The music coming from Jake’s apartment lowers, and I can hear someone audibly complain. There’s still a dull roar, but I can work with that. I increase my own mood music and get back to work, biting my thumbnail as I reread my words. I’m not sold on them, and I consider rewriting the whole thing.
I’m hitting Delete when there’s a knock at my door.
My eyes squint as I purse my mouth, confused as to who it could be. Since I live in a secured building, all guests have to hit the buzzer downstairs. Whoever is at my door must live in my building.
I pad over and open it to see Jake standing there with a glass in one hand, the other raking through his lustrous hair.
“Since you refuse to come over, I thought I’d bring the party to you.”
I eye him curiously as he strolls in, handing me the glass of wine, and heads straight for my living room.
“Thanks,” I say, closing the door even though I never told him to come in. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“We’re neighbors. It’s the kind thing to do after I annoyed you with my music.”
I’ve lived in this building for a few years and never brought a drink to someone else’s house in kindness. I’m not sociable like that. I take a sip of the wine and nod in approval.
At least he has good taste in vino.
Standing at the kitchen counter, I watch as he strolls around. My apartment is a decent size—one bedroom, full bath, kitchen, and living room/dining room combo—but add in the six-foot-tall man dressed in jeans, a pale pink button-down, and smoldering good looks, it feels claustrophobic. His presence, as well as his honey-scented cologne, lingers in every square inch of the place.
“These your books?” He points to the bookcase near my desk.
“Yep. I keep a lot of extras for people who order signed copies.”
He whistles through his teeth as he takes in the rows of paperbacks. “That’s impressive. Let me buy one off of you.”
I shake my head. “No need. Just grab one.”
“Any suggestions?”
I roll my eyes. It’s not like he’s actually gonna read it, so I walk over and pick the first book I see. It’s called Fire and Gold, and it was my first best seller.
He holds it in his hands, feeling the weight of it. “This is quite the accomplishment. Your parents must be proud.”
Proud isn’t the word I’d use.
“Of course.”
“You hesitated.”
I brush him off. “She is satisfied with my career.”
His eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to decide if I’m lying or not. An attuned man is a dangerous one, as they can read between the lines.
“I’ll let you know what I think of this.” He holds up the book and looks at the cover with the shirtless model glowering with searing intensity. “Nice abs.”
“Did you come here to borrow a book?” I ask with an unsure smile.
He grins. “Kind of. I just wanted to bring you the wine and see what life was like on the other side of the wall. You’ve never knocked on my door before.”
“I most definitely have. When you moved in, I came over to introduce myself. You answered while wearing nothing but a seafoam-green towel, and a woman, who looked to have on the previous night’s clothes, came strolling out.”
His brows go up. The smile on his face grows devilish as he tucks the book under his arm. “What kind of dress was she wearing?”
I blanch at his ridiculous question. “I have absolutely no idea. Why would it matter?”
He takes five steps forward, closing the space between us. My shoulders push back on instinct, and my chin rises. His cocky stature hovers above me as he looks down, making my heart race.
“You remembered what I was wearing but not the woman?”
“It was a green towel. Hardly a detail difficult to remember.”
“A seafoam-green towel,” he says as he saunters past me and toward the door, stopping to open it and glancing back. “Offer still stands. Come over if you need a break.”
The door closes behind him, and I let out the breath I was holding since he uttered the word seafoam. It’s not even a sexy word, and yet the way he said it, like it was the code word to his secret lair, has me falling to my couch with my hand over my eyes, wondering why I’d had to go and knock on my neighbor’s door tonight.
Because he was playing loud music. Which he turned down and then brought me a glass of wine.
Either Jake is the nicest person on the planet or evil incarnate in Ferragamo shoes, trying to butter me up.
Well, I guess one thing was accomplished tonight. I can, without a doubt, confirm the hero on my pages is a dud because I’m more inspired by the words from the man next door than the fictitious one I’m currently trying to create.
Chapter Two
“Auntie!” The pitter-patter of baby girl feet comes from the hallway.
“There’s my Bree Bree!” I place my purse on the entryway table and pick up my favorite girl, squeezing her tightly as I kiss her cheek.
“Wook at my dow-ee,” she tells me, holding up a toy I haven’t seen before. This one is a baby doll with pink hair and purple eyes, wearing leopard-print pajamas.
“Why, this is the sweetest baby I’ve ever seen. Is she new?”
Aubrey dramatically nods her head before hugging it, closing her eyes, and loving on her new toy.
“Looks like my favorite little lady has been a good girl,” I say as I tickle her belly.
Her laughter is the best sound I’ve ever heard.
The toddler is giggling and squirming in my arms as her mom—and my best friend—Charisse walks into the hall while wiping her hands on a rag.
“Don’t let that tiny ball of sunshine fool you. She’s a house-wrecker. This morning, she took my lipsticks and made a mural on the bathroom wall,” Charisse says, giving her daughter a stern expression.
My eyes pop with surprise as I try to hide my laugh when I turn to my goddaughter. “Aubrey Claire, you do not use Mommy’s makeup for art. You’ll ruin the walls—and Mommy’s expensive gloss. If anyone is going to waste it, it’s going to be me.”
Aubrey’s lip pops out with a pout. I hold her closer, shushing her in comfort before she cries.
“You know, when you tell a child she’s done something wrong, it’s usually not followed by a hug,” Charisse says with a grin.
I wave her off. “I can’t stand to see her little lip. It’s the saddest—and cutest—thing in the world,” I explain. “Besides, I’m the fun aunt. Your job is to ground her, and mine is to be the shoulder to lean on, so she can talk about how awful her mother is.”
Charisse whips my butt with the dishtowel in her hand. “Just make sure you let me know on the sly when she eventually comes to you, talking about boys, sex, and smoking pot.”
I cover Aubrey’s ear with my hand and bring her head to my chest to cover the other ear. “Don’t let my sweet girl hear you speak of such things,” I say sarcastically.
Charisse is laughing while her wife, Melody, walks into the room.
“Hey, Lacey. You’re just in time for drinks.”
“Sounds good.” I follow the ladies into the living room.