Christmas With the Professor Read Online Free PDF

miles away. The physical distance my wandering imagination created between us was the ultimate Debbie Downer.
    Pancakes smothered in butter and syrup never tasted so plain, but I forced a few bites because my stomach hadn’t gotten the memo that Ang was feeling sorry for herself. I opened a bottle of Sangria I’d purchased from a local winery. Sangria was my favorite intoxicating friend, but I usually made it myself. If everything was going to taste like cardboard though, why go to the trouble?
    I showered and put on a fresh pair of pajamas before finding my place on the couch. When I flipped the television on, Ralphie was reluctantly modeling his pink bunny outfit. The Sangria buzz began and I took a few more swigs, straight from the bottle because I didn’t feel like dirtying a glass. The doorbell rang, causing me to start and spill some of the liquid down the front of my tee-shirt. Perfect. I grabbed a towel from the kitchen on my way to the door.
    “Dr. Taylor.” I felt the color drain from my face.
    “Invite me inside.” He held a large brown bag in one hand. Anxious lines decorated his face and his body grew tense as he stared at me.
    I threw my hands up and backed up. “Sure!” A crazed smile shot across my face. “Won’t you come in?” Might as well finish trampling all over my heart.
    When I turned around from closing the door, he was at my kitchen table, pulling containers out of the bag. What the hell. Curious about his visit and the containers, I watched in silence for a few seconds, trying to get a grip on myself.
    “What’s going on?” I threw the towel over my shoulder and leaned against the wall for support. The Sangria had gone straight to my head. Buzzity buzz buzz buzz.
    “Sit down, Angela.”
    I complied, too tired to argue. The sooner I sat down, the sooner he’d get to the point. At least that’s what I told myself. I didn’t obey because I was feeling particularly submissive and wanted to please him at the moment. Nope. Not a smidge.
    His eyes danced with excitement. “I brought you Christmas dinner.” He peeled the cover off a big circular container and shoved it in front of me.
    “Huh?” Shocked, I stared at the food and hoped he didn’t notice my mouth watering. It looked and smelled delicious. “Did you make this?” I didn’t know of any take-out places open on Christmas in the area.
    He met my eyes, smiled, and held up a finger. “Just a moment.” He disappeared and clanked around in the kitchen before returning with glasses of wine, silverware, and napkins balanced between his hands.
    So he wanted to see me again. Was this grand gesture supposed to make up for our awkward goodbye and two days of silence? As much as I wanted to be mad, watching him set the table, clearly out of his element, my feelings turned all gooey like cookie dough.
    “Eat. Before it gets cold.” He arched an eyebrow and didn’t lower it until I’d taken a bite. Mmm. Homemade mashed potatoes with turkey gravy. He didn’t have to tell me again.
    “You’re a wonderful cook,” I said in-between bites. The food settling in my stomach soaked up the alcohol like magic.
    “Actually,” he corrected, “I’m the son of a wonderful cook. I told my mother I was spending Christmas with a housebound friend and she gladly put the plates together.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh. The big bad Dom’s mommy had cooked up the meal for him. Unfucking believable. “A housebound friend, eh?”
    He swallowed and gestured at me with his fork. “ ‘Housebound friend’ sounds much better than ‘the girl I spent a kinky afternoon with two days ago.’ ”
    I smirked and took a sip of wine. “Don’t forget former student.”
    Darkness clouded his eyes and he leaned forward, looking at me like I was more appetizing than the turkey on his plate. “We have unfinished business, Angela.”
    I gulped. Unfinished business indeed. “Do we?” I asked sarcastically.
    That damn eyebrow of his rose again. “I