Naughty Neighbor - Lauren Runow Page 0,13
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.
I’m standing here with my chest heaving and the laptop clenched to my stomach when I realize I’m in front of Jake, in my pink lace bra.
His eyes travel from my face to my décolletage and skim over the swell of my breasts, making his chocolate eyes turn black before they pop back up with a smile. “You do know, clothing isn’t optional at Shooter’s, right? I believe you’re required to wear a shirt.”
I scrunch my nose at him. “Not funny. And what were you thinking, snooping on my computer?”
“The tab was still up. I must have accidentally clicked on it.”
“Accidentally, my ass.”
He’s making a face like a boy who was caught with a cookie, but I can’t prove he put his hand in the jar. I squint at him as I march my shirtless self—and my laptop—back into my room, slamming my door behind me.
As I fall against it, my heart races, and my breasts feel tender beneath my bra. My skin is sensitive, the way it is when I’m turned on. It’s weird because nothing happened. All Jake did was run his eyes over my body, but damn, I shiver in a way that’s foreign yet familiar.
I focus my energy on getting dressed. With a black crewneck top and jeans, I head to the bathroom and do my makeup. I might not get dolled up often, but I know how to do a perfect cat eye when necessary. I walk out of my bedroom, and he doesn’t seem impressed with my cleaned-up look.
Jake reaches for my bun and the stray hair that’s sticking up. “You’re not going to do anything with this?”
I glare at him. “You’re lucky you’re getting me out of the house.”
“You look like you put it up in a bun and then had crazy sex. That, or you masturbated.” He eyes me playfully. “It’s wild and unkempt. I’m totally for the sex-crazed look. I just wanted to know if you were okay with it.”
My brows lift at his assumption. I mean, he’s one hundred percent right that I got myself off while watching porn earlier today, but that’s beside the point.
With a slight huff, I turn back to my bedroom, remove my bun, and brush my hair out. It’s still bumpy, but it looks presentable.
As I come out, I point at him and declare, “No comments. This is how I’m leaving the house, and that’s final. Girls won’t think we’re on a date, so you’ll still get hit on, I’m sure of it.”
He grins as he smooths out his shirt. “Not concerned. Now, let’s go.”
Since Shooter’s is nearby, we decide to walk, taking in the warm autumn night. I have to keep up with Jake as he strolls down the street. His long legs move as if he were floating, and I quicken my feet to meet his pace.
We get to the bar, and it’s moderately crowded—typical for a Monday night. There are sporting events on the televisions, including a pregame special for the Bears.
Jake grabs a stool at the bar and holds one out for me while calling over to the bartender. He orders a stout for himself and a Manhattan with three cherries for me.
I tilt