Page 42 of Love Out Loud

The bad news is that as soon as he comes out of his room, my mouth goes dry. His sandy hair is styled, but not overly so. I can tell he combed some product through it because his waves look more refined than they usually do. He’s wearing a navy dress shirt, the top few buttons open and the sleeves rolled up to expose his corded forearms and the tattoo of a compass that stretches almost from his right elbow to his wrist and wraps around his entire forearm. His stone-washed jeans sit low on his trim hips, and his feet are still bare, which is somehow sexier than any shoes he could accent the outfit with.

“You look nice,” is about all I can manage.

He smirks, pushing his sleeves up a bit further over his elbows. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing an air of nonchalance. “You know. For someone who’s forty.”

Lennon huffs. “You have four more days to make that joke. Better make good use of it.”

“I plan to,” I assure him, though the butterflies in my stomach are still doing flips as we both put on our shoes and leave for the club.

When we walk up to the Velvet Mirage, the pounding bass from the loud music is spilling out onto the sidewalk. Jessica insisted we give her name at the door, which we do, and we’re let right in.

“I didn’t know she was famous,” I yell over the music as we climb the stairs to the rooftop bar. Hopefully it’ll be a little quieter up there.

“She isn’t. She just knows a lot of people,” Lennon shouts back. “Which isn’t the same thing,” he clarifies.

When a familiar song starts playing, a wave of people comes down the stairs, pushing both of us to the side. Lennon reaches out a hand to grab mine, squeezing it as he pushes through them like a fish swimming upstream. Eventually, we’re spit out of a door and onto the roof, where the bass still vibrates, but it’s quiet enough that we can talk without yelling.

“I think I am too old for this,” I mutter so only he can hear. Jessica, who is already at a table with Noah and Silas, waves to us from across the rooftop.

Lennon laughs softly, slowing his pace so we can have a few extra moments. “We don’t have to stay long. Say the word, and we’ll leave.”

I hum quietly. “Do we need a safe word?”

That stops him completely. His gaze meets mine, intense and dark. “Do you want one?” His voice is low and suggestive, and it knocks something loose in my head. Desire rises in me like a hot, scalding thing, so tangible it takes my breath away. The need for him—to feel him pressed against me, pushing me to the edge but knowing I can say the word and he’ll back off—solidifies in my belly. There’s no ignoring this or explaining it away. It’s him and me locked in a gaze I can’t read and am too afraid of losing him to try.

I blink a few times and swallow thickly. “Um, no. I think I’ll be okay.” What a goddamned lie. There is no part of me that feels okay. I only feel off balance and on edge, dangerously close to tipping over into uncharted territory with no way back.

Lennon’s throat works against his own swallow, and I dare to wonder if he’s feeling this, too. It’s so palpable to me that I can’t imagine he isn’t. But it’s been twenty-five years. If he ever wanted me as much as I want him now, surely it would have come up.

He squeezes my hand again. I had forgotten he was still holding it. It snaps me out of my haze enough to nod and separate myself from him to continue my way to the table.

Jessica greets me with a kiss on either cheek. Silas gives me a one-armed hug, and Noah smiles warmly from across the table. A waitress comes by and deposits a drink in front of each of us.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jessica chirps. “I ordered for you. First round’s on me. The mojitos here are to die for.” She nudges me in the side, then leans over me to talk to Lennon. “And a whiskey sour for you, of course.”

“Whiskey sour?” he asks, taking a sip and puckering his lips.

Jessica looks between him and Noah. “Yeah, you said you had been drinking them the other night, so I thought that’s what you’d want.”

Noah laughs quietly into his glass, shaking his head. Lennon takes another sip and does a better job of hiding his distaste. “Right. Thanks, Jess.”

She beams at him. “No problem! Now, birthday girl, tell us some more stories about your life in the Midwest.”

Three mojitos and at least ten stories later, I need a break. Noah left one drink ago, the lucky bastard, excusing himself with something about going home before his kids’ bedtime. For some reason, we stayed, and the exhaustion of being so constantly in the limelight has thoroughly hit me. There’s too much residual adrenaline coursing through me.

As a crowd of people push their way through the doors to the rooftop, and a familiar beat pulses in their wake. I gasp and turn excitedly to Lennon. “I love this song. Let’s dance.”

He downs the rest of his whiskey sour, which he sure is drinking slowly, and smiles down at me. “Funny, I didn’t think you’d actually want to dance tonight.”

I shrug. “When in Rome.” And when I’ve had three drinks and enough pent-up sexual tension to last me the next forty years of my life. I stand quickly, ignoring Silas studying me and Jessica giggling. “I’m going. You don’t have to come if you don’t want.” I turn on my heel and walk into the club.

I’m immediately swallowed by a mass of bodies, most of them swaying to the beat. I join in, and only a few seconds later, a warm arm wraps itself around my belly, pressing me into a hard chest at my back.

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and lean backward into him. I’d know that smell anywhere. Big blue skies and crisp mountains and pine. Home. The word pulses vaguely in time with the beat of the music, with the sway of Lennon’s body with mine.

He reaches down for my hip and spins me to face him. One of his powerful thighs slides between mine, and his hand drifts dangerously close to my ass as he presses me closer. My nipples pebble through my thin shirt as they brush against the hard edges of his chest. He must not have shaved today, because the course hairs of his stubble scrape against my cheek as he leans in to speak into my ear. “I’ll always dance with you, Lark.”