by Katie McCoy
As I stomped up the stairs, I chided myself for even allowing myself to fantasize about this guy. He might be incredibly attractive and well built, but he was a total jerk. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. He seemed exactly like the kind of guy who didn’t care about anyone but himself.
The laughter filled the hallway and I clenched my jaw as I approached his door. This was my home and I wasn’t going to let some scruffy, unwashed, possible drunk hold my sleep and schedule hostage. Fist curled, I pounded on the door.
The laughter immediately stopped and I heard the scuffle of feet. Was that a woman’s voice I heard? Oh no. Did he have a date over? Had I interrupted that? Embarrassment rising in my throat, I was about to turn around and race back down the stairs to my apartment, when the door opened and I found myself confronted with a half naked Jake.
Where was his shirt? I thought, staring at his perfect chest, on full display. All those tattoos I had wanted to check out? Well, now was the chance. The biggest was an anatomically correct heart right over where his own would be. On one of the valves was a name: Lucy. His girlfriend? He seemed to take up the entire doorway, his shoulders so wide and his hips so narrow that he looked a bit like an upside down Dorito. Yum.
No. Not yum, I told myself and forced myself to look up into his face, which was a little flushed. I could smell the whisky on his breath and his eyes were a little hooded, whether it was from the booze or exhaustion, I couldn’t tell. He was still ridiculously handsome.
My lecture on his hypocrisy and the rudeness of his behavior died in my throat.
“Hi,” was what I ended up saying.
“Hi,” he said back, his eyes scanning me. I pulled my silk robe closer, realizing that it was way too short to be worn out of my apartment.
“Oh my god,” a female voice said behind him, and he moved aside to let a young woman about my age step into the doorway. She was curvy and petite, her dark hair in a thick, messy braid across her shoulder. She was wearing an apron that was covered in flour and chocolate, her striking blue eyes giving me an apologetic look. “Did we wake you? I’m so sorry!”
Was this Lucy, the name tattooed on and over his heart? She was very pretty, and I felt even more self-conscious with my tangled hair and sleep-crusted eyes. Of course a guy like Jake had a girlfriend that looked like this. I was just thankful I hadn’t interrupted them doing something more intimate than what appeared to be baking. At three in the morning. Who the hell was this guy?
“Jake,” she scolded my neighbor, who was still just standing there, slightly leaning against the door. He took a sip from the glass he was holding. Yep, whisky. “I am so sorry,” Lucy said again. “We both had a long day and were unwinding and sometimes we don’t realize how loud we’re being.” She looked up at her boyfriend. “Right, Jake?”
But Jake was looking at me, in a way that seemed really inappropriate considering his girlfriend was standing right there. But from what I knew about him—the rudeness, the drinking, even his lack of appreciation for classical music—he didn’t seem like the kind of person who cared much about how he came across.
He took another drink from his glass, this time finishing off the amber liquid completely.
“Sorry if we woke you,” he finally said. His eyes hadn’t left my face and I felt warm, as if I was the one who had been drinking.
“Would you like some brownies?” Lucy asked, seeming completely oblivious to her boyfriend’s wandering gaze.
I finally pulled my own gaze away from his. “Brownies?” These two were very strange. “You’re making brownies at three a.m.?”
“Best time for them, in my opinion,” Lucy said with a wink. “Here! You can be our judge.”
“Judge?” I repeated, sounding a bit like a robot.
“You’ll be perfect,” Lucy said putting her hands on my shoulders and leading me into the apartment, where two trays of brownies were cooling on the counter. Next to them was a T-shirt with a chocolate stain on it. Well, at least that explained Jake’s shirtlessness.
I had never thought of myself as much of a sweets fan, but my mouth was definitely beginning to water at the smell of chocolate. Or maybe it was from the absolutely perfect chest just a few inches to my right, as Jake came around the counter to stand next to me. I did my best to avoid looking at him, but no matter, I was pretty sure the image of his tattooed, well-muscled chest lightly dusted with dark hair would be forever burned into my memory.
“Here.” Lucy put together a plate, with one brownie square from each pan. “Tell us which one you think is better. And be honest.”
“I really don’t think I’m the best person to judge,” I told her weakly, but couldn’t resist taking a bite of the first one.
Oh wow. It practically melted in my mouth and I could taste a tiny bit of salt, and was that caramel? Whatever it was, it was amazing.
“Good?” Lucy asked.
“Mmhmm,” I managed, before lifting the second one to my lips.
OH. MY. GOD.
I practically fainted as chocolate overwhelmed my senses.
This is better than sex, I thought.
“Then you haven’t been doing it right,” a low voice said.
Oh my God, had I just said that out loud?
From the look on Jake’s face, it was pretty clear I had. Immediately I put down the plate.
“I have to go.” I could feel my cheeks burning.
“Wait.” Lucy grabbed my arm, kindly not making mention of my weird outburst. “You didn’t tell us which one you liked best!”
“Uh.” I had already forgotten which one had been the mind-blowingly delicious one so I just pointed to one of the brownies on the plate. “That one.”
“Ha!” Lucy pumped her fist in the air. “I knew it.”
Jake didn’t say anything, his eyes burning into mine.
“Okay,” I muttered. “Goodnight.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy asked. “We feel so bad about waking you.” She elbowed Jake again. “Don’t we, Jake?”
“Terrible,” he said, now looking down into his empty glass, reminding me that I was lusting over a guy that clearly enjoyed imbibing way too much. Not my type at all. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, which he obviously did.
My internal temperature returning to normal, I lifted my chin and gave him a frosty glare.
“Just keep the noise down,” I said, making my tone as icy as possible. “Some of us have things they need to do before ten a.m.” And with that I turned on my heel and, keeping my robe tight around my body, headed back to my room.
7
Jake
Dakota closed the door and immediately turned on me.
“Was that Ella?” she demanded.
“Yep,” I said, feeling way drunker than I should have. Was it the whisky or was it the sight of Ella, up close and personal wrapped completely in black satin? Well, not completely, I thought, thinking of how tightly the satin had pulled over her ass when she departed in a huff. And it was short enough to leave a long, long expanse of leg for me to check out. All that smooth creamy skin . . .
My mind had already begun to construct a new fantasy, one that involved pressing Ella against my front door, my hands making short work of that slippery robe of hers, lifting her up until those perfect legs were wrapped around my hips, my dick pressing eagerly against her as I sucked her nipples until they were hard in my mouth.
Immediately I went to the bar for another drink. Even her ice queen act hadn’t cooled down the red hot desire I felt looking at her, that dark hair mussed, her big eyes round and her cheeks just a little flushed. If Dakota hadn’t been there, I don’t know if I would have been able to keep myself from saying some very inappropriate and naughty things to her in an attempt to get her to let me do even more inappropriate and naughty things to her.
What was wrong with me? She was my neighbor and she had a boyfriend. Ella was off limits in so many ways. And she was aggravating as fuck! I had to keep reminding myself of that. She
might be gorgeous, but she was a major pain in the ass. And I did not need that right now.
“Dude,” Dakota said, slapping me in the shoulder and pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I had refilled my glass and was sipping the whisky, hoping to drink my horniness away.
“First of all, you need to apologize to her at some point tomorrow.”
“Why?” I grabbed a clean shirt out of my dresser and pulled it on. I hadn’t missed the way her eyes had widened when she saw me, which had given my ego a little bit of a boost. Something that had been welcomed after tonight’s bullshit customers. But it didn’t change anything. “You were the one being loud,” I told Dakota.
Her eyes narrowed. “You will go apologize to her tomorrow,” she told me. “Your neighbors have been ridiculously understanding of our occasional loud late nights. The last thing you want is to upset the newest tenant.”
I sighed. Yes, I would go and apologize to Ella tomorrow for being loud. I glanced over at the brownies cooling on the counter. A box of my baking usually did the trick and clearly my “better-than-sex” brownies got her motor going. Like my mom had always said, “No one can yell at you if you give them something tasty to chew.” It was advice that had served me well.
I looked back at Dakota who was doing her own taste test. Then I remembered what she had said.
“You said first of all.” I leaned on the counter. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”
“Just that you’re an idiot,” she told me.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not news to you.” I shrugged.
“Yeah, but this time you better be careful.” She took another batch of brownies out of the oven.
“What are you talking about?”
Dakota glanced up and smiled. “You’re in trouble, my friend. Big, big trouble.”
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of classical music playing. I groaned, my frustration starting up again, but then I glanced at my phone to discover that it was almost one p.m. Shit, I thought, getting out of bed. I never slept this late. Even though I had a few hours before I had to be at the restaurant, there were new recipes I had wanted to work on, not to mention the laundry I probably should be doing as well. I glanced over at my brownie-batter-stained shirt and remembered everything that had happened last night.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself as the music floated up through the floorboards. Dakota was right. Again. I needed to make things right with Ella. The last thing I needed was trouble in the building. My head ached and I winced at how lecherous I must have seemed last night, leaning silently against the door, my shirt off, while Ella just wanted to get some sleep. I really had been a jerk. What was with me lately? I was an adult man with self-control, not a horny teen popping a boner at his first glimpse of naked female flesh. Was I just that hard up for sex? Or was it something else? Either way, I needed to get it under control. Letting my fantasies run wild every time I saw Ella was going to seriously derail my day, and I did not have time for that. Not when so much was about to happen.
And I needed to take a break from alcohol for a while. Getting drunk two nights in a row was not my usual style, but the stress of the new position had been getting to me. I looked over at my bar and silently promised myself to back off on the drinking. There were other, healthier ways to deal with my frustrations. I thought back to Ella’s little satin robe, but immediately vetoed that natural stress-reliever. Boyfriend, remember? I told myself. Neighbor, remember? Pain in the ass, remember?
I took some Advil and drank a big glass of water. I felt better, but I needed a shower and shave. After that I might be presentable enough to make my apology.
Freshly showered, a box of neatly cut brownies under my arm, I went downstairs and was surprised to find a kid sitting on the floor in front of Ella’s door. He looked about eleven and was wearing a baseball cap, a backpack at his feet.
“Hi,” he said, standing when I approached.
“Hey.” I didn’t know what to do. “Uh, is Ella home?” She obviously was, since I could hear music coming from the other side of the door. Not the same piece from the day before—this one seemed a little simpler, actually. But she really seemed to be struggling with it.
“Yeah,” the kid said. “I’m early,” he told me.
“Early for what?” I asked.
“My lessons,” he informed me.
Well that explained it. I leaned over him and knocked on the door. The playing didn’t stop but I heard footsteps coming my way.
“Jeremiah!” Ella exclaimed, opening the door and addressing the kid, totally ignoring me. Not that I really blamed her. She was wearing her usual black, shapeless clothes—how do you solve a problem like Maria? But my dick didn’t seem to think there was a problem at all. Down boy, I thought.
“You didn’t tell me you were here,” Ella was saying to the kid.
“Mom had to drop me off early,” Jeremiah told her, pulling on the lip of his baseball cap. “I didn’t know if I should knock at your new place.”
“Of course you should knock.” Ella frowned. “I can’t have you sitting in the hallway by yourself.” She glanced back into the apartment, where her other student was still playing, and I could tell what she was thinking. With the piano in there, there wasn’t much room for one person, let alone two additional students. One was probably pushing it already.
I cleared my throat. “He can hang out in my apartment,” I offered.
Ella looked up at me, acknowledging me for the first time. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice had the same icy tone from last night.
“I don’t mind,” I told her.
“That’s not the point,” she said, but Jeremiah had spotted the box in my hand.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Good job, kid, I thought, as I knelt down in front of him. “These are my world-famous brownies.” I opened the box and watched his eyes widen. “I was going to give them to your piano teacher.”
“I don’t like brownies,” Ella said primly.
I ignored her. She was clearly lying. I had seen the way her eyes had rolled back in her head when she tasted them last night. The way to a girl’s panties was always through her sweet tooth, and Ella had a major one, even if she refused to admit it. And I was pretty interested in seeing her panties close up.
“Do you want a brownie?” I asked Jeremiah.
He nodded fervently.
“You know . . . ” I put my finger on my chin as if I was thinking. “I could give you this box of brownies, but that wouldn’t be very fair to the student who’s still practicing. I don’t know if there is enough for everyone.”
Jeremiah looked crestfallen but gave an understanding nod.
“However.” I stood up. “I could make another batch so there would be enough for everyone. If you were willing to help me.”
“Really?” Jeremiah asked.
“Really,” I told him. “That’s what I do. I’m a chef.”
“You’re a chef?” Ella interrupted.
“Yeah.” I glanced over at her—she looked completely surprised. “What did you think I did?” What other jobs kept people out until late hours? Did she think I managed a strip club or something? Then something clicked in my head. Oh god, that’s why she didn’t want me to watch Jeremiah. She thought I was just some partying douchebag. “I’m the head chef at Grassfed,” I told her. “You can Google me.”
“Can I please help him make brownies?” Jeremiah, my new best friend, asked, clutching the box of brownies to his chest like they were made of gold.
Ella looked conflicted, glancing back into the apartment and then back at Jeremiah.
“Would it help if I left my apartment door open?” I asked.
“Please?” Jeremiah begged.
Ella sighed. “Okay,” she said to her student, who let out a cheer. “In fifteen minutes I’ll come and get you.” She looked up at me. “Door open,” she ordered.
“Of course,” I said
and passed the box of brownies to her. “Those are for your current student. I knelt down and picked up the backpack from the floor. “Come on, Jeremiah,” I told my new, small buddy. “Let’s go make you some brownies.”
“Yay!” He punched a fist in the air and we headed towards the stairs.
“Jake?” Ella called behind me and I turned around.
“Yeah?”
She gave me a smile—a first—and holy shit, she was beautiful.
“Thanks,” she said, looking right into my eyes, and then went back into her apartment.
8
Ella
“And then he showed me how to melt chocolate and you’d think it would be really easy but it isn’t,” Jeremiah was saying, his little hands gesturing wildly instead of practicing his scales like I had told him to do. But he was so earnest and excited, I didn’t have the heart to force him to focus. Especially when I was having trouble doing the same. “You can’t just melt it on the stove, you know.”
“No?” I asked, my knowledge of baking and cooking limited to how many minutes it took to heat up soup in the microwave.
“You have to put it in a bowl on top of a pot of bowling water,” Jeremiah told me, his eyes huge.
“Really?” I couldn’t help smiling at his newfound knowledge of baking.
“Really!” He turned to face me on the piano bench. “And then you have to watch it very carefully because one minute it’s delicious melted chocolate and then another minute, bam! It’s totally burned.”
The way he said it made me think that he was doing a perfect impression of Jake himself. It looked like Jeremiah had a case of hero worship.
And I was starting to reassess my opinion of him. Before Jeremiah had come back down, I had done a little Googling on Jake—as he had suggested—and what I had found completely surprised me. And caused me to reevaluate my previous assumptions about his late nights.
Jake was exactly who he had said he was—the head chef at Grassfed, a restaurant I had heard of but never gone to. It was a pretty fancy place—for special occasions or dates where you were really trying to impress someone. Mark and I had both agreed that it was frivolous to spend extra money on something that you could get at a more moderately priced chain restaurant, which is where we had usually gone on our dates. Not that he had taken me out that much. Clearly I was more of the moderately priced chain restaurant kind of girlfriend. The Applebee’s of girlfriends. Not like Jake’s girlfriend last night. She was probably a caviar and roses kind of girlfriend.