Is Jake going to tell me he’s sorry for being a jerk?
Or demand I pay for his shirt?
Take me in his arms and hold me?
Or sell me as some sex slave?
Kiss me on my head and tell me I’m pretty?
Or blame me for some shit that’s missing? Some secret shit. That he lost. And his plan is to set me up to take the fall…
Cam opens the door and…bacon.
I smell bacon.
All the bacon.
My mouth waters and I moan. Then I moan for a completely different reason.
Before me stands Jake Swagger. At a stove. Dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung flannel pants, spatula in hand. His back ripples in muscles and tanned flesh. His shoulders are wide. Hips narrow. Everything cut and sculpted, yet soft and smooth. The pop of bacon grease and the low voice of the news anchorman are the only sounds in the room.
I instantly picture this moment as a real-life, cheesy Hallmark movie—snow falling outside the window. Everything warm and homey. I’m fresh out of bed, sleepily admiring my prince who got up early just to cook me breakfast.
Of course I can only imagine this because I’ve already scanned the room for mafia and shady looking people who might want to kill me for stealing something I really didn’t steal. There’s no one. Just me. Jake. Third wheel Cam. Air. Opportunity…
My mind goes from a PG rating to triple-X rating in a matter of seconds when Jake’s muscles contract as he slings a dish towel over his shoulder. I imagine me over his shoulder. Legs around his neck. Vagina in his face.
He pivots to face me. I smile. My cheeks flushed from my dirty thoughts. Eyes half-mast from lust. But I can play it off. Like maybe I just woke from a nap. Like in my Hallmark fairytale. He’ll say, “Good morning, beautiful.” I’ll be all shy and sweet. He’ll say my blush is pretty. Then kiss me breathless…
Sigh.
I can’t believe I’m really here—me. Penelope Hart. Author in progress. Standing in the kitchen of a luxurious sky-rise penthouse apartment, with my very own, half naked That Guy.
And who could be his hot best friend.
And no mafia.
And bacon.
And not even divine intervention could ruin this moment.Chapter SixJake Swagger is not God.
But damn can he ruin a moment.
He faces me with no smile. Instead, I’m met with a look of utter horror and disgust. No, good morning, beautiful, either. Only a, “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“What?” Cam asks. Jake and I stare back at one another as he continues to speak. Jake looks like he might detonate. I study the two little red dots on his second and sixth ab. Bacon grease splatters? Probably. Who the hell fries bacon shirtless?
“You said pick her up and bring her home. I assumed home was here. Did you want me to take her to the other apartment?”
Squee! He has two apartments.
Jake sobers. Grows an inch or two in height. His muscles tense. Forehead vein protrudes. Fists clench. He’s such a dominant. “You’re Penelope Hart.”
I refrain from using my Captain Obvious joke again. And from asking him if I can touch his chest. Or to abandon his calm, deep tone and say my name again like he might if he was coming.
“I am.”
“You called my office.”
“I did.”
“You told them you were a friend of mine.”
“People really toss that word around too much. I blame Facebook. I mean, how many of your Facebook friends are truly your friends?”
“We’re not Facebook friends.”
“No, we’re not.”
“We’re not real life friends. We’re not acquaintances. You’re not even a friend of a friend.”
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “You sure about that? I bet I’m a Facebook friend of a Facebook friend. You’d be surprised how small this world really is. Especially when you have a social media presence like I do. I have like, four thousand likes on my page. And I’ve hit my five thousand max friends limit.”
Several moments of intense silence pass. Then Jake points a spatula toward the door. “Get out.”
“No…I’m not going to…get out.” I cross my arms over my chest to hide my trembling fingers. “Not until I know what’s going on. You’re the one who had me picked up. I want to know why.”
“Because I thought you were someone else.”
“Wait…you know another girl named Penelope Hart?”
“I thought you were Miss Sims.”
Now I’m really confused. “But I told them my name was Penelope. You just asked me if I was Penelope so you knew my name wasn’t Miss Sims.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He runs his hand through his hair and huffs out an exasperated breath. “It was a misunderstanding on my part, okay?”
“How the hell did you mistake Pah-nell-ah-pee Harr-ttt for Miss Sims?”
“It’s an alias! The name Miss Sims is an alias!” he shouts to the ceiling. “Mother of fuck, woman. You’re like a goddamn fungus!”