What Lola Wants (Leave Your Shoes On 1)

Case in point… Her gaze swept the kitchen and she laughed at how perfectly organized everything was, neatly arranged and spic-and-span.

In elementary school, it had made her batty that his pencils never had dull tips and that he always colored within the lines. She’d had the urge even back then to disrupt his anal retentive ways, without even knowing why. She’d done little things to throw him for a loop, like change up the order of his crayons in the box, which he’d always grouped by hues from the lightest to the darkest shades.

In junior high, she’d known his locker combination and had occasionally broken in to rearrange his alphabetized books on the shelf. High school had been even more fun, pilfering his car keys and secretly moving his Nissan Altima from one spot to another in the parking lot, confusing the hell out of him.

Lola hadn’t been able to help herself. Alex had never gotten mad.

Exasperated? Yes. Mad? Nope.

Her antics were her way of letting him know she was thinking about him—that she liked him and that they’d always be best friends. Sort of the reverse of a boy tugging on a girl’s ponytail during class.

He must’ve understood that years ago, and that was why he didn’t get pissed. Thankfully. As she’d told Maxi, Lola couldn’t imagine a life without Alex in it.

And though she hadn’t admitted it to her coworker that night in Baltimore, Lola actually had considered once or twice if she and Alex should experiment with something more than friendship.

Pointless.

She sipped her wine, needing to move past the little nugget Maxi had left her with that night they’d split a bottle of champagne before Lola had headed back to Arizona.

Alex had never expressed interest in her, sexually. Sure, she’d caught him and Pete Murray gawking at her breasts from time to time, back in the day. But, hell, practically every guy in school had done that, since she’d had an unexpected growth spurt the summer before they’d entered eleventh grade. An awkward one, at that. Given her mother’s svelte frame, Lola hadn’t been prepared for all the curves she’d ended up with. And hadn’t liked how tongue-tied her figure had left the kids in school. Even some of the girls.

Thinking back to those painful days left her in need of splashing a bit more merlot into her glass.

At least Alex had kept his composure around her. Because he wasn’t attracted to her like that. He’d always gone for petite brunettes who were more math-club types than cheerleaders. Though Lola had quit the squad mid-season that year because even the tightest jog bra couldn’t still her bouncy chest without cutting off her circulation.

In addition to her not being Alex’s romantic cup of tea, she knew there could never be anything serious between them because she honestly did turn his world upside down more often than not. She couldn’t help but shake things up in a fun way, never one for status quo and certainly never wanting to find herself in a rut. Or with her own crayons lined up in a perfect spectrum. Chances were good she’d miss out on that one special color if she didn’t have to hunt it down.

However, she couldn’t deny that she needed Alex’s steadying presence to ground her from time to time. Like now, as she acclimated to her new job. Her new life, really.

Lola vowed to herself not to rattle Alex’s cage while staying with him. Not too much, anyway. It was sort of a natural compulsion. Everyone should have a little excitement in their lives. A few twists and turns.

Regardless, she tidied up the breakfast bar, relegating herself to her room so Alex would have the space he needed to adjust to her being there. He deserved that from her.

She slipped off the stool just as he came through the door, though, foiling her good intentions.

“Thought you were having beers at Pete’s,” she casually said.

“A beer.” He gave her a once-over, shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, and shook his head. “What are you wearing?”

“Huh?” She glanced down at her short, red-lace nightie. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon, and I was just looking at my notes before I go to bed.”

“You do own a robe, right?”

“Actually, no.”

His jaw tightened.

“Jeez, Alex. It’s just a nightie.” She set aside her papers and wine. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing.” He disappeared into his room but came back seconds later, carrying a plush, navy-colored robe with a gold emblem on the chest from a fancy New York hotel where he’d attended this year’s insurance convention. Or maybe it’d been last year. She couldn’t keep track.

Thrusting it at her, he said, “Do me a favor and cover up while you’re here.”

Lola eyed him curiously. “Alex, women wear less than this on the beach. On TV, even.”

He stared unwaveringly, his eyes locking with hers. As though he didn’t dare look anywhere else but her face.

“Yes, I have breasts,” she announced. “Newsflash! Not.”