I’ve been feeling incredibly guilty about disappearing on the hot dog joint I used to frequent before The Wurst existed. To make matters worse, my fingers have been itching to slip under Maik’s apron and explore his thick, juicy—

Stop it, Andrew.

Gah. It’s just that I keep catching myself ogling him whenever I visit. It’s entirely inappropriate. And the poor guy tries to be friendly by asking questions about me. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, so I keep my mouth shut.

Yeah, I feel bad about that, too.

Because of this, I’ve wanted to avoid The Wurst, but I just can’t stay away. I skipped out on buying them for one week—one week—and apparently I couldn’t handle it. Charlotte called me grumpy. Douchey. Irritable. Snappish. She nagged me about it until I went back for my weekly fix, confirming that I do, in fact, have an addiction. I’ve become a goddamn fiend for those stupid links, and the most frustrating part is that I always fantasize about Maik when I eat them. I need that sausage.

I’m not the only one who loves his meat, either.

I brought a tray of them to a work potluck and it was all gone before we got through half of anyone else’s offerings.

Of course, as our team ate and chatted in the cafeteria, I imagined him sitting in my chair and wearing nothing but an apron, his broad shoulders bare and his thick thighs spread. I was ready to untie his straps, fall to my knees, and thank him for filling my mouth with his juicy goodness.

Entirely inappropriate.

So I return to my old haunt, hoping that I can clear my head. Get my brain back. Act like me again.

I buy one of the wieners that’s always on the hot rotating rack here. I haven’t had one of these in months now, so maybe it’ll set me straight. The guy behind the counter stuffs it into a bun and drizzles condiments on top, the way I used to order it.

He remembers.

It almost feels like we’re going through the motions with an ex we live with but don’t talk to, a silent routine we keep doing out of habit.

I drop a wad of cash on the counter with an awkward smile—which may have looked more like a grimace—and find the park bench I always ate my hot dogs on. A breeze blows hair into my eyes as I take a big bite. Somehow, even with all my favorite toppings, it only tastes bland and salty.

This isn’t what I want.

This doesn’t even come close to Maik’s knackutay.

I need me some knackutay.

Spotting a bus, I choke down what’s in my mouth, dump the remains of the wiener into a nearby bin, and run down the block. I make it to the stop just in time and hop on.

Now that the rush-hour crowd has cleared, there are plenty of empty seats on the bus, but I’m too anxious to sit. A quick glance at my watch tells me that it’s about six-forty, and that worries me. I know it’ll take at least fifteen minutes to get from here to the stop on his block. I’m cutting it way too close for comfort. The shop closes at seven, and I’m not a religious man but I’m praying, praying, that I’ll make it to the door before Maik locks up.

Sprinting up the hill, I get to the shop just as Maik flips the sign from Open to Closed. When he sees me all sweaty and winded, he opens the door a crack.

“Can I help you?” His voice is unsteady. Maybe he doesn’t want me here.

I hold up a finger as I try to catch my breath. “Sorry I’m late.”

He pulls the door back and I stumble in. “Let me get you some water, okay?” He closes the door behind me and retrieves a glass from the kitchen. Desperate for relief, I down it like I’m racing pints as Maik watches me apprehensively.

Oh god, I’m in his way, aren’t I? He was trying to close shop and I just barreled in here like a self-important asshat and now I’m holding him up.

I point at the sausage behind the glass as if they’ll justify my interruption. “I’m here for those.”

“I know,” he mumbles at his feet. “I made fresh links for you this afternoon.”

“You what?”

“One pound, every Tuesday.” He pauses for a beat, then looks up at me. “Would you like to finish the samples with me?”

“Me?”

Maik shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

“I...” I know that I should say no, that it’s not my place, that I don’t want to impose, but...

“Okay.”

He sits me down in one of the chairs by the corner table, then grabs the plate of cut sausage. “Kielbasa,” he murmurs as he settles into the seat across from me and stabs a piece with a fork. Swallowing thickly, he raises the sample to my face. “May I?”

Not trusting myself to speak, I nod, and my heart stutters when our eyes lock. He’s so damn gorgeous. His eyes, jawline, his big, broad shoulders—I can’t stop staring at him and I don’t want to, either.

Oblivious to my ogling, Maik places the piece of kielbasa into my mouth. It’s not mind-blowingly good like his knackutay, but still delicious. When I bite down, juice coats my lips and trickles down my chin. Maik’s eyes darken, and he reaches across the table to swipe it off with his thumb.

My hand snatches his wrist and I stick his thumb in my mouth, rubbing the flat of my tongue against his flesh. He moans, eyes rolling back for a split second before holding my gaze again.

Fuck, I’m hard.

Blood drains from my brain, and something in my gut tells me that if I want him, it’s now or never.

So I take my chance.

“Got plans tonight?” I try to sound casual, but I can barely find my voice.

Maik shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Wanna make plans with me?”

Color rises to his cheeks as he grins. “Only if I get to sample your meat.”