Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(47)
Lizzie slammed into him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist as she buried her face against his back.
“All right there, Birdy?” Rake asked after a moment, turning in her arms, his hands hovering over her back like he didn’t know what to do with them.
She pressed closer to him. “Thank you,” she said against his sternum.
“For what?”
“For being so enthusiastic about to-do lists.”
Rake was silent for a moment then chuckled, his hands slowly lowering to touch Lizzie’s back in a soft stroke. “I love to-do lists.”
“That makes one of us.”
Rake laughed again, the deep, gravelly vibrations a gentle caress against her cheek.
“Think we can actually do this?” Lizzie asked in a quiet voice.
Rake’s heartbeat sped up under her cheek, but his voice was smooth and steady. “I know we can.”
Chapter 24
LIZZIE spent the first morning in her new apartment happily working—kneading thick and sticky dough that she manipulated into boob-shaped soft pretzels, creating a strawberry-cream filling piped through the imaginary nipples that offset the salty topping. She couldn’t stop giggling.
Her new job was going well, and she was thriving in coming up with suggestive baked goods. Bernadette cackled at the macarons with intricately decorated areolas ranging from a soft pink to a delicious brown, and she clapped at the small peach galettes with the fruit slices placed to (not so subtly) hint at a vulva.
It was too damn fun.
Bernadette, glorious angel she was, had been more than accommodating when Lizzie told her she was pregnant, already discussing flexible work schedules after maternity leave or the possibility of Lizzie doing some of the prep from home if her kitchen could accommodate it.
She’d also given Lizzie a few days off to get settled in her new place, but Lizzie was still trying to get a few hours of work done while her creations cooked, navigating the bakery’s online presence and posting some of her creations on Instagram, taking #foodporn to new realities.
And it seemed to be working.
Over the past few weeks, Lizzie and Bernadette had seen a steady increase of orders for their vulvalicious offerings, and more than a few people had walked into the shop hoping to see the pastries on display and left disappointed when they explained that was more of an online thing and all they had to offer were normal, non-vagina-esque cupcakes and muffins. Lizzie and Bernadette were discussing the best way to roll out their new menu, and, for the first time in her life, Lizzie felt like she was a valuable member of a team.
Rake also had the rest of the week off to get organized before reporting for work, and he’d spent most of the morning unpacking and organizing the apartment.
Lizzie watched him from where she was sprawled on the couch. He was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at scuff marks on the baseboards from rearranging furniture a few hours before. Lizzie, ogler that she was, couldn’t help but admire his perfect ass, lovingly hugged by a pair of jeans that deserved to be framed in the Museum of Modern Art for their stunning effect.
Horny and bored, Lizzie thought over her options.
Yes, this was technically a platonic living situation. But that didn’t mean it had to be platonic in the no-one-gives-each-other-orgasms type of way, right? Sex was sex, and they were both adults, so what could be the harm in blowing off a little steam?
Lizzie tossed her laptop on the couch beside her and got up, padding across the room toward him. He looked over his shoulder at her, then sat back on his heels as she got closer, wiping sweat off his forehead.
“So, you’re a clean freak,” she said, leaning her back against the wall and sliding down to sit cross-legged next to him.
Rake frowned, looking around the immaculate apartment. “I wouldn’t say that. I just like to keep things tidy.” His eyes rested for a beat longer on what Lizzie had declared her official corner of the place, her garbage bags and boxes shoved haphazardly next to her air mattress, which was already covered in discarded clothes.
“You used a toothbrush to clean between the tiles in the kitchen before I even used it.”
Rake shrugged. “We don’t know the last time it was cleaned. It just makes sense. Would you prefer I be a slob?” he asked, lifting the neck of his shirt to wipe off more sweat. Although their large windows were thrown open, summer had infiltrated Philadelphia with humidity you could swim in.
“A slob like me?” she said, poking him in the side, letting her hand linger and her eyes go soft as she looked at him, making her intentions obvious. Rake’s eyes traveled from her face, down her arm, to where her hand rested against his ribs.
Moving slowly, like she was a skittish animal, he put his own hand over it, giving her a gentle squeeze before removing her fingers and depositing them safely back to her lap. She blinked at him. That was … not the reaction she was expecting.
“You’re not a slob,” he said, picking up his rag and wiping more at the sparkling baseboards. “You just don’t have anywhere to put your stuff yet. We’ll get you a dresser.”
Lizzie snorted. “Dresser or not, I assure you, I’m a slob. It always drove my mom nuts.” She got on her own hands and knees, mimicking his posture. Rake glanced at her (cleavage) then quickly away, color rising in his cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “Other people’s messes don’t bother me. I just like to clean up my own. I enjoy cleaning, I guess.”