Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly #2)

by Lauren Layne

  I flop on my bed and throw my arms over my head.

  This is a disaster. A hormonally charged disaster.

  I’ve turned the AC unit in my room off for a few minutes, wanting to get some fresh air in here with the windows open. Fresh is a stretch, though. There’s a definite heat wave happening—the hot, swampy kind of heat that usually doesn’t settle over the South until August.

  But the open window means that I hear Ranger’s happy bark out front just before I hear the jangle of keys and a man’s low whistle mingling in with the quiet night noises of rural Louisiana.

  I frown. Noah’s left the house a few times, but always during the day and, best I can tell, always to run errands. He’s even picked up groceries a few times for me, although I suspect that’s more because he doesn’t want to deal with me and my wig again.

  But he’s never left at night, and suddenly I’m desperate to know where he’s going.

  Specifically, if he’s going to see a woman.

  He’s never mentioned a girlfriend, but then, he doesn’t mention much. And let’s be honest—a guy doesn’t kiss like that without some experience.

  Jealousy, hot and bitter, curls in my stomach.

  I bolt off the bed and stick my head out the window. “Hey.”

  He’s just jerked open the truck door, but he glances up warily at my greeting. “What?”

  So pleasant, this one.

  “Where are you going?”

  “None of your business. I don’t work for you, remember?”

  “Can I come?” I ask, testing him.

  “Nope.”

  Definitely a woman, then. The jealousy goes from a small ember to a full-on flame.

  I purse my lips. “Can I watch your TV?”

  He loops an arm through the open truck window as he studies me. I can’t be sure in the darkening sky, but his hair looks slightly damp, like he just showered, and though he’s wearing his usual jeans, he’s got on a checked button-down instead of the usual T-shirt.

  “I thought you were on an information diet,” he says, not bothering to keep the mockery out of his voice.

  “What’s that have to do with watching TV?”

  “How do I know you won’t be glued to E! or some shit, and then I’ll come home and find you blubbering after you see something about yourself you don’t like?”

  I feel a little surge of panic. “Am I on E!?”

  I’ve been doing a remarkable job not dwelling on what people might or might not be saying about me. Whenever the thought creeps into my head I convince myself that the story’s likely blown over by now.

  But now I’m realizing it could be the opposite—that the story could have escalated. My parents and Amber are all in favor of me stepping out of the spotlight, so they wouldn’t tell me if something was going on.

  “What are they saying about me?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Princess, do I look like the kind of guy who watches Entertainment Tonight?”

  “No,” I admit. “But you do know what it is, so that’s something. Girlfriend turn you on to it?”

  “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

  The jealousy in my gut calms down. Slightly.

  “Then where are you going?”

  He grins, his teeth flashing white in the twilight. “You fishin’ for somethin’?”

  Yes, I want to know if you’re going to go hook up with some other girl when there’s a slightly desperate one right here.

  “I’m just wondering if I shouldn’t contact the local news sources,” I say, draping both arms over the windowsill and leaning forward slightly, matching his casual pose and tone. “If you’re on the prowl, the least I can do is warn the female population that they may want to steer clear of your ‘kiss.’ ” I put the last word in air quotes.

  “Is that right?” he drawls.

  I shrug. “Too much tongue.”

  Noah idly scratches under his chin with the back of his fingers. “As I remember it, you seemed to like my tongue just fine.”

  I shake my head. “So sad. A mind so young, dementia settling in so soon.”

  The sun’s nearly all the way gone now, and I can barely see him, but I feel his gaze as he reaches down with one hand and scratches Ranger’s head. “You can use the TV if you keep Ranger company. Also, wrote my cell number down. It’s on the counter if you need anything,” he says, moving to climb into the cab of the truck.

  “What would I possibly need?” I call, strangely loath to see him leave.

  This time his grin is more wicked than mocking. “I don’t know, princess. How about my tongue spending time somewhere a hell of a lot more interesting than your mouth?”

  My lips part, but he disappears, climbing into the truck and slamming the door with a finality that tells me the conversation is over.

  For now, Noah Maxwell. For now.

  He lifts a mocking hand in farewell as he drives away, leaving behind two barking dogs and one very aroused female.

  Noah

  “You can’t ignore her forever,” Finn says as he idly rubs chalk onto the tip of his cue stick.

  I take a sip of beer. “Ignore who?”

  He gives me a steady look with his hazel eyes. “Don’t be a dick. You want to ditch the bitch, I’ve got your back. Hell, I’ve been telling you to get rid of Yvonne for years. But this isn’t the way to do it.”

  I take another sip of beer. “Got nothin’ to do with you.”

  “The hell it doesn’t,” he says, lining up his cue. His hands are steady as the stick makes contact with the ball, but as usual nothing goes in the pockets. Finn Reed absolutely looks the type who should have the game of pool down, but he’s notoriously bad. I keep thinking he has some grand plan: establishing himself as the most helpless player in the history of the game, hoping to lure someone into putting down a shit-ton of money on a game, only to reveal himself as a secret master.

  The big reveal has yet to happen. He just continues to lose, although he never says no to a game.

  He stands up and meets my eyes. “She’s been calling me.”

  “Who?”

  “Yvonne, you idiot.”

  I frown. “Yvonne hates you.”

  “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” he mutters, retrieving his beer from a nearby table. “But she can’t get ahold of you, and she’s been striking out with Country Club—”

  “She’s been calling Vaughn?” I interrupt. Vaughn hasn’t mentioned it, but then he can be…overprotective. No doubt he has visions that he’s “handling it.”

  “Yup,” Finn confirms. “Shit, man, Yvonne’s calling everyone she can think of to get ahold of you. I’m all for running interference, but it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you told us what was going on.”

  Instead of answering, I line up my own cue, but my shot’s barely better than Finn’s. Normally I don’t suck half as bad as him, but I’m off tonight, in more ways than one.

  “Hey,” Finn says, giving me a not-so-soft knock on the kneecap with his cue. “Talk to me.”

  I take a sip of my beer. Then another.

  Then I go for it.

  “She cheated.”

  Finn swears under his breath, dipping his head. “I can’t stand that bitch.”

  “Yeah, so you’ve said,” I mutter, rubbing at the back of my neck.

  Finn and Yvonne never got along, which wasn’t exactly surprising given that they’re from different worlds. I wouldn’t be surprised if Yvonne’s first pacifier had diamonds on it. Finn would have been lucky if his pacifier wasn’t a hand-me-down from the family dog.

  Still, it was more than just a simple culture clash. Vaughn was also from Yvonne’s world, and he hated her almost as much as Finn did. He never said it aloud, pretending to like her for my sake, but his disdain had been written all over his face every time he’d looked at her.

  There’s a life lesson here: when your two best friends hate your girl, pay attention.

  But my father adored her. As far as he was concerned
, Yvonne Damascus was the one thing that I’d done right in my life. Stupidly, I’d let that be enough.

  “Who’s the guy she slept with?” Finn asks.

  I drain my beer. “Does it matter?”

  “It does if I’m going to beat him to a pulp.”

  I appreciate the loyalty, but since I know Finn’s word is good, and since I also know that the last thing Finn needs on his record is assault, I keep it vague. “Some dude that works for her dad.”

  “You catch ’em in the act?”

  “Nope.” I scan for the waitress and signal for another round. “She confessed.”

  “Dumbass,” he mutters. “Let me guess—her confession had more to do with taking a swipe at you than it did with integrity.”

  I stare blindly at the pool table for several moments before I shake my head. “Remember that time you found out that Robyn was cheating on you with your brother?”

  His expression goes stormy. “Don’t go there.”

  I give him a pointed look. “Exactly.”

  Finn’s jaw clenches, and it’s clear that he wants to argue, but I’m right, and he knows it. The truth is, I don’t want to talk about what happened with Yvonne, because I’m not even sure that I know.

  Her confessing to sleeping with Aaron what’s-his-face burned, sure, but if I’m going to be all the way honest, there was a bit of relief along with the betrayal.

  Relief that I’d been given an out.

  An out that I took, much to her disbelief.

  I’ve never seen anyone as angry—or as shocked—as Yvonne Damascus when I quietly told her the wedding was off.

  It felt good. Right. And if that makes me an ass—hell, it does make me an ass—it makes me a happy ass.

  “Fine,” Finn mutters, grudgingly agreeing to drop the subject. “All too happy not to discuss Yvonne, but don’t think you don’t have about a billion questions to answer about your tenant.”

  Jenny.

  Just like that, my thoughts go from bitter relief to…

  Want.

  I want that girl.

  And yes, I’m well aware that she’s playing with me just as assuredly as I’m playing with her, but that doesn’t change the fact that all I really want to be doing right now is finding out if her legs are as smooth and toned as they look and if she’s as wet as I want her to be.

  My guess is yes to both, and I quickly transition to thinking about my mean, ugly Aunt Shelley in an effort to keep my twitching cock from turning into an all-out boner in the middle of a crowded bar.

  Finn snorts as he accepts the two beers from our waitress with a wink. “Knew it.”

  “You knew nothing of the kind,” I say, taking the beer.

  “Shit, dude, Jenny Dawson is living in your house.”

  “Keep your voice down,” I snarl.

  His eyebrows lift. “Seriously?”

  I shrug, trying to hide the fierce and unexpected surge of protectiveness. “She made you sign that NDA. You could get sued.”

  He studies me. “Which reminds me, you signed yours twice. Under two different names. She really hasn’t figured it out yet?”

  I shrug. “She’s on some bullshit she calls an information diet. Trying to hide, to cut herself off from the media while she works on her next album.”

  “If the girl can’t handle the shit people are saying, maybe she shouldn’t have fucked a married dude.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue that there were two parties involved. That Shawn whatever-his-name-is was there too, and nobody seems to be giving him more than an indulgent eye roll before smearing shame all over Jenny.

  I keep quiet, but my face gives me away, and Finn lets out a knowing chuckle. “Ah, man. She’s got you.”

  “Fuck you,” I mutter.

  “That’s why you don’t care about this Yvonne bullshit. You’ve got your dick all tangled up with a hot pop star.”

  I jerk my chin at the pool table. “We going to play, or what?”

  “Nah, this is far more interesting,” Finn says, shifting his body so that he’s leaning against the high-top table as he studies me. “She as hot in bed as she looks?”

  “She’s one of the richest girls in the country. You think she’s going to sully herself with the guy she thinks is the handyman?”

  “Far as I can see, she sullies herself with just about anyone.”

  My fist clenches, and for the first time since eleventh grade, when I wanted to beat Finn to a pulp for making out with the girl I had a crush on, I want to give him a bloody nose.

  Finn’s smarter now than he was when he was sixteen, and immediately recognizes this, lifting his hands in surrender. “Hey, man. Easy. Didn’t know it was like that.”

  “It’s not like anything, asswipe. I barely see her. We’re just…coexisting.”

  “ ’Kay.” Finn shrugs. “So you haven’t gotten in her pants yet.”

  “Nope.” Not yet.

  “Kissed her?”

  I remain silent.

  Finn chuckles. “I fucking knew it.”

  “Shut up, man.”

  Jenny

  When I asked Noah if I could make use of his TV, I was mostly trying to stall his departure, find out where he was going.

  But after he leaves, I realize that I’m not in the mood to read, and my mind needs a little break from the constant melodies. It’s like that sometimes. This past week the music’s been nonstop, and I haven’t been able to write it down fast enough.

  But I’ve hit a wall.

  It’s almost like the backlog of the past year, when I wasn’t able to write even a single lyric¸ came rushing out all at once. I’ve got a couple of songs that feel solid. It’s just that they feel like old songs…songs that I thought up months ago and which are just now making it onto the page.

  In other words, I’ve done the easy stuff, and now the harder stuff is lurking. The harder songs are always the last to come. The most painful.

  And tonight I’m not in the mood.

  Noah’s little cottage is nicer than I expect. I mean, it’s not luxury, not by a long shot, but it’s cozy. His bed is made, or at least there’s a dark navy comforter pulled up over it and pillowcases that look clean.

  The rest of his furniture is sparse. A tiny kitchen table and ugly chairs I’m guessing are left over from the Eddingtons. A couple of old bookshelves, mostly empty. But the couch looks new, and I find out quickly it is very comfy.

  I’m not much of a TV person. I’ve always been too busy to keep up with the latest shows, but I do love movies, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I love the Harry Potter series, which means I let out an actual squeal of delight when I see there’s a marathon happening.

  By the time I tune in, the first two are over, which is a bummer since they’re my favorites, but The Prisoner of Azkaban definitely beats sitting alone in my bedroom.

  The dogs have joined me.

  Ranger tried to insist on sitting on Dolly, but that worked out not at all, so I’ve positioned myself in the middle, setting up a cozy little nest with a flannel blanket for Ranger on my right, and using one of Noah’s pristine-looking pillows for Dolly on my left.

  He earned it after his parting words about his tongue doing naughty things.

  But I’m not thinking about that. Nope.

  The Goblet of Fire’s just getting started when Ranger takes a break from begging for my popcorn (unabashedly stolen from Finn’s stash) and starts to bark. A second later, the front door opens, and Noah’s standing there all big and brooding. He’s home earlier than I expected, and I have a quick debate with myself on how to play it.

  Oh, I was just leaving—sorry to invade your space!

  Or…

  You’re insane if you think I’m turning off the TV in the middle of an HP marathon.

  Or…

  Take me.

  Before I have a chance to decide, he sees me curled up on his couch, and freezes in the doorway.

  Ranger leaps down with a happy bark, going
to greet his master with enthusiasm, as though it’s been days. Dolly stays put, but she’s apparently used to Noah by now, because she doesn’t yip. She just sits up and wags her little tail with so much excitement she’s practically levitating.

  Noah hunches down to greet Ranger with a quiet “Hey, boy,” but his gaze is locked on me the entire time, as though trying to figure out how he feels about my presence. Then his gaze slides to Dolly, who gives a happy little sigh at being acknowledged.

  “Is that my pillow?” he asks gruffly.

  I run a hand over Dolly’s fluffy little body. “She likes to be pampered.”

  He doesn’t respond, standing and going to the fridge to retrieve the Brita filter pitcher before pouring himself a glass of water and finishing it in three gulps.

  “How was your night?” I ask.

  Again with the no-response thing as he sets the glass by the sink and goes into the bathroom.

  When he comes out, the commercial break is over and Harry and friends are just seeing the first of the Death Eaters in the sky.

  I reluctantly reach for the remote, but Noah surprises me by plopping down on the couch next to me, big hand reaching out and taking a handful of the popcorn from the bowl in my lap.

  It has the potential to be sexy for a hot second, with his hand so near my—

  Ranger hops up between us.

  Moment over.

  Still, I can’t hide a happy little smile that Noah’s not kicking me out, and I take a handful of popcorn, offering a piece to both Ranger and Dolly.

  Ranger eats his. Dolly doesn’t, deciding instead that it’s past time that Noah pay proper attention to her. She nudges the popcorn bowl with her nose, and I lift it out of the way so she can crawl across my lap. Ranger gives a happy bark as she pushes past him, but apparently he decides he wants her rejected piece of popcorn more than he wants Dolly (typical man), because he hops down only to hop back up again in Dolly’s previous spot. Doggy musical chairs.

  Dolly continues her trek across the couch, and I sneak a look out of the corner of my eye, letting out a giggle as she settles in Noah’s lap, staring up at him with a determined pet me, pet me, pet me look as her fluffy tail swishes back and forth in a little blur.