With the door shut behind her, Jay paused before going down the stairs. The irritation she’d had about her bad date dissolved as she realized it wasn’t really Blake Donovan she was mad at. Or even Andy.
She was mad at herself.
Because she was a strong independent woman. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t need anyone. So why did she feel so lonely?
CHAPTER 2
Noah was bringing the last few stragglers in from his car when the cute girl passed him again. That shaggy haircut and tight dress were downright inspirational. He dropped his eyes. He also dropped a book from the stack in his left arm.
“I got it. I’ll follow you in.” Her voice was deeper than he’d imagined it would be. Not that he’d planned on talking to her. If he had his way, he wouldn’t talk to anybody. Easier said than done, though. Tossing a glance back over his shoulder, he confirmed his earlier suspicion that this girl was going to be trouble. At least he’d sent his brothers home.
“You can just put that … somewhere.” He gestured around as they walked through his open door. This was the worst part about having people over, knowing they were seeing all your stuff and wondering what sort of conclusions they were drawing about you.
Everything he owned was different shades of gray. What did that say about him? That he was cold and depressed? He had been going for cool and modern, but maybe it didn’t translate. She set the book and her stuff down on a silver end table (scuffed) and wandered over to the steel bookshelf (ancient) to look at his literature collection (impeccable). She skirted a few unpacked boxes (beige) on the way.
“Didn’t you just move in today?” she asked. “And you already set up your bookshelf?”
“I, uh. Like things in a particular way.” He scratched the back of his neck and wondered if he should be offering her something.
“I see that. Alphabetical order. You have great taste in books.…” She held out a hand.
“Noah.” His large hand engulfed her tiny one, but her grip was surprisingly strong.
“Jaylene Kim. Jay to my friends. And neighbors.”
“Well. We are neighbors. Can I get you anything, Jay? I don’t have much in the house, but there’s some … caramels, I think.” Caramels. Smooth. She laughed, though, and it was musical and he thought maybe he’d say stuff like that more often if he could hear it again.
“Thanks, but I have an early day tomorrow. Work and all.” Was it his imagination, or did she actually look regretful? Sometimes it was hard to tell when someone was blowing you off.
“Of course. What sort of work do you do?” He’d remain polite either way. And then stare at her ass in that dress while she was leaving.
“I’m a teacher. My days start early. What do you do, Noah?”
“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you. What grade do you teach?” He’d learned a long time ago how to deflect questions about his chosen career. Asking more questions of the other party was usually the best method. People in general loved to answer questions about themselves.
It was a bonus when he was genuinely interested in the answer.
“I’m high school English.” She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair. “Hence my uncontrollable urge to check out everyone else’s bookshelves.”
English. She literally couldn’t be more perfect. For one, an English teacher would never abuse the word “literally.”
“Did they pass muster, then?” Of course they did. Noah Harrison knew books. He’d been an English major himself, after all, though he had zero desire to teach, or go into academia. He just liked to read. Reading didn’t require any social interaction. He reserved that for his professional life.
Which reminded him—there was a beautiful woman inside his brand-new apartment. And here he was pretending to be social, when he had work to do. He should walk her to the door; he should thank her for carrying the book and escort her out. But he found himself fixated on her red lips, and anticipating her approval. Hoping for her approval.
“You’re a Plath fan. Not many men are. I’m impressed.” She ran her tongue over those crimson lips, not lasciviously, but unconsciously, as if she were considering him. It was sexy as hell either way.
“She was a brilliant writer. So raw, and honest. Not many women do that,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I could name a ton! Virginia Woolf—”
‘“Really I don’t like human nature unless all candied over with art.’ I’ve always loved that line. Okay, I’ll give you Woolf. She laid it out pretty well. But Plath still has her beat on sheer morbidity, which I maintain you don’t see much of in female writers.” Was she—she was kicking off her heels. And sitting on his overstuffed sofa (gray).