Fall (VIP 3)

“Hey, I gave you my cookies. Where’s my thanks?”

John runs the back of his finger along his bottom lip. “I know you’re being literal here, but I’m just hearing innuendo.”

“Might want to get that hearing checked, detective.”

He hums as if in agreement, but the look in his eyes is calculating. “If you really do live here, what’s your apartment number?”

I almost don’t want to give it to him. It’s clear by the amusement in his expression that he’s having fun pestering me. But I don’t think for a second he’s flirting to get somewhere with me. This guy is a revolving sex-kitten door. Freckled redheads of average looks aren’t going to hold his attention for long.

I don’t even mind. The idea of hooking up with him is unthinkable. Oh, I know he’d make it worth my time. The way he moves is pure sensual sex and utter confidence. But he lives in my building. There is no way I could look him in the eye day after day, knowing he’d had me and moved along. Because Jax Blackwood is infamous for that too.

I shake my head and force my thoughts away from sex. “I’m in 5B.”

John blinks, his expression going totally blank. “Fuck me, you’re my next-door neighbor.”

“Five A?” I say faintly. God, that music I’d heard the other night—it had been him playing the guitar.

He flashes a smile. “That’s me.”

And then it hits me with a jolt. “You’re He Who Must Not Be Disturbed! I should have known.”

“I’m sorry? Who?”

It’s kind of endearing the way his forehead wrinkles with confusion.

“My wall-neighbor on the penthouse floor. I’m supposed to stay clear of He Who Must Not Be Disturbed.”

He blinks down at me, and then the corners of his mouth pinch. “I see Scottie’s been managing things again.”

“Mr. Scott, you mean.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want to call him.”

“That’s his name. At least that’s the name of the man who hired me to pet sit.”

Turning as one, we both climb the stairs to the front doors. John punches in his key code and opens the door for me.

“The band calls him Scottie. He’s our manager.”

“All the secrecy makes sense now.”

“He’s like an overprotective and annoying dad.” John tosses his empty drink bottle in the recycle bin by the door. One quick lob and the bastard didn’t even look. “But he’s definitely our highest wall of protection.”

I touch my forehead. “Wow, I get it now, you being famous and all. You probably don’t like coming in contact with the little people, unless they’re sorting your M&Ms or something.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t even like M&Ms.”

“Skittles then. You don’t want to taste the whole rainbow, do you? Though, I can’t really talk. The purple ones are disgusting. I don’t know what the hell that flavor is, but it sure as shit isn’t grape.”

Silence rings out as John gapes down at me like I have two heads. I guess he’s a purple lover, which explains a lot. He shakes himself out of it. “You know, they make medication to deal with people like you.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. Antacid.”

I can’t help it; I laugh.

His pugnacious expression melts away, and then he’s laughing too. The sound is rich and warm, and we stand there laughing like two lunatics. Until it occurs to us that we’re standing there laughing like two goofs, and our hilarity fades like a sad trombone.

John clears his throat and straightens. “Scottie warned you off, didn’t he?”

“Actually, he said that if any issues should arise in regard to you, I am to contact him immediately.”

He scowls at this, but then huffs out a laugh. “Yep, sounds like the bastard.”

“What did he mean, exactly, by issues?”

John’s expression expands into a wide, slightly evil smile. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure them out, you know …” He slips into a proper British accent, perfectly mimicking Mr. Scott. “When said issues arise.”

“Cute.” I look him over slowly. “I’m not going to have to go buy a bunch of fire extinguishers, am I?”

Wide, innocent eyes of grass green stare back at me. “Of course not. The apartment already has plenty.” He winks. With that, he strolls past, heading toward the elevators.

Unfortunately, I’m going upstairs too.

John glances over his shoulder, and his brows lift. “You following me, Button?”

“Only because you’re going to the elevator. And stop calling me that.”

The elevator doors open, and we step into the space. I should have taken the next car. The space is too small, and John Blackwood takes up too much space with his enormous ego.

He leans against the wall opposite me, casually crossing one long leg over the other. The stance has the unfortunate side effect of plumping up the thick bulge between his legs. I keep my eyes on his face as he gives me a lazy look. “Can’t help it. You’re cute as a button, with those round cheeks and all those little freckles. I swear, my first year crush used to have a doll that looked like you. I think she called it Chucky.”