Professor Feelgood (Page 51)

“Come on … you … sonovabitch!” I tug it so hard, my arm spasms. “Ahhh. Damn it!”

I slump onto the bed and massage the twitching muscle. This night was supposed to be a time for me to leave the tension of the last few days behind. Now I have to top off the stressful day I’ve had with Jake with an equally stressful night.

I stand and stretch my arm in preparation for zipper-tug, 2.0. When I turn, I catch my appearance in the mirror. My hair is swept up and fabulous, and my makeup is on point. All I need is to get this gorgeous dress zipped up, and I can be on my merry way.

I hope Sid organized a tux for Jake. If he arrives in jeans and a t-shirt, Eden will hit the roof.

I reach behind me to grab the zipper again and pull with all my strength, but it still refuses to budge.

Okay, bitch. Now, it’s personal.

I grab a wire hanger and slide the hook into the hole on the zipper. “Let’s see you resist this.” Even though I gain some extra leverage, the zipper remains stuck. I’m in the middle of an impressively long string of curse words when my phone rings.

It’s Jake. I roll my eyes and put him on speaker.

“What?”

“Wow. Is that any way to greet your date?”

“You’re not my date. You’re my responsibility.”

“And also your favorite author.”

I change my position and pull the zipper from another angle. Still, nothing. “Jake, I know that what I’m about to tell you is true for every moment we interact, but believe me when I say, I’m not in the mood for your crap tonight.”

“And yet, you’re professionally obligated to put up with it. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

I laugh. “Never. I’ll meet you there.”

“Sidney wants us to arrive together. Photo ops, remember? I’m not wearing this tux for my health.”

I shake my head and press my lips together as I give the zipper another yank. “Then I’ll meet you at the Starbucks near the venue in half an hour.” Providing I’m fully clothed by then.

“Yeah, that doesn’t really work for me. I’ll pick you up at your place. Sid’s organized a car for us.”

The zipper moves a tiny bit then stops again. “Jacob, I don’t care if Sid has organized an F14 flyover by the British Royal Marines. We’re not going together. This isn’t a date. Do not come here.”

It’s bad enough that he’s invaded my place of business. I’ll be damned if he invades my home, too.

He pauses for a second then says, “Too late.”

There’s a loud knock at the door.

No. No way.

“Jacob.”

“Sorry. Gotta go. Have to pick up my date.”

The line goes dead as another loud knock echoes through the apartment.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “Now I know how the three little pigs felt.”

I stride down the hallway and look through the fish eye in the door. It’s dark.

“Do you have your hand over the peep hole?”

“No.”

“How do you even know where I live?”

“I have my ways.” I hear a rustling sound, and then Jake’s voice is softer. “Also, there’s an elderly woman out here with no teeth giving me the stink eye. She has a broom. Open up.”

I have two elderly neighbors: Mrs. Eidleman who’s almost as cool as my nan, and Mrs. Levine, who likes to police our hallway like it’s a demilitarized zone during the Cold War.

Through the door, I can hear Mrs. Levine’s crotchety voice. “What are you doing there? How did you get in here? Are you George Clooney?”

“No, ma’am.”

She’s also a little senile.

“Rock Hudson?”

“No, ma’am. “

“Are you sure? You look like Rock Hudson. With a beard.”

“Ma’am, I’m sure I’m not Rock Hudson. He’s dead. He has been for a long time.”

“What? Why you little creep. I’m calling the cops.”

Also, she’s paranoid.

There’s another, more frantic knock. “Asha, open the damn door. I’m not sure what the penalties are for not being Rock Hudson, but I don’t want to find out.”

I roll my eyes and unlatch the chain. When I pull the door open, my breath catches in my lungs.

Jake’s there, looking tall and lean. He’s smoothed down his hair and even trimmed his beard. But it’s the tux that does me in. The thing fits like it was made for him, and the crisp white shirt and sleek black tie make him look like every James Bond fantasy I’ve never had until now.

“Uh …” He frowns as he takes in my appearance, and his assessment is lengthy and obvious. His gaze finally ends on the neckline of my gown which is gaping because of the open zipper.

“Uhhh,” he says, finally and keeps looking at me, then away, as if he wants to avert his gaze but can’t. It gives me a thrill. I’m used to Jake having an intensity about him, but the heat in his gaze is new.

“I … uh …”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lost for words before.

I wait a few seconds, and when he’s still non-verbal, I sigh in frustration. “Are you going to stand there all night and stare?”

He moves forward and leans on the door frame. “I was considering it. Why? Would that be weird for you?”

“At least blink.”

“I’m trying, but that’s quite a dress you’re almost wearing.”

I grab his arm and pull him inside before closing the door behind him.

“Since you’ve inflicted yourself on me, at least be useful and help with the zipper.” I turn my back to him.

There’s a pause, and then I feel him behind me. “Asha, I’m flattered you want to strip for me, but we don’t have time right now. Maybe later.”

I push my elbow back into him. “Zip me up, Jake.”

“That’s not nearly as much fun, but okay.” He grabs the wire hanger and hands it to me. “Here’s your first problem. You’re supposed to remove these things before getting dressed.”

Instead of attacking the zipper, he sidesteps me and heads into the living room. “So, this is your place.” He moves around the room, taking everything in. “Not what I expected.”

“Well, I have walls, so …”

“Honestly,” he says, examining the knick-knacks on the sideboard. “I thought that by now you’d be married to some sleazy hedge fund manager and be living on Park Avenue. Finish the upward mobility you started in high school. Isn’t this a little low-brow for you?”

“It’s what I can afford.”

He does a quick assessment of the kitchen and bathroom then proceeds to head toward my room.

“Oh, no.” I rush to stand in the doorway and puff out my chest to seem as intimidating as possible. “No way. This is my private space.”

He steps forward and looms over me. “Are we talking about your bedroom now? Or the vast swath of cleavage you’re thrusting toward me?”

I hug the dress to my chest. “I could fix the cleavage if you’d zip me up.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

There are many reasons I don’t want Jake in my room, but even more than the fear that he’ll discover the extensive range of sex toys in my nightstand is the terror that he’ll spy the stack of notebooks sitting on the chair in the corner. Our morning writing spree spurred me on to re-read my old stories, so I pulled them all down when I got home. To my surprise, I discovered they were better than I remembered.