Naughty Neighbor - Lauren Runow Page 0,69
later—which were tremendous for getting rid of my hangover—we talked ideas for a book series I could write.
Between the three of us, we came up with a story line that was unique and filled a niche the publisher was looking for. I didn’t have a deal yet, so when Wendy started kicking my ankle under the table, I knew she wanted me to skedaddle, so she could start the negotiations groundwork.
On the way back to the apartment, I envision all the exciting things I’m going to do to Jake and what he’s going to do to me. For a lady who hasn’t had sex in years, I am certainly looking forward to trying some risqué maneuvers. The pretzel, the X-position, and the human wheelbarrow are at the top of my list. I’ve written about these sexy moves but never tried them. Now, I have a smokin’-hot man to experiment with.
When I arrive home, I notice my apartment is quiet. So much for him waiting in bed. I suppose it would be rude for me to expect him to stay there for three hours.
I rush over to his place, knocking on the door. There are no footsteps or movements on the other side. I knock again, and when it still goes unanswered, I head to the front of our apartment complex, where I can see out of the window to where he normally parks his car. He’s not here.
Bummed, I reach for my phone and click on his name. The phone rings until I get his voice mail. I leave him a playful message as I head to my couch, wondering if he left me a note or anything.
Five hours later, I still have no idea where he is. I could call the flower shop, but I don’t want to come off like a needy girlfriend. So, I’ll just wait.
And still …
Something doesn’t feel right. When I saw him this morning, he was sexy and sweet.
And he said he loved me.
I told him it was too soon, that it was only lust, and he seemed fine. He was fine, wasn’t he? Yes, he didn’t take too kindly to me assuming he didn’t know what love was. But who would? Some say it’s a feeling you get, but feelings are fleeting. People outgrow the way they think every day. Others believe love is physical. Both carnal and nurturing. In both cases, I can love a man as much as I love ice cream or a puppy. It’s all so easy to dismiss when the puppy is gone, the ice cream is eaten, and the man walks away.
Running my hands through my hair, I walk to my kitchen and grab a bottle of wine. I have no idea where he went, and I need to prepare myself for the truth that he might be second-guessing this whole thing.
Chapter Twenty-One
As I drink my coffee to try to make up for the sleep I didn’t get due to worrying about Jake all night, there’s a knock at my door.
I open it to see Jake looking no better than me on the other end. He’s still handsome, hair coiffed and his clothes looking straight out of a catalog, but those chocolate-brown eyes are glazed and tired.
Either he stayed up until the sun went down or he never came home. Yes, I checked multiple times last night—even as late as three o’clock in the morning—to see if his car was here, and it never was.
“Where have you been? I was worried,” I say, reaching my arms up to give him a hug.
As I hold him, his body feels looser than it usually does when I’m near him. It’s like he’s putting in very little effort.
As I step back from his arms, I see he’s carrying a large stack of printed papers.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I invite him in without saying anything. He heads toward the kitchen, where he puts the stack of papers down and leans his hip against my counter. He crosses his arms as he inhales, still planning out his words. I give him the time to say what he needs to say as we stand in silence together.
“What is that?” I point to the papers.
“It’s The Artist.”
My eyes bug out of my head, as I didn’t expect him to have a copy of my book. “Where did you get that?”
“Charisse.”
I’m at a total loss for words. I knew he was going to read it eventually, but I didn’t tell him he was my muse.