by Maren Lee
Lane had never been inside their place -- and had no plans to go there, either -- but she was certain it was a total bachelor pad: beer can towers, dart board on the wall in the living room, and posters of women in various stages of undress thumbtacked to the wall. She knew she probably shouldn’t assume, but she couldn't help it.
If she found anyone to spend her life with while she was living in Imminence, she was definitely not going to live in their place on their ranch or in their house across town. Lane would live in the house she wanted to live in for as long as she was in Montana. Any man she met was going to need to understand that. Since leaving Chicago after a bad breakup (and a bit of a breakdown), Lane had learned to make herself a priority. There would be no bending to any man’s will. That’s for damn sure.
Because she was no longer expecting company, Lane cozied into her favorite corner spot on the couch and began to devour the wheat thins while she flipped through the first few pages of Tom’s file.
Just as she was hitting her stride, a loud booming sound outside caught her attention. What in the hell? Lane walked to the windows and moved the curtains aside to see what all the commotion was about.
NO. FUCKING.WAY.
Jake was standing in the middle of her lawn, hands filled with grocery bags held high above his head, blaring Motley Crue’s Without You from his Dodge Charger. His doors were wide open for everyone in the neighborhood to hear. Fucking Jake.
She flipped the curtains closed and walked to the door. If it was that loud inside she could only imagine how loud he was being outside. Lane swung the door open.
Yep, that’s pretty fucking loud. The HOA is gonna be pissed. Lane looked at Jake, pointed to him and then to his car. She motioned down the street mouthing “leave” and put her hands on her hips, signifying that she meant business.
Jake shook his head and mouthed back, “No.” God, he’s such a stubborn ass.
Lane shouted, “Jake, turn that down!”
“No! Not until you agree to hear me out!” He pleaded.
What the fuck? He was not going to make this easy. Her neighbors were starting to peek through their windows and come outside to determine the source of the noise. A couple of kids rode by on their bikes giggling and pointing. Dammit. This had to stop.
“Jake, don’t make me call the Sheriff!” Yeah, good one, Lane.
“Does it look like I give a shit if you call Brenden?” He laughed.
No, it really didn't. “Dammit, Jake! Fine! You’ve got five minutes.”
She left the door wide open and walked back inside. She crossed her arms and waited. The music shut off, doors slammed, and grocery bags crinkled. Stay strong Lane! You can do this!
Jake stepped through the door and she looked him up and down. She felt the heat rising from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. She knew she had little resistance when it came to this man. This gigantic, sexy, chiseled man. God, he looks good in those jeans. Keep your head on straight, Lane. He can’t know you’re weak to his idiotic, bossy, sexiness!
Jake paused for a moment as he walked in and looked around the house, drinking it all in. Then he turned his attention to her, zeroing in on the small gap of skin on her waistline between her royal blue cami and black yoga pants. Jake didn’t even make eye contact with her he just said, “Heads up, five minutes isn't going to be long enough. I need at least two hours. I hope you’re hungry, Laney,” he licked his lips. “I know I sure am. Jesus, you look good enough to eat. Maybe we don’t need dinner.” Jake’s eyes darkened.
She felt butterflies in her stomach and curled her toes. She was hungry all right. Her breathing speed increased. Dammit! He knows! The white flag is practically flying right above your head! Focus!
Lane told the voices in her head to back off. She could handle this. She could resist him and draw some boundaries between them. Just friends.
“I'm not really hungry at the moment.” Lane tipped her chin up. You showed him, Lane!
“Huh. Could've fooled me. You seemed pretty hungry earlier today in your office,” Jake snapped back.
“Jake, come on. Not tonight. Can you please leave?”
“You’ve gotta eat. I’ve gotta eat. I have food here. You have a kitchen. Let’s make the most of it?” Jake shrugged. He wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“UGH!” Lane shouted. “Fine!”
Jake laughed and headed toward the kitchen.
➰
Jake decided to make himself at home. He knew that Lane was a big time Chicago lawyer who decided to take a job in Imminence to escape the stress of the big city. So he knew she must have money. The hot, tailored-perfectly-to-hug-every-curve-of-her-sweet-body outfits and fuck-me-shoes she wore in court provided evidence of that. But this house was impressive.
He shook his head at Lane’s antics and walked around the kitchen island. The house had an open floor plan so that he could see the living room and dining room from the kitchen. Perfect, I can keep an eye on my little firecracker and make sure she doesn’t run. He didn't believe for a second that Lane wasn't hungry, but it looked like she was going to play hard to get.
You wanna play games, baby? Oh, I can play games. He set the bags down on the countertop and wiped his forehead. He fanned himself, and turned back to Lane, “Is it hot in here? God I am sweating my ass off!” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands and pulled it up and over his head. Slowly. Making sure to flex every one of his muscles in his arms and torso.
Not hungry my ass.
Lane’s eyes practically popped out of her head when she looked at him. Mission accomplished. Unfortunately, Jake was only able to get his flex party going for a few seconds before Lane started in on him.
“Jake! It’s 69 degrees in here. You do not need your shirt off! Stop it with the gun show! I’ve got a pile of work that needs my undivided attention.”
“So you're saying me without my shirt distracts you?” He was totally flirting.
Lane rolled her eyes. “Are you fishing for compliments, Jake? You are well aware that your body is a work of art. It is not a fair bargaining tool. This,” she pointed between them again -- she’s been doing that a lot, “is not happening, Jake.” Here she goes, getting all wound up again.
Lane continued, “We cannot happen no matter how much I'd love to get my mouth all over every divot in your abs and follow that thin dark patch to an unbeatable orgasm machine.” Jake wasn't sure who she was talking to at this point. It was like she was giving herself a speech. “I can’t. You can’t. This is too complicated.” Lane took deep, short breaths.
Yeah, she wants you, man. Jake smiled. “Calm down, Red. Nobody told you to look at me. But I'll put this ‘love playground’ away if it's too much temptation. Besides, I no longer want to be used for sex, honey. I am more than just a dick and a hot piece of ass.” He pretended to be offended.
“Oh my God, seriously?” Lane laughed. “Love playground? How is it that you're still single? I will never understand,” she asked sarcastically. “And before you get back to me with a quick witted response, no, Jake. You’re not too much temptation. I can resist you,” she haughtily claimed, crossing her arms over her delectable tits.
Jake laughed and then muttered under his breath as he pulled his shirt back on, “We’ll see about that.”
“Did you say something?” she shouted from the living room
“Nope, you must be hearing things,” he snapped back. It’s on. Challenge accepted.
Jake unloaded the groceries and began searching for pots and pans. Nearly every cupboard was close-to-empty. The one next to the microwave had salt and pepper shakers. The drawer next to the fridge had a cork screw and plastic ware. One cupboard held a stack of paper plates. Another was filled with plastic sports-themed cups. Cubs. Bears. Blackhawks. Stupid teams, but at least she likes sports.
Just below the cooktop was a cupboard full of pots and pans with the plastic wrap still on them. Jesus, she really isn’t Betty Crocker, is she? It was a good t
hing all he needed was a skillet to cook up the steak for the street tacos he was making.
“How long have you lived here? Do you cook at home much?” he asked with a smirk. He could not hide his dismay at the disarray that was her kitchen.
“They finished building and I moved in about six months ago. And no. What gave it away?” Lane asked, her eyes twinkling. She knew what he was getting at.
“Besides the fact that you have no plates, your fridge is empty, and your pots and pans are all brand new? Simple detective work really: your dishwasher only has wine glasses in it.” Jake chuckled.
Lane couldn’t hide her amusement. “The secret is out. I’m not a cook. I don’t like cleaning up messes, I don’t know what tastes good together, I burn just about everything I have ever cooked on that stove -- pretty sure that thing's a piece of shit. It’s just easier to get takeout or eat crackers and cheese. I wish I could afford to hire a chef to cook for me every night, but a public defender salary is not super conducive to that plan.”
Jake shook his head as he tore at the cilantro. How on earth she kept that tight little body while eating mostly junk was a mystery to him.
Jake couldn't imagine not being able to cook for himself. If there was one thing both his mom and dad made sure to teach him, it was how to cook. Joe Hamilton was a great cook. And an even better baker. Jake learned a lot from his old man. His mom wasn’t too shabby either and she also taught Jake how to do his own laundry. She always told him a woman would appreciate his know-how in the kitchen and his ability to wash his own drawers. A woman hasn’t appreciated that yet, Jackass, so a lot of good that’s done.
Jake put all of the toppings to the side and preheated the pan on the “piece of shit” stove Lane was complaining about. It was a Viking cooktop. Probably cost about 5g’s. He didn’t want to burst Lane’s bubble, but he was fairly certain that the burning wasn’t the fault of the equipment; more than likely it was the operator.
After a few minutes, Lane shouted over the searing of the meat. “Smells good in there, Rachel!”
“Rachel?” Jake lowered his left eyebrow at her. Lane walked into the kitchen.
“Rachel Ray? The chef?” she rolled her eyes, “I don’t know. One of those cooking show guys. Would that make more sense?”
Jake closed in on her, almost touching her.“Yes, it would make more sense. In case you don’t remember, and I’d quite like to remind you, there isn't a girly thing about me.” He reached down grabbed his crotch, in a cocky manner. Emphasis on “cocky.” Lane’s eyes followed his hand and then widened in surprise.
“There isn’t anything girly about you except for your sensitivity to being called a girl,” she countered, unable to take her eyes off of his dick-print through his jeans.
“That’s one.” Jake released himself and held up his finger.
Lane snapped out of her trance, made direct eye contact with him, and sassed back. “One what?”
“One swat on that pretty, pearly white ass. Every time you sass me, it’ll keep adding up.”
Lane gulped. “You don’t get to punish me like a child, Jake.”
“Trust me. There's nothing childish about this.” His cock stirred at the thought of putting a pink handprint on that soft, round flesh.
“Jake, you have a crazy look in your eyes. Quit it. Come back to reality,” she scoffed.
He just laughed quietly to himself. She had no idea how much she'd really enjoy a good spanking. He couldn’t wait to show her.
Fuck, you need to stop thinking about spanking that ass and change the subject before your cock bursts through your pants. Jake cleared his throat. “Time to eat.”
“It smells delicious. Thank you.” Lane set down her file folder. “But, Jake. We’re going to have to talk about this situation,” she gestured between the two of them again, “after dinner.”
Fuck. The way she said that could either be good news or bad news. He'd be damned if it would be bad news.
➰
Lane finished her plate quickly. It was so delicious she had to hold herself back from going for seconds. She didn’t want to seem too excited about having somebody cook for her. In their few short months together, Connor cooked every once in awhile. But they mostly just went out to dinner because neither of them were experts in the kitchen and they were both usually too damn tired to cook.
Lane found herself staring at Jake while he inhaled his fifth taco. She was baffled at how he could make hoovering his food look sexy.
You could eat this view up all the time if you’d just agree to be with him. NO! Lane told her inner self to shut up and stay focused. She knew that if she were letting this relationship, or whatever they were going to call it, go on any longer with Jake, the line in the sand needed to be drawn. Friends. Just friends. Lane exhaled.
She waited until Jake’s mouth was chock full of the first bite of his sixth taco. “Jake, we can’t do this. It just won’t work. You and I both know we’re a ticking time bomb, and when it blows I don’t want either of us to jeopardize our careers in the process.”
Jake started chewing faster and shaking his head in disagreement making a timeout sign with his hands. Lane didn’t heed his warning.
“There’s nothing you can say to change this and you know it. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to challenge your demands earlier, but after the incident with Connor in the parking lot and analyzing the risk of everyone finding out... it’s a no-go for me.”
There, you said it. Ignore the ache in your heart and gut and GET HIM OUT OF HERE, woman!
Jake swallowed hard, took a swig of his Corona, and slammed it down. “Dick move bringing that up while I had a mouthful.”
“Well it didn’t seem like you were ever going to stop eating! I was tired of waiting for you.” Nice excuse.
“Bull shit, you didn’t want me to interrupt you, which I would have. But still, not the point. What do you mean this won’t work? You know and I know that this is going to be more than just some fling.”
He paused for a moment and looked straight into her eyes. “You felt it, Laney. I know you did. Please don’t tell me you didn’t.”
He didn’t break his gaze, but reached over and pushed a soft tendril of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. “I don’t want to force you into anything, honey. But I’m just done fucking around. You turned me down when I first met you and I’ll admit, I was a total asshole to you. That’s my regret. I’m sorry. But the second I had another chance, I knew I had to take it. I just knew. So besides your career, or mine for that matter, what’s the problem?”
What the hell? She did not expect him to be this calm. And sweet. UGH. “You’ve literally been with every woman in this town.” There. You said it.
Jake’s jaw tightened. “For someone who works with words all day, you sure don’t understand the meaning of the word ‘literally.’ I have not been with every woman in this town. I tried to spend most of my time with the good women of Billings. The women of Imminence talk a lot.” Jake was clearly joking, but Lane didn’t find it funny. Jake continued. “Have I slept around? Yeah. I can’t take that back, honey. And it doesn't do either of us any good if I wished I could. But when I’m in a relationship, I am a one-woman man. I can promise you that.”
Lane’s body language softened. He addressed her main concern without even knowing what had happened to her in Chicago. She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know Jake. It just all seems so confusing...and too fast. We literally hated each other a month ago.”
Jake reached across the table and grabbed her hand intertwining their fingers. Her stomach flipped with the contact. His hands felt so right in hers. Focus! Stay strong! Do not get lost in those hazel eyes!
“Listen, Laney.” His voice became soft, “If this all feels too fast and it’s freaking you out, then let's slow things down.” He caressed the tops of her knuckles with his thumb.
Lane was so confused. This was Jake. He was a hot head. She expected him to freak out, act like an
ass, and storm out of her place. This was the opposite of what she expected. This rational side of Jake was weird. He’s probably playing mind games. Don’t fall for it!
“Jake, I don’t really know what to say now. I expected you to be flipping the table or something,” she laughed. Jake smiled.
“I can act like an adult when I need to.” He let go of her hand and sat up straight in his chair. “We can slow things down Lane, I just need to know how slow.”
How was she supposed to answer that? A snail's pace? Rabbits? Fuck! No. No fucking like rabbits. Oh good God, Lane!
“I don't know, like friends. Can we just be friends?” Friends with Jake, yeah right.
