Page 13 of Love Out Loud

“Incorrect. I’m an English professor. Books are always relevant to the conversation.”

I sigh. “Sizzling Secrets by Jessica Jordans.”

Hannah’s eyes practically bug out of her head. Her jaw slackens, then her mouth curves up into a sinister smile. This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell her.

“No fucking way,” she practically whispers.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of it,” I ask drolly.

“Heard of it? I’ve read it twice. That book is…” She fans herself as she leans back in her chair.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. “Fuck,” I mutter.

Hannah pops up in her seat to tip forward again. “She self-published and topped the charts.”

“I know.” My voice is muffled by my palms.

“She’s had publishing houses beating down the doors for rights but won’t sell because she’s making too much money.”

“I know.”

“Lark. Honey. This could be huge for you.” Her voice has an edge of excitement I don’t usually hear from her, and it makes me peek out at her through my fingers. Her eyes are wide, and her eyebrows have shot up her head. It would maybe be encouraging if she weren’t so overeager.

“No pressure,” I grumble as I hide behind my hands again.

“Okay, okay, okay.” She waves at the air in front of her as if wiping the conversational slate clean. “Lennon thinks you’ll be good for this project, and you’re going to audition, but you’re worried about sounding attractive while narrating a sexy audiobook?” she guesses.

Her eyes go impossibly wider like something just occurred to her. She picks up the framed picture I have of Lennon from my desk, the one of him standing in a sleeveless shirt and board shorts next to his Jeep with a gorgeous beach and the ocean behind him. His tattoo stretches in black ink from his elbow to just under his shirt, and another one of a compass is visible on his forearm underneath it. He’s squinting into the sunlight and smiling an easy smile, his shirt is tucked to give a hint at washboard abs, and his dirty-blond hair is mussed up and wavy from the salt water.

She studies it and turns it to me. “You’re worried about Hot Lennon from high school listening to you narrate a sexy audiobook since he’s the one who has to do all the edits and sound mixing and all that? Because if that’s the case, don’t be. I think this could actually be good for you to maybe break through something in your relationship with him—”

“Good lord, Hannah. No. Stop.” I put up my palms to face her as if that could put a dam in this river of her thought process. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about Lennon listening to me narrate the steamier parts of this book, and now that the seed has been planted, it has my heart trying to beat nervously out of my chest. “At least, I wasn’t worried about that, but now that you mention it, it’s super weird, and I don’t want to go.” I don’t even want to touch whatever she meant about breaking through something in our relationship. I can only deal with one problem at a time.

“Wait,” she backpedals. “Go where?”

“Los Angeles. When he brought it up, I told him it’s hard to record here. The college kids are loud, even over the summer. So, he suggested I go to LA, stay with him for a while, and record out there. If they want me to do it, that is.”

She waves this away. “They’ll want you. Even if they weren’t desperate, your voice is perfect for Gia.”

“Who’s Gia?”

Hannah blinks at me a few times in disbelief. “The woman from the book,” she says, as if that should be obvious. To be fair, it probably should be, but I haven’t had a chance to read any part of it yet.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Okay, then you’re worried about Lennon seeing you again after, what, a decade or so and not thinking you’re hot?”

“Fuck, Hannah. I do not care if Lennon thinks I’m hot! It’s Los Angeles, where beautiful people go to play. There will be time at the beach, possibly in a bathing suit. People will see me. Men, specifically. Attractive ones.” I circle my hand in the air in front of us, willing her to put the pieces together.

She tilts her head and regards me. “Let’s say I believe you when you say this is about men in general and not one man in particular.” I start to protest, but she talks over me. “And let’s also say I can put away my lecture on body positivity and self-love about how every body is a beach body for just a minute.”

“Super excited to hear that lecture before I leave for the day,” I mutter.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. Regardless of all that, I’m going to say this only one time, because I truly do not think it matters one bit, but I can tell it’s wearing on you.”

Yeah, that and a bunch of other things now that we’ve had this conversation, I say to myself.

“You, Lark Caspian, are smoking hot. And not ‘hot for almost forty’ or ‘hot for a mom.’ Not even ‘I have to say this because you’re my friend hot.’ Objectively hot. This”—she waves a hand up and down indicating me—“is princess-level shit. Giant blue eyes. Blonde hair that is only ever in ringlets, and I’m still not sure how you do it after knowing you for the better part of a decade. Adorable freckles.”