Charisse turns to me, surprised. “The Artist? I like it. Where did you get that from?”
I sign the next book and hand it to the reader. “My neighbor inspired it.”
She curves a brow as we stand up, so we can take a picture together. I do, and then we take our seats again.
“Which neighbor? Wait. The one with the towel who you met when you first moved in?” She snaps her finger as if trying to remember his name. “Jack?”
“Jake,” I correct her and greet another reader.
Charisse smiles like the cat that caught the canary. It’s distracting.
“Why do you look like you have gas?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because your hot-as-hell neighbor inspired your next title.”
“You don’t know he’s hot.”
“Yes, I do. You’ve mentioned him in the past. The seafoam-green towel—”
“Why is that detail so important to everyone?” I muse. “Never mind. So, yes, he’s cute.”
“If you’re saying cute, then he’s hot as fuck,” she says loudly and then apologizes to the woman standing at the table, getting her book signed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t mind me,” the woman says. “I’ve read plenty worse in this one’s books. So …” The reader looks down at me and says rather loudly, “Tell us about the hot-as-fuck neighbor.”
I widen my eyes to Charisse in a now, look what you’ve done way. “He’s a handsome gentleman who just happened to give me an idea. That’s all.”
Charisse looks at the reader and explains, “I have it on good authority that he has six-pack abs and is a thirst trap.”
“You should put him on the cover of one of your books and bring him to signings,” the woman suggests, and I chuckle because that definitely seems like something Jake would do.
We joke and laugh with at least a dozen more readers before the line winds down and the end time to our event draws near.
“That was a great signing!” Charisse says as we’re packing up.
“It really was. I can’t explain how surreal it was.” I unclip my banner and let it roll back into its metal case.
“I remember when you first told me you shelved a book you’d written because you couldn’t find an agent to get you a big traditional contract. You were too afraid to self-publish. I wish I could tell that girl what a rock star she was going to be.”
“She wouldn’t have believed you,” I say, sliding the case into a bag.
“She didn’t. I tried to tell you that book was incredible. You just had a shit of an ex-boyfriend who made you second-guess yourself.”
Her back is to me as she places the leftover books in a box, so she can’t see how the mere mention of Michael still leaves a pang. It’s a stupid pang that doesn’t belong there because he was, as Charisse noted, a shit of an ex-boyfriend.
I ignore the pang, as always, and continue our task, so we can go home.
Because Charisse is the best friend ever, she helps me load my things into a taxi and comes back to my building with me, so I don’t have to bring everything inside on my own.
When the car is in front of my place, she takes my rolling cart and a small box from the trunk, and I grab a large cardboard box and walk to the front door. I’m having trouble getting my key in the lock, and I’m startled when a hand comes from behind me and takes the keys from my hand to unlock it.
“Here. Let me get that for you,” Jake says as he opens the door wide.
“Thanks.” I walk in, and Charisse follows behind me.
I stop near the mailboxes and turn toward her as she walks closer. Her back is to Jake, which is a good thing because her eyes are bug-like as she mouths, He’s hot!
I roll my eyes at her and start to walk toward the elevator, but Jake moves quickly to me and takes the box out of my hands.
“That’s okay. I can carry it,” I insist.
He doesn’t seem to want to hear it as he grabs the handle of my rolling cart from Charisse’s hand and walks in front of us to the elevator.
“Jake, seriously, I’m good.”
My words fall on deaf ears because he hits the call button with his elbow, and the doors open. Charisse looks at me with wide eyes and an open mouth, realizing this is the man we were talking about earlier. She rushes into the elevator, almost giddy to talk to Jake.
“Hi. I’m Charisse. The best friend,” she says with a huge grin on her face.
Jake nods his head in greeting. “Jake, the neighbor.”
Charisse turns to me with an expression on her face that’s so smug, like she just found the Christmas stash of toys. We reach our floor and let Jake exit first since he’s the one doing the heavy lifting.
While he walks out, she turns to me and whisper-yells, “Now, I am not the distressed female in need of a hunky hero type, but a man who takes the initiative to help you carry your shit is a keeper.”
“He’s not mine,” I whisper-yell right back.
“He should be,” she says with a shit-eating grin.
I shake my head and push her out of the elevator.
When we finally enter the hallway, Jake is waiting outside my apartment door with a tilt of a smile he’s trying to fight on his lips, which makes me think he heard every word from us.
I unlock it quickly and hold it open, so he can come inside and place the box and crate near the table. Charisse puts the smaller box that’s still in her hands on the counter.
“Thanks for doing that,” I say to Jake as he walks out of my apartment and into the hallway, stopping right outside my door.
“No problem. Just happened to work out perfectly that I ended my evening early and caught you at a good time. What is all this stuff for anyway?”
“Lacey had a book signing, and she was awesome! Sold-out attendance, and everyone was dying to meet our girl.”
I flush at Charisse’s words.
“Tonight’s signing was fun, just a small group of authors at a local bookstore. We each did a reading from one of our books, and then signed for the next two hours.”
I’m lucky to have her. She’s one of the reasons I have the life I do. Her encouragement was a huge push for me to hit the Submit button to publish my first book on my own. I wouldn’t be living the life I do if it wasn’t for her.
“That’s awesome.” Jake sounds genuinely impressed.
“It was all Charisse. She makes me look much cooler than I am, both at signings and on social media. I like to think of her as my guru.” I beam.
“Hell yeah.” She high-fives me, and we laugh.
“Do you want to stay for a drink?” I offer to Charisse.
She was kind enough to sit with me today after work. The least I can do is pour a glass of wine.
“Sorry, babe. I have to get home to put Aubrey to bed. She’s been giving Melody a horrible time, and she has a deposition to prepare.” She turns to Jake and explains, “I have a wife and kid at home. Are you the wife and kids type?”
I could kick her for the way she asked that question, like she’s ready to play matchmaker for me.
Jake answers her coolly, “Yeah. I would be the perfect husband.”
I snort a laugh, wondering if he realizes how cocky he sounds.