Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,20
I are standing alone, in the foyer of our fake love nest—the house we’re going to share for the next three months.
“So . . . are you hungry?” I ask.
“I could eat.”
“Let’s change into some comfortable clothes and meet in the kitchen in five.”
“Cool.” We start walking toward the staircase together, but Laila stops when her phone buzzes. “Oh, crap,” she says, looking down. “My mom and sister saw our live video and demand I call them.” She snickers. “As predicted, they’re freaking out about the house.”
“I’m sure my cousin showed Mimi our video, too. I tell you what, babe. Cioppino takes a half hour to prep and about an hour to simmer, before it’s time to add a few last-minute ingredients. Why don’t we get the broth simmering, and then we’ll call both our families while it cooks?”
“You’re a genius chef.” She mimes a chef’s kiss. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in five, babe.” We walk up the grand staircase together and stop at the top. “If I’m forbidden to go into the West Wing,” she says, “tell me now. Or I’m going there, first thing.”
I look at her blankly.
“In your enchanted castle,” Laila clarifies. “In Beauty and the Beast, the Beast forbids Belle from entering the West Wing. That was my way of saying you remind me so much of the Beast, I can’t stand it.”
“I told you I haven’t seen that movie.”
“I know. I said that to amuse myself.” She smirks. “Do me a favor. Growl at me and say, ‘I forbid you to go into the West Wing!’”
I pull a face that says, Over my dead body.
Laila snickers. “The Beast wouldn’t do that on command, either.”
“Just to be clear,” I say, “you’re supposed to like the Beast, right? He’s the hero of that movie?”
Laila surprises me by stepping forward into my personal space and pulling me toward her. “Hell yeah, we’re supposed to like the Beast. In fact, I didn’t understand my reaction to the Beast as a little girl—the tingle he provoked on my skin and between my legs. But now, looking back, I understand that movie was my first foray into porn.”
I bite back a smile and then growl and whisper-shout, “I forbid you to go into the West Wing!”
“Oooh, baaaaby,” she purrs, like she’s having a little orgasm, and I can’t help chuckling in reply. “Just so you know,” she says, “I’m the kind of twisted bitch who thought the Beast was a five-alarm fire . . . and the prince he becomes at the end when the spell is broken was a total disappointment.”
“Thanks for ruining the ending for me, dude.”
Laila slides her hand to my package to confirm what she already suspects: I’m finding this exchange hot as hell. “Aw, come on, Adrian,” she says seductively, her hand cupping the bulge in my pants. “Nobody watches porn for the plot.”
My breathing hitches. This girl. She knows how to hook me like nobody else. In fact, she’s known it since the minute I laid eyes on her at Reed’s party.
“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” I say. “We’ll watch Beauty and the Beast tonight.”
She smiles seductively. “Fair warning, Beast? I always get what I want, one way or another. You’ll find that out soon enough.” With that, she releases me, winks, and sashays down the hallway, pointedly walking past the door to the master bedroom and disappearing into a bedroom a few doors away.
Seven
Laila
“You two are so beautiful together!” Savage’s grandmother, Mimi, exclaims, beaming at Savage and me on Savage’s phone. Mimi is in her bed in Chicago, while Savage and I are leaning over the island in our new kitchen. And if I thought Savage resembled the grouchy, snarling Beast during our tour of the house, he’s turned into the sweet version of the Beast—the one who had the famous snowball fight with Belle—while talking to his grandmother on this call.
With his grandma, Savage is surprisingly gentle and easygoing. A man who smiles easily and chuckles often. A man who reminds his grandmother to “get plenty of rest” and “drink lots of water” and not to “overdo.” Basically, he’s the guy I’ve observed hanging out with his bandmates, with half the swearing and twice the adorableness.
“Don’t take any of his crap, Laila,” Mimi says.
“She never does,” Savage says.
“Oh, I take some of his crap,” I say. “But only because he’s so charming.”
“Yes, he is,” Mimi replies wistfully. “That’s why I still take some of his crap, too.”