by Lauren Runow
“A rather intimate and late business meeting, don’t ya think?” I say with a knowing grin as I walk to the refrigerator.
He levels his gaze at me. “You’re judging.”
“What is there to judge? Other than the fact that she drinks cosmos when Manhattans are the superior drink.”
“Just because an attractive woman—whose name is Natalie, by the way—wants to come to my place for a drink does not mean she’s throwing herself at me.”
I grab the tiny green bottle and turn back to him. “Never said she was.”
“Your face implied it.”
“So, you don’t plan on taking her to bed?”
“I probably will end up sleeping with her, yes. But we’re adults, living the single life in our early thirties. It’s healthy. Based on your judgment, I take it, you haven’t had a date in a while.”
“I have plenty of men ask me out on the regular.”
“I have no doubt that you do. I just never see you leave here with anyone. Or get dressed up for that matter.”
I tap my foot on the floor and bite my lip while I try to think of something witty to say back, but what’s the point? I have nothing to hide.
“For your information, I’m just as happy, being here on a deadline, wrapped up in my fictional world for the evening, than being with a man who is a waste of my time.”
I push the bottle of limejuice into his chest—a tad bit forcefully—and walk over to the couch, where I was working.
Propping my feet up, I put the laptop back on my thighs and look at the screen. I’m about to start typing again when the cushion next to me dips with the weight of the man taking a seat beside me. When I glance up the bottle is sitting on the counter looking like a forgotten thought.
“What are you working on anyway?” He slings his arm behind me, resting it on the top of the couch.
I roll my head toward him. The scent of his cologne is so damn sexy. I wish he’d bathe in fish oil, so he’d have at least one repulsive trait.
“Don’t you have a date next door?”
“She can wait five minutes. You seem like you can use the company. You’re awfully on edge.”
His eyes curve in concern as he smiles. I know I’m being short with him, which is unfair. I just get so anxious when I start a new book, especially when I have no idea where it’s going.
“I’m finishing up a three-book series about brothers. The first hero was a badass racecar driver. The next was this enigmatic CEO, and now, I’m at a total loss. I need him to be bold yet gentle. Sexy yet down-to-earth. He has to be … dreamlike.” Yes, even I hear the wistfulness in my tone.
“You do realize, these guys aren’t real, right?”
I pop my head over with a scowl. “Better than anything I’ve ever met in the flesh.”
He puts his hand to his heart and acts like he’s been shot. “That’s cold, Lace.”
“I’m sure you’re heartbroken.”
“You have no idea.” The way his eyes glint with a closed-mouth smile makes him seem sweetly endearing. “Maybe I can help. Tell me about what you’re writing now.”
“Are you sure you have time?”
“You look like you need a hand.”
I’m taken aback by his interest in my books. It makes a small grin spread across my face. I sit up straight. “Well, I’m messing around with a scene, just to get a feel for my characters. Tanner—”
“His name is Tanner?”
“It’s a romance. I can’t name him Fred or Chuck or Barney.”
“Why not? Fred’s a good name.”
“Will you please let me tell you my story? So, Tanner is young because that’s been established in the other books. But he can’t be a bad boy or a controlling boss because I did that already. I’m thinking something in the creative field.”
“Florist?” he asks with a wink.
“It’s sweet, and that works for you, but I need something sensual and maybe a little more daring.”
His mouth rises on one side as he levels his gaze with mine. “For the record, I’m very daring in the bedroom and incredibly sensual.” His words are said in a deep hum.
“Is that opinion or fact?”
“Baby, it’s a proven fact.” His words are a low, rumbling thunder to my lady bits.
I clear my throat and raise my chin as Jake places a finger to his lips and thinks for a moment.
“What if you make him an artist? Then, you can have him paint her.”
“Like on a canvas à la Titanic or something?”
“No. He paints her naked body.”
My eyes widen as my lips pull to the side. “Well then, that’s a new one. I’m impressed you came up with something like that.”
He grins. “I can’t take all the credit. I have a friend who runs classes for couples, where they do that. Kind of like those wine-and-paint parties you girls do, just less clothing.”
He says it so nonchalantly, and I’m sitting here with my jaw on the floor, having no clue this was a thing.
“Have you ever done that?” I’m beyond intrigued.
“Not yet. Would you ever let a guy paint you?” he asks with a slight tilt to his head.
“Hell yeah, I would!”
He coughs, completely taken aback. “Seriously?”
“Why are you so shocked?”
He shakes his head with a smirk on his face. “Because you always seem like a wallflower who hides behind her apartment door.”
“That’s only because you know me as a neighbor. When it comes to sex, I’m not afraid to experiment.” Not that I actually am right now. In fact, it’s been five long years, but Jake doesn’t need to know that.
He drops his head and lets out a small laugh. “My mind has just been blown a little,” he says, turning his sight on me. “Makes me wonder about you.”
I blow him off. “Oh, stop. Don’t act so surprised. I write romance for a living.”
There’s a peculiar look in his eyes as they roam over my face. It’s a soul-searching stare, the kind that says he’s studying me, hoping to find an ending to the story in his mind. I can only hope he’s reading me right.
I lean back a little, confused by the intensity in his expression.
“What are you staring at?” I ask.
“You,” he says seriously. “You can learn a lot about a woman by watching her when she’s talking about sex.”
“And what is that?”
His hand rises to my face, and he places the softest of touches to my skin. “Your cheeks are flush, and your shoulders fall back. There’s even this gleam in your eyes, like you’re about to eat your favorite candy. It excites you, but you’re hungry for it. Like you haven’t had it in a while.”
I swallow. “You can tell that just from looking at me?”
He leans closer, so close that I can feel the heat pouring off his chest and smell the mint on his tongue. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “A real man has patience when it comes to women. Not just the ones he wants to bed. He listens. That is what makes a sensual lover.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as he settles back, and that grin of his graces his face once again as I rub my thighs.
“You should get back to Natalie,” I say.
He blinks at me, as if he almost forgot he had a woman waiting for him in his apartment. “And you have to get back to your pretend boyfriend.”
He rises and walks toward the door.
“Have fun, Tanner.” I wave sarcastically and then point toward the kitchen. “Don’t forget your lime juice.”
He reaches toward the counter and raises the bottle. “Thanks.” When he gets to the door, he opens it and then pauses in the threshold, turning back to me. “Night, Lacey girl.”
He leaves, and I let out a heavy breath. My skin prickles, and my pulse is racing. Jake’s visit definitely threw me off, and I need to re-center and focus.
I look back down at my computer. That cursor is still blinking, taunting me.
D
aring me.
Glancing over at the door, I think of Jake and wonder if he’s right.
Maybe my hero should be an artist. Someone patient. Someone who can read body language.
I put my laptop away, pull out my notebook, and start jotting down notes.
Hopefully, my romantic hero will come to life very, very soon.
Chapter Four
“Lacey Rivers! Oh my God, I am your biggest fan! The Suit is my favorite of all your books, although The Racer is a close second. I need to know when the next book is coming out.”
I smile at the woman standing in front of me with a rolling cart full of books. Peeking down, I can see she has all of my novels with her for me to sign.
“I’m aiming for a January release. I’ll announce the date soon,” I reply kindly as I take a book from her and start to sign it.
My marker is getting dull, so Charisse, who is acting as my assistant for the day, hands me a new one.
“Thanks.”
“The youngest brother is such a mystery. I can’t wait to see what you have in store for him,” the fan, whose name is Jenny, gushes.
“Me too.” I’m smiling as I hand her the book.
She’s the twentieth person I’ve had in line at this signing at a local bookstore, and it never ceases to amaze me how people take time out of their day to see me, spend their money on my words, and reiterate some of the lines that touched their souls. When one fan showed me a quote from Fire and Gold tattooed on her skin, I knew I’d made the correct decision on following my dreams and publishing that first book as an indie release.
With all the books signed, I walk around the table and take a photo with her in front of my banner, the six-foot sign with my name on it. I’m one of twelve authors here today. It’s a small signing but a good one. To my left is a mega-famous author, who even I am fangirling pretty hard over. She has so many readers here today that the store owner had to give out tickets to help with crowd control at her line. Someday, that will be me. For now, I’m pretty damn happy with the turnout.
So far today, I’ve reconnected with six of my closest reader friends in the area, finally met a blogger who has been incredibly kind to me, and come face-to-face with the best readers a girl can have.
And they’re all dying to know about my next book.
“Does the new book have a title?” another reader asks.
I sway my head from side to side, deciding on if I should wait or let her in on a little secret. “The Artist,” I lean in and whisper not so softly.
The women in line swoon at the sound of it, and I hush them, asking them to keep mum about it until I make a formal announcement.
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.
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.
