Charisse turns to me with that stupid smile still on her face. “Perfect.”
“Get out of here, crazy,” I say as I hug her. “You were a godsend, like always. Give that baby a kiss for me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She waves to Jake and heads down the hallway. Jake and I are standing here, watching her disappear into the elevator. When she’s gone, I turn to him.
“Thanks again for helping me bring that stuff up.”
He looks like he’s going to say something, but I’m already turning back to my place. If there’s one thing that was confirmed today, it’s that I need to get my notes straightened out and finalize a plot for The Artist.
I’m closing the door when I feel resistance and realize Jake is keeping me from closing it fully.
“Lacey,” he says.
I pop the door open.
“Don’t forget to have fun.” I look at him curiously when he adds, “With your work. If you don’t love what you do, it’s not worth doing.”
I watch as he turns and walks to his apartment. He goes inside, and so do I, walking to my room to change. I grab my notebook to jot down notes. I’m scribbling thoughts down when music pours through the walls.
This time, instead of it being loud and raucous, it’s a lyrical love song. The kind you can relax to. Think to.
I smile as I settle into the corner of my sofa and work. Good thing I do love what I do for a living.
That must be why I’m smiling.
Chapter Five
I’m searching through photos of hot guys reading because, well, there are some perks to writing romance. One of them is getting to fawn over pictures of handsome men. I’ve actually been Googling away most of the day when there’s a knock on the door.
I open it to see Jake standing on the other side, wearing jeans, a navy henley, and that damn smirk. He’s dressed casually, yet the way his sleeves are rolled to precise three-quarters makes me think he puts way more effort into his appearance than tossing on a clean shirt.
He looks like he’s about to say something when his face falls and his eyebrows turn down in question. “Do you ever wear clothes that aren’t sweats?” He points at my attire.
“I was dressed quite nicely for my signing, thank you very much.” It might have just been jeans and a sweater, but I did throw on heels, so that counts for something.
“I meant, when you’re not greeting your hordes of fans?”
I run my hand over my head, smoothing out any loose strands that might have popped out of my bun. “I’m writing.”
“Explain this to me, Miss Rivers. Business hours are flexible, but when do they end?” He steps into my apartment with a white pastry box in his hands and a swagger to his hips.
I close the door, not sure if I’m annoyed because he’s here, interrupting me, or if I’m happy for the distraction from the nothingness surrounding me. Plus, whatever is in that box smells heavenly.
“I’m on a deadline, remember? I need to write, so here I am … writing.”
“Yes, but that’s what you do during the day, not when you should be out, watching the game.”
“I don’t like sports.”
He holds an arm out in the air, as if to stop time and silence my words.
“Don’t say that out loud. We’re in Bears territory here. And you don’t have to like the game to enjoy the two-for-one drinks that are served.”
“You have a point, I guess. What’s in the box?”
He places it on the counter and unties the string. “The bakery near the shop makes the most amazing treats. The lady who runs it brought these over to me, but there’s way too many, so I figured I’d share.”
I raise a brow. “That’s super sweet of you.”
Peering into the box, I see flower-shaped cookies with powdered sugar on top.
“Don’t be shy.” He pushes the box toward me after grabbing one for himself and taking a bite.
I lean against the counter and grab one. The buttery, sweet flavor melts in my mouth. I let out a moan, making him pause mid-chew, before gobbling up the cookie and licking my fingers of the powdered-sugar residue. My thumb is in my mouth as I gently suck on it , and he looks at me with his mouth agape.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
He shifts on his feet as he swallows. “Have you eaten today?”
I look up as I try to think if I ate anything. “I had coffee this morning—”
“Get dressed,” he commands as he closes the bakery box.
“Why?”
“Because you need to eat and get out of this house of loneliness.”
I eye him, wondering what his angle is. We’ve been friendly since I moved in but more like neighbors saying hi in the hallway, and we hung out for a few minutes the other day when he popped in for limejuice. Other than that, we’ve never spent more than ten minutes together.
“We”—I motion between the two of us—“don’t go out. Where are your girlfriends? What about your lady, Natalie?”
“Who? Oh, the yoga girl. She’s a great girl but not for me. Besides, I’m not in the mood to have to romance tonight. I just want to sit back and chill.”
“I’m not sure if I should be honored or offended.” I walk away from him and head into the living room. I plop down on the couch and grab my computer, which is quickly removed from my lap and in the hands of Jake.
“Have you even stepped outside today?”
“Yes,” I lie.
His mouth twists as he eyes my stained sweatshirt. “Yeah, I don’t buy it, but I love the way you lie. Come on. Get up.”
He hits my leg, nudging me to stand while taking my hand and lifting me up. I stand with my hands on my hips, defiantly looking up at him.
He smiles as if my stance is cute. “We can stay for just one drink and an appetizer, if you’re that hung up on staying home and writing. I’m sure your brain needs the break anyway.”
Maybe he’s right. I’ve been lounging in the house all day, and writing isn’t coming so easily. Maybe a drink will do the trick.
“Fine,” I huff and drop my hands from my hips, heading to my room to change. “Where do you want to go?” I call out from behind the half-closed door.
“What do you like? I could have pizza, but I’d prefer something lighter. Gino’s is good, but we’d have to wait for a table. Maybe Shooter’s? That’s the best place, I think. It’s on the corner and casual. Sound good?”
I’m buttoning my jeans as I call out, “Sure. I’m not picky.”
“Good,” he says. “I didn’t know you were a Tom Hardy fan.”
I roll my eyes as I take my shirt off, realizing he is looking at my computer screen. “It’s research. I’m using him as inspiration. Now, there’s a real man. Strong and protective, sweet with his wife, loves dogs, and just gets more attractive with age. He’s hot, and that accent is totally swoonworthy.”
I’m shuffling through my drawers, looking for a shirt, when I hear him say, “I see your research also includes porn. Damn, Lace. You like some kinky shit.”
My eyes bug out of my head as I drop the shirt in my hands and storm out of the living room, hopping over the couch and ripping the computer from his arms.