Nada.
“Goddammit, Iz!” I try the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked, but amazingly, it turns.
For a split second, I hesitate. It’s a bad idea to just walk into her apartment uninvited, right? But then again, she’s the one blasting music loud enough to wake the dead. And I have to be back on set at six a.m.
Screw it.
Shoving the door open, I step inside.
The apartment layout is similar to mine—open concept with high windows, ceilings and exposed brick—but that’s where the similarities end. Not only is her space three times the size, it’s an explosion of color and controlled chaos.
Canvases in various stages of completion lean against multiple walls, one of which is lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. A terrarium housing what looks like a lizard, (go figure) sits on top of a dresser over in the corner next to a neatly made king-sized bed—a stark contrast to the mayhem currently going on in the rest of the space.
But when my gaze settles on her, my brain instantly goes blank.
Standing with her back to me, she’s focused on a large canvas, wearing a paint-splattered apron with nothing underneath. The sides are open, revealing the smooth curve of herwaist, the subtle indent of her spine, the perfect roundness of the side of her breast. Her hair is piled on top of her head, secured with a blue bandana that matches the streaks in her hair.
My mouth goes dry as all the blood in my body rushes south so fast I get dizzy. I have to brace myself so I don’t stumble as I step further into the room, shutting the door behind me.
When she shifts slightly, I catch a glimpse of tiny boy-shorts with little red skulls peeking out from under the apron. Jesus Christ. This woman is going to be the death of me.
For a second, I completely forget why I came over here. All I can do is stare, transfixed by the way her body moves as she paints, swaying to the music, completely lost in her own world.
The music. Right.
My eyes dance around, looking for the source, but I can’t seem to locate a stereo system or speakers. Frustration and exhaustion pool into a potent cocktail of irritation as I realize the music must be linked to her phone, which I can’t see from here.
Fuck it. I’ll just have to get her attention another way.
Stomping over to where she’s swaying and singing, completely oblivious to my presence, I plant a hand firmly on her shoulder.
A blood-curdling scream rips from her throat as she whips around on pure reflex, slapping cold, wet paint across my cheek.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?” she shrieks, stumbling backward and clutching her chest, eyes wild with shock.
“Jesus Christ, Izzy!” I wince, fingers swiping at the blue paint dripping down my face.
Her eyes widen in shock, hand frozen in mid-air, paintbrush clutched in her fist like a weapon. Time seems to stand still as we just stare at each other—me with paint on my face, and Lizzy...
Holy shit.
My brain short-circuits as I take her in. Wild strands of black hair frame her flushed face. Flecks of paint dot her skin like colorful freckles, and there’s a smudge of crimson across one cheek. My gaze flicks down to her tits, barely covered by her apron, heaving, pressing against the fabric.
She looks like a goddamn masterpiece.
And my dick? Instantly at half-mast.
“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment!?” she shouts, lowering the paintbrush. The music is still blasting so loud I can feel it vibrating in my chest.
I reach over and grab her phone from the nearby table, turning the volume down before answering. “Your door was unlocked. I knocked three times, but you couldn’t hear me over...” I wave a hand vaguely in the air, “...your eighties throwback concert.”
“So you just decided to waltz right in?” She crosses her arms over her chest, squishing her boobs together, which only makes it harder for me to keep my eyes focused on her face.
I swipe at the paint on my cheek, this time with the back of my hand. “It’s after midnight and you’re blasting music loud enough to wake the dead.”
“Maybe I like it hard and loud,” she challenges, tilting her chin up in defiance.
God help me, the way she says those words shoves my mind straight into the gutter.
