned back against the table and folded his arms, a move that made Shane think he might be planning to stay awhile. A few moments clicked by, the silence surprisingly comfortable.
    “You play rugby?” Jack asked.
    “The sport of the oppressor? More a football man, myself.”
    “Don’t tell me, you’re one of those clover-blooded Irishmen who trots out the misty-eyed rebel songs after five pints of Guinness. The Irish have as long a rugby tradition as the British, you know. Besides, I’m Irish, too. On my mother’s side.”
    Shane knew all about Jack’s mother, but he was more interested in what Jack hadn’t said. The man’s father was also Irish but apparently, that connection wasn’t to be acknowledged.
    He turned to take another gander at the apartment as if he needed time to make up his mind. Jack blathered on, which was another thing he found surprising. The guy could talk the hind legs off a herd of mules.
    “I’m in a league that plays in Lincoln Park on Saturday mornings,” Jack was saying. “We get muddy, then hit a local pub for a full English and Premier League footie on the big screen. You should join us the next time.”
    A confetti bomb of—Jesus, joy —exploded in Shane’s chest, and he swallowed to get a grip. Rolling around the mud, a greasy breakfast, and the match on the telly sounded like an excellent way to spend a Saturday. Control yourself, boyo.
    “Sure,” he muttered, as noncommittal as possible.
    Jack answered with a nod and a smile,