If things had been this incredible with Edward, I most likely would have made more time for intimacy rather than forget about it altogether.
Jake leads me to the end of the hallway, pulls up the railing of an industrial elevator, and parts a second gate in the middle. His hand on my back gently encourages me in, and he then does the opposite process. The ride up is filled with silence but heavy with anticipation.
There’s only one door when we reach the fifth level, so I understand he has the whole floor to himself. Still, when I step inside and he turns the lights on, I’m not ready for how big and beautifully decorated his place is.
The entire apartment is one ample space, compartmented in various areas with bits of walls that never form a fully closed room—aside from what must be a toilet, in the far corner from where we stand, near a massive bed. I’m more of a sleek Scandinavian or minimalist kind of person, but the industrial decor fits the place to perfection, and it also suits Jake. Exposed red bricks adorn the walls, and tall, wide windows open to a view of the night outside. The space must be remarkably luminous during the daytime. That explains why so many green plants are scattered all over, including a few dangling from the high ceiling. Wherever there is space on the walls, art hangs against the brick—colorful, abstract, and often oversized.
I’m still taking all that in when an enormous, excited Rottweiler rushes to us. “Mulli, be nice,” Jake warns, to no avail. The dog welcomes him with cheerfulness and then turns her attention to me, coming to sniff me while wagging her tail.
“Hey, Mulligrubs,” I greet her, extending a hand to let her get familiar with my smell. When she seems to approve of me, I pet her imposing head, scratching her between the ears.
“You like dogs?” Jake asks when I lower to give her more pets.
“I’ve always wanted one, but my parents refused. Then I was in college, and after that… Let’s just say my ex kept delaying getting one, so that never happened either.”
“I got her three years ago, and my life has felt fuller ever since.”
I give him a contrite smile, shrugging my shoulders. “Maybe it’s better that I never got one. I probably wouldn’t have time to care for a dog like it deserves.”
“Yeah, I get that. I’m glad I can take Mulligrubs with me to work most days.”
It looks like the dog got enough scratches because she leaves us to return to the huge round pillow set on the floor for her. “What field do you work in?” I ask, pushing my jacket off my shoulders.
He gallantly helps me with it. “I’m an artist.”
“Really? What medium?”
“Skin.”
It instantly clicks into my mind. “You’re a tattoo artist.”
“I am.”
That explains a lot, actually. “Are you a good one?” I feel compelled to ask, even though his fantastic apartment is all the information I need to get my answer.
“Some think I am, yes. Forever growing though, as any good artist.”
“You never showed me your favorite tattoo, by the way.”
“Let me take Mulli to Eli’s, and we’ll correct the oversight,” Jake says in a flirty manner. “Grubs, come here,” he calls, picking up a leash from the coat hanger by the door. Although reluctantly, the Rottweiler comes when he encouragingly pats his solid thigh.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises. Then, he seems to remember something. “Fuck, I also have to walk her. Give me five minutes. There are beers in the fridge and liquor in that console right there. Glasses are on the shelves in the kitchen. Oh, and there’s a cat somewhere—Beelzebub. Unless he’s out exploring again. He’s… well, you’ll see. But maybe don’t pet him if you find him.”
I nod, watching as he exits the apartment with a very docile Mulli.
Although I didn’t expect to end up alone at his place, I welcome the opportunity to snoop around unsupervised. Leisurely, I stroll around the vast space, admiring the art, decorations, plants, and little details. There is no cat in sight, so I guess I won’t have to see why Beelzebub shouldn’t be touched. There’s a sketchbook open on a low table, and I bend over to admire the intricate details of the beetle on the white page. If he’s as skilled with a tattoo gun as with graphite, he must be quite good indeed. When I pass a bookshelf filled with hundreds of works, I tilt my head to the side and read the titles on a few spines. He seems to have versatile tastes, with an interest in contemporary fiction, art, history, and autobiographies.
My little promenade through his personal space leads me to a vintage stereo cabinet. A vinyl record is already set, and a sleeve lies next to it—Moon Safariby Air. Curious, I examine the sound system to figure out how to play the record. It takes me a minute, but the tonearm eventually moves into place and the needle gently lands on the vinyl. The sound of rain rises from the silence before a melody emerges from it, and I adjust the volume to fill the entire space.
I’m just returning to my exploration when the main door opens again, startling me. Those five minutes flew by.
He removes his jacket, hangs it next to mine, and after he locks the door and throws his keys on a console, he comes further in, joining me in the living room area. “You didn’t get yourself a drink,” he notes. “Do you want something?”
I shake my head. “I’m not here for drinks.”
“What are you here for, then?” The challenge in his eyes sets a small fire within me.
Instead of answering, I step closer to him until I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Even in my stilettos, I have to tilt my head back to meet his ravenous gaze. Slowly, seductively, I drag my hands up his stomach, enjoying the rigid musculature under his T-shirt. I feel the piercing in his nipple when I pass it, and it makes me want to undress him even more.
