Made Pho You Read online

  Made Pho You

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  About

  1. Trent

  Trista

  2. Trent

  Trista

  3. Trent

  Trista

  4. Trent

  Trista

  5. Trent

  Trista

  6. Trent

  Trista

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  The Way To A Man’s Heart Book 6

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About

  MADE PHO YOU

  The Way To A Man’s Heart Book 5

  The moment I see Trista at a local restaurant, eating noodles, adding extra Sriracha to her soup, and speaking her mind without a filter, I know she’s the one pho me.

  She’s curvy, courageous and cute as a button.

  One lunch and I’m crazy pho her.

  I’ve dedicated my life to getting a position at the university.

  But it’s my first day on the job and I’m already screwed.

  Trista — the girl I’ve fallen for — is my student.

  This job is once-in-a-lifetime, but no one can have it all.

  And I want to love her pho-ever.

  Dear Reader,

  In those glasses Trent is like Clark Kent, only better.

  Deep down, he’s the superhero Trista has been dreaming of.

  Even though she’s his kryptonite, he pho-king loves her!

  This short and steamy read is un-pho-gettable! Promise!

  xo, frankie

  (Okay, okay — that blurb got a little punny. Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself! LOL)

  Chapter One

  Trent

  By the time dinner rolls around, I’m starving. Looking out the window of my office on campus, I see that it’s pouring down rain outside. Soup sounds like a good idea. The weather sucks, considering it’s spring, but still, it doesn’t put me in a sour mood. To be honest, nothing could right now.

  I’ve worked my entire adult life for this moment. To be a literature professor at a university. Tomorrow is the first day of spring semester, and as I pull on my sports coat and then grab my umbrella, I feel as prepared as I will ever be.

  The lesson plans are written, the handouts are printed, and I know which classroom I will be teaching in.

  So, I leave my office in good spirits — knowing the rain sure as hell couldn’t damper my mood. I head down the hall, keeping my eyes lowered because there are too many undergrads who are trying to get my attention.

  It's frustrating because I'm not interested in breaking the code of ethics. So, I do my best to avert my eyes and ignore their oohs and ahhs because yes, there are literal oohs and ahhs coming from the women I pass. I'm used to it.

  I wear glasses and have been called Clark Kent more times than I can count. All women see is the superhero. But I’m not interested in random women. I am waiting for my woman. Just haven’t found her yet.

  When I leave campus, I hang a right, remembering a Vietnamese restaurant down the street. I’m new to town and want something familiar. My mom always took me to a similar place in our hometown of Seattle. Whenever she was having an off day with her writing, she'd convince me that the only thing that would fix it was pho. And even though my day is not going bad, I am feeling a bit homesick.

  Thinking of my mother, I pull out my phone and call her as I walk down the sidewalk, an opened umbrella keeping the rain away.

  “Hey Mom,” I say when she picks up.

  “Trent?” She sighs. “Thanks for calling. I've been thinking about you. Are you all ready for classes tomorrow?”

  “Yup,” I tell her. “I've been prepping for this long enough and now it's finally here.”

  “I doubt you'll miss being a research assistant. Being a professor of literature is going to be challenging, but you'll do well.”

  I chuckle. “Okay, Mom, thanks for the pep talk.”

  She sighs again. “I don't have any worries about your actual profession. It's the other things I'm worried about.”

  “And what's that, Mom?” I ask, already knowing what she's going to say.

  “I worry about you being alone out there. A new city, a new apartment, a new job. It's a lot.”

  “I'll be home this summer and I'll come visit over the holidays.” As her only child, I know how much she misses me. With my dad having passed away a year ago, I want to be sure I am there for her.

  “I know that, but the holidays are a long time away,” she says. “And you say you'll be here for summer, but who knows what can happen between now and then?”

  I smile, running a hand over my short beard. “Like what, Mom? You think I'm going to go off and get married and sweep my bride away on a honeymoon?”

  My mom laughs softly. “Well, that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Trent, you are twenty-eight. It's about time you settled down.”

  “Good to know where you stand on all this, Mom. But I was just calling to say I was thinking about you. I'm headed to get some pho, just like we used to do.”

  “Oh, I remember.” I can practically hear her smile through the phone. Even if she is pushing marriage on me, I’m glad I called. “I’d be midway through writing a book and get totally stuck. The only thing that would get me out was a bowl of soup.” She laughs. “Are you feeling stuck, sweetie?”

  “No, Mom, I'm not stuck. It's just raining, so I wanted something warm.”

  “All right, well, thank you for calling,” she says.

  “Love you, Mom,” I say before hanging up, then I slip my phone back in my pocket, my stomach growling. I get to the restaurant, thinking I'm lucky to have a mom who works so hard. She's been a writer my entire life, publishing a book every few years, and it's probably one of the reasons I'm so into literature. I spent my life in the library. Now though, I'm going to spend my life at a university.

  I pull open the door, breathing in the rich aroma of the restaurant. I scan the room and see every table is taken. The booths are full. Even the counter. Everyone must have had the same idea as me, wanting soup as a way to get away from the cold.

  A waitress comes up and asks if a sixty-minute wait is okay. I hesitate, knowing just how hungry I am. Before I can answer, a voice pipes up. A woman is sitting alone at a red vinyl booth. She has curly blonde hair and a bright smile, eyes so big she looks like a Disney princess. She's holding a menu in her hand, and waves it.

  “You can sit here if you like,” she tells me.

  The hostess shrugs. “If you want.”

  I nod, stepping toward the booth and sliding into the empty side. “You sure?” I ask. “You don't even know me.”

  She winks and gives me a smile. “I think I can share my booth so long as you don't mind me slurping my noodles.”

  I chuckle. “I don't mind,” I say. “I’m just happy to have a place to sit. I was in the mood.”

  She licks her lips. “In the mood, huh? For what?” She laughs and I laugh too. Having no idea what she finds so funny. But her energy is captivating. Pulling me in.

  “In the mood for pho,” I tell her, and she nods knowingly.

  “I think that's pho-nomenal,” she says with a smile that has my cock twitching and my heart thumping.

  Trista

  Nothing can put me in a sour mood today. I'm feeling fantastic.

  I have my class schedule all set. I have all my things prepped and ready to go for the start of spri
ng semester.

  I even know what I'm wearing tomorrow to class. Black pencil skirt, vintage heels and a white blouse. I'll tuck it in, with a pink handkerchief tied around my neck. Hair in a high ponytail. Yes, I am going for the Elle Woods look from Legally Blonde, although I'm not studying law.

  I don't really know what I'm studying. But I am starting college. I didn't make it to fall semester or winter term, but here I am in the spring, all ready to go.

  Not that I'm exactly excited about the college part. But I am excited about having a plan. My parents are excited too. They are tired of me taking dead-end jobs. They want me to have a career. A future. Problem is, I don’t exactly want one. Not the future — the career. It’s never been my thing.

  I tap my nails on the tabletop. I just did them — acrylic, hot pink, gemstones on the nail bed in the shape of a heart. I smile up at the handsome man sitting across from me at my favorite restaurant. My day just could not get any better.

  “So, what's your name?” I ask him as a waitress hands him a menu and pours us each a glass of water. I clasp my hands together. He does the same.

  “I’m Trent,” he says with a gravelly voice that sends a shiver of longing down my spine. “And you?”

  “I’m Trista.”

  “And what brings you here today, Trista?”

  “It's my favorite restaurant. I've been coming here for years. My grandmother used to make me pho every time I visited, but she’s passed away, so it was my mission to find the best broth in the city.”

  “And this place compares to your grandma?” he asks, looking around.

  “Yes. And they have amazing reviews. Have you read them on Yelp?” I smile. “To be completely honest, I've definitely helped the star rating. I created like, fifteen dummy accounts.”

  “Wow. You're committed,” he says, deadpanned.

  “I’m not scared of commitment. Are you?” We laugh as a waitress comes over. “I’d like an order of pot stickers and a large steak pho,” I tell her. “Oh, can you add snap peas to it?”

  “Sure,” she says. Trent orders meatball pho and the waitress walks away.

  “So why have you never been here before?” I ask Trent.

  “I just moved to town, actually.”

  “Yeah, from where?”

  “Seattle,” he tells me, running a hand over his black beard. His glasses are just adorable. Everything about him is, in fact.

  “Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I tell him a little loudly. What can I say? My voice carries. He chuckles, apparently entertained by me. The soup comes a few minutes later and I begin adding bean sprouts to my broth, some jalapeños, lime juice, Sriracha. I reach for my chopsticks. He does the same.

  He doesn't add any basil to his bowl which, frankly, I find weird.

  “What?” he asks, noticing my reaction and smiling. “I’m not a basil guy.”

  “I've literally never heard of such thing,” I say with a laugh, shoveling noodles into my mouth. I moan. “Oh my God, this is so good.”

  He laughs, watching me. “I’ve never met a woman who looks so good slurping noodles into her mouth.”

  “No?” I ask, eyes widening. We both lean in close, and I can feel the charge of electricity running between us. God, Trent is so hot, so good-natured, I’ve never been drawn to a man like this before. “Well, lucky you,” I say. “Because I’m good at fitting lots in my mouth at once.”

  He nearly chokes laughing at my innuendo, and so do I. I pick up a pot sticker and dip it in soy sauce. I moan exaggeratedly. “You’re killing me, Trista,” he says, his voice a few octaves lower this time. His eyes lock onto mine.

  “So, what are you doing tonight?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Just got off work. Maybe go to the gym?”

  I twist my lips. “Sounds boring.”

  “Did you have something else in mind?”

  I lick my lips. The heat from the soup is warming up more than my belly. “Well, if it’s a workout you’re after, maybe I can help with that.”

  Chapter Two

  Trent

  I’m not sure what this girl is playing at, but damn, one meal with her and I know I’m playing for keeps.

  She’s incredible. Sexy. Funny. Sincere.

  Damn, I’m in trouble. When she licks her lips and offers to help me with a workout, my cock hardens and my mind races. I need her in my bed. Stat.

  She seems to be thinking the same thing because for the next ten minutes we eat, with eyes locked, slurping the broth as we finish our meal. Both of us ready to get the pho-k out of there.

  I lay cash on the table and stand. I look down at her, offering her a hand. “We’re going to have to run.”

  She frowns. “Why?”

  “It’s pouring down rain and I don’t want you to get wet.”

  She bites her bottom lip, eyebrows lifting. “Oh, Trent, it’s far too late for that.”

  I growl, taking hold of her hand, and we leave in a rush. Before I open my umbrella, she pulls out her phone. “What’s your address?” she asks.

  I give it to her quickly. “It’s just around the corner, we don’t need a car.”

  “Oh, I was just texting my brother, Kaden, your address in case you’re a crazy person and I go missing.”

  I laugh. “You think I’d hurt you?”

  She puts her phone away, stepping toward me. I wrap my arms around her, and she stands on her tiptoes — she’s a slip of a girl, a pixie or some sort of fairy, a fantasy on all accounts — and I kiss her. In the rain. Droplets splashing down on us. We’re soaked through, but we don’t stop, don’t seem to care.

  Her lips are like pillows of desire, warm and soft and so welcoming. She doesn’t pull back, hesitate — she’s all in. Her arms wrap around my neck and I hold her closer still, swearing to myself that I will never let her down.

  It’s intense, the feeling of protectiveness that rushes through me, and my heart beats hard in my chest as the kiss deepens, intensifies, becomes more than lust — it turns into something special. Something so damn real that when our lips part and our tongues meet, my heart becomes hers.

  I hold her cheek in my hand, taking all of her in, needing more. Everything. Her.

  She needs it too.

  Finally, we pull apart and I swallow hard. “I’m pho-king falling for you after a single kiss.”

  She laughs. Her smile is broad, her lips are swollen, and she doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t say I’m crazy. Instead, she wraps her arms tighter around me and I pick her up. Her legs wrap around me, and it’s crazy how good this feels, but it feels right. Us. “Take me to bed, Trent. Now.”

  Trista

  His apartment is sharp — all granite and stainless steel and dark leather. “Cozy,” I say with a smirk.

  “I rented it already furnished,” he tells me, locking the door then heading to the kitchen. He pulls out two wine glasses. “Red or white?”

  “Red.”

  He nods, selecting a bottle from an expansive wine rack. He pours us wine, then hands me a glass. I’ve already taken off my wet coat and slipped off my wedge sandals. I am shorter than I was when we kissed. Standing next to him now, I feel even smaller, and a surge of want runs through me. I liked it when his arms held me — I felt so safe, so protected. It wasn’t a feeling I thought I was after, but then he had me pressed against his chest and it felt so right. So good. It felt like home.

  The thought has me reeling. Same as his words a few minutes ago did — I’m falling for you.

  People talk about love at first sight… but I never considered whether it was real.

  But something about this seems almost too perfect. Too good to be true.

  “What is it?” he asks before taking a sip of the rich wine.

  “Just thinking about how I don’t really know anything about you,” I say, running my fingertips along his countertops.

  “I’m an open book.” He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “What do you want to know?”

  “We can s
tart with easy questions… what’s your favorite movie?”

  He smiles. “Rudy.”

  I laugh. “Didn’t expect that.”

  “No?” He smiles. “I always root for the underdog.”

  “Same. My favorite is Legally Blonde for the same reason. No one thought Elle would get into law school.”

  “Both college movies.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “You’re right, that’s funny.”

  “Okay, my turn to ask. I already know your favorite food, so what’s your favorite holiday?”

  “Thanksgiving. Obviously.”

  “Because of the food?”

  I smile. “Mostly. I have a soft spot for mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  “My mom makes some mean sweet potatoes. You’ll love them.”

  Shaking my head, I run a hand over his arm. “That was smooth. Already inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner.”

  He chuckles. “You two will get along great,” he tells me, taking my hand in his and examining my fingers. “Her name is Sandra and she gets her nails done every week. You’ll have that in common.”

  I shrug. “Actually, I do them.”

  “Wow. You’re really artistic. I’m impressed.”

  “You are?” I laugh. “I’ve never met a guy who even noticed my nail art.”

  “Well, you’ve been around the wrong men.”

  “That sounds about right,” I say, swirling the last bit of wine in my glass.

  “You’ve had bad relationships in the past?”

  Swallowing hard, I tell him the truth. “I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. Most guys think I’m a bit extra.”