“Jeans it is,” she uttered, pairing them with an off the shoulder black top and flip flops.
It wasn’t like she was leaving the building. She was just going to pack up a plate and take it across the hall to her neighbor as a thank you for helping her when she was in a load of pain.
Her heart sped up as she assessed herself in the mirror. She’d put on a little mascara, lip gloss, and changed her glasses from black to her pearly white frames. They complimented her complexion quite nicely.
Alana had a small addiction to glasses. She’d wasn’t one who could wear contacts, and the thought of laser eye surgery made her shudder.
So she was stuck with glasses, and she had a pair in every color.
She wasn’t the type of woman who wore a ton of make-up like the ones coming and going from London’s apartment. Alana liked to think she had natural beauty.
She had to admit, she was probably going overboard, but she wanted to look better than she had this morning in shorts and a tank top, all sweaty.
Now here she stood, her dark hair tumbling past her shoulders and looking good.
“Okay, Alana. We’re going to make him a plate and carry it over to his apartment. That’s it.”
With her head held high, she walked out of her bedroom, feeling the signs of nervousness creeping up on her. She inhaled deeply and tried to will her heart to slow down.
When a knock sounded at the door, she froze.
“Who could that be?”
The building had a doorman who would buzz her first, should any guests show up.
Arriving at her door, she stood on her tiptoes and froze. Peering through the peephole, she couldn’t believe who stood on the other side of her door.
London Keith.
Swinging open the door, she prayed she appeared nonchalant when she greeted him with, “Hey.”
“Hope I’m not too early or too late. You never told me what time dinner was.”
He leaned against the doorframe, his lopsided grin tugging at her heartstrings.
Dressed in a black button-down shirt and dark jeans, he oozed sex appeal.
Alana didn’t think he could look bad in anything he wore. He could be dressed in a burlap sack and she’d want to tear it off of him.
His gaze wandered up and down her body, and her heart skipped a beat.
What was he thinking? She had to keep from fidgeting in place.
“I figured you’d be busy or something. I was going to bring… You know what? Never mind. Please, come in.” If this man showed up to eat dinner, she wasn’t going to send him away. She’d just have to improvise.
“I didn’t want to come empty-handed. I hope you like red wine,” he said, handing her the large bottle.
“I love red wine.” She looked down at the seemingly expensive bottle—Gaja. She made a mental note to look up the name later. “I’ve never heard of this brand before.”
“It’s really good. One of my favorites,” London informed her, following her into the kitchen. “I must say, I’m impressed by your kitchen. It looks like it gets a lot of use.”
Setting the bottle on the counter, she looked up at him and grinned. “You don’t cook?”
“When I have to, I can throw something together. Growing up, my mother tried to teach me, but it was like my brain processed nothing.” He leaned against the counter. “But I can place an order for delivery like no one you’ve ever seen before.”
She chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I offered to cook.”
“I’ll be forever in your debt.” Unbuttoning his sleeves, he folded them up, presenting his forearms. “What do you want me to do?”
Alana swallowed at the sprinkling of light hair running along his tan skin that led to a tattoo peeking out from the fabric. There was something so sexy about a man’s tattoos that did it for her.
Down, girl.
“If you want, you can set the table,” she replied, finding her voice.
Looked like they were having dinner at her place.
She gave him instructions on where everything was while she gathered the food and carried it into the dining room.
Once she’d placed the salad and bread on the table, she went back for the lasagna.
Alana had to admit that finishing off dinner and working with London to get the table set just felt… right.
Something so simple had her core clenching.
She needed to get laid.
That was it.
The little things, like a man standing in her kitchen, shouldn’t be turning her on.
“Where’s your wine opener?” he asked, searching her utensil drawer. Her gaze landed on the wine bottle and she giggled. She normally bought the cheap stuff at the local grocery store that cost no more than six bucks, and it certainly didn’t have a cork.
“I know I have one somewhere around here…” She turned around in a circle. “A-ha!”
Rushing to the fridge, she snatched it off the door and did a celebratory dance.
“Magnetic? Cool way not to lose it.”
Nervous flutters filled her stomach as they walked back into the dining room. People had always told her what a great cook she was, so she was curious to see what London thought.
Piling up their plates and filling their glasses, she took a seat across from him.
“As soon I smelled this from my apartment, I couldn’t wait to get over here.”
“So what do you do?” she asked as they started in on their salads.
“I own Primetime Sports Management—a sports agency.”
“Oh, wow. That sounds amazing. Do you work with professional athletes?”
She knew little about that world, but from what she saw on television and in movies, London’s line of work was quite lucrative.
Being a sports agent had to mean London didn’t want for anything financially. She’d heard that agents got a percentage of their athletes’ monies, and if the client signed a crazy contract, London would reap in the benefits.
That was how he could afford the condo in their building.
And it certainly explained the beautiful women.
Alana, on the other hand, used money from her inheritance to buy her luxury home. Her parents, God rest their souls, had died a few years ago, a year apart from each other.
Her father, Max Thornton, had died from a long, drawn-out fight with colon cancer. Her mother, Anna Thornton, was said to have died from a broken heart almost a year to the day her beloved husband had died.
Between her parents’ life insurance policies, Alana—as long as she budgeted—could live her life comfortably, while supplementing it with her income from her job.
“I’m the one who helps negotiate on behalf of my clients for their contracts and endorsements.” Reaching for his wine, London took a hefty sip. “My work is boring. What about you? What does Alana do for a living?”
“Nothing as interesting as you,” she snickered. “I work for Medical Health as a financial analyst. My job would really bore you. If you ever have trouble falling asleep, I can come over and start talking about what I do. I guarantee you’ll be out like a light in no time.”
London barked a laugh, and she felt a small smile playing on her lips. When he cut into the lasagna, she watched anxiously as he lifted it to his lips.
Closing his mouth around the fork, his eyes fluttered closed.