Page 44 of Love Out Loud

Chapter 16

Lennon

Marcus drags his palm up my inner thigh, rumpling my skirt as he does so. The others can’t see us because his hands are hidden under the table, but the idea that they could discover what we’re doing is thrilling. I slide forward on my chair, hoping to guide his hand to the tops of my thighs, wanting him to find out that I left my panties at home tonight. But he just chuckles softly and pinches me, silently warning me to be a good girl if I want any more from him.

I’d love to say I’ve become inundated with Lark’s sultry voice coming through my headphones, but I don’t think it’s possible. Especially after I almost kissed her a few nights ago.

Every rational part of me knows I should admit it was a mistake to let her body grind against mine on the dance floor. To revel in her warm thighs wrapped around mine. To drag my thumb over her soft, pink lips. But I can’t. It didn’t feel like a mistake, and it still doesn’t. It felt more like my body was exhaling in relief. The desire to do it again is still there, barely held at bay by her words.

I love you, Lennon.

You’re my best friend.

I can’t lose that.

Why the fuck didn’t I finish what I started, cross that room, and kiss her? Why didn’t I tell her I love her, too? I do. Of course I do. I always have, even if I’ve never actually said it aloud. The words have always felt like a poor substitute for what I feel for her. They’re not enough to encompass all she is.

She’s everything.

I do what I can to make it through the three hours it takes me to edit the first two chapters—including, but not limited to, referring to her as Jane in my head and taking a break for a very cold shower. Except cold showers are awful, so I quickly turn it warm and rub my hand against my perpetual hard-on as the water rushes over me. She’s at the studio anyway, and I tell myself I’m just taking the edge off.

It doesn’t even feel wrong, touching myself and thinking of her. It feels right all the way down into my soul. There was a missing piece there that I had ignored for so long. A Lark-shaped piece. And now that she’s here, I never want her to leave. I want her here with me, to touch her and find out if her berry-colored lips are as soft they felt under my thumb.

I finish fast. Way faster than is reasonable for a man of my age and experience. It’s surprising but also not. Lark has me in a chokehold, and I’m not sure what to do about it. If she had asked me to kiss her on Friday night, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I would have crossed the room and kissed her until she forgot her own name. But she didn’t. She told me she couldn’t lose our friendship, and she sounded broken when she said it.

It’s hard to admit, but she was right. We’ve been everything to each other over the years. Everything but that, I guess. If we tried being together in that way and she decided to go back to Michigan at the end of the summer anyway, it would ruin me.

And that’s assuming I could even figure out how to be in an actual relationship in the first place. I’ve often thought I might be broken in that regard. The longest relationship I’ve ever had was with a woman I dated for a few months after I graduated. Lark knows that, too. She knows everything about me. She’s probably just saving herself.

That thought stings, but I can’t even blame her for it. She deserves someone stable, which is ultimately why I never said much about Richard when they were together, despite him being as boring as they come. And also probably why I didn’t deck him in the face when he told me it’d be better for Lark if I left. Deep down, I believed he was right. I might have remained in LA for twenty years, but I’ve only put down as many roots as I absolutely had to. No girlfriend, no family. I don’t even own property. On paper, I’m a flight risk. And Lark is as constant and steadfast as they come.

I shut off the water and dry myself with a towel. Back to work, I suppose.

***

On Wednesday morning, I don’t wait for Lark to wake up. Instead, I tiptoe into her room with a cupcake, a candle, and a lighter. I crouch down next to her bed so my face is level with hers. Her eyes are still closed, but I suspect by the twitch of her mouth that she’s indulging me.

“Good morning, birthday girl,” I say softly.

She groans, but it’s tinged with laughter. “Go away.”

“If you don’t open your eyes, I’m going to sing,” I warn.

One eye opens. “You’re going to sing either way,” she says when she sees the cupcake.

“You got me there.” I carefully light the tiny birthday candle.

“That’s absolutely a fire hazard.”

“I’ll sing fast,” I promise. I launch into the same ridiculous rendition of the birthday song I’ve sung for her every year since we met, but it still has her laughing so hard she’s holding her belly and tears are peeking out the corners of her eyes. When she blows out the candle, her breath grazes my cheek. When she smiles, her whole face lights up.

Her phone rings from where it lays on the nightstand. She grabs it quickly, then winces in apology. “It’s Devin,” she says.

“Better take it, then.” I stand up from my crouch, my knees popping as I do. “But we’re going out for your birthday tonight, for real. Just us.” I glare at her playfully as I back out of her room.

“Oh my god,” she groans as she taps her phone.

“Don’t invite Silas,” I say from the other side of the threshold.