10. Lennox
10
LENNOX
I ’m unsure how it happened, but somehow I volunteered to be Anne’s date for her ex’s wedding.
What a fucking douche, inviting her to the wedding.
Natalie’s right. The best thing for her is to show him how she’s thriving without him. Even though she’s obviously drowning. She must have really loved him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch or a chair,” I tell her since her face is flushed with the thought of sleeping in the same room as me.
“Thank you for doing this. I can’t seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of you.” She offers me a sad smile, her eyes still glossy. “I’m a mess.”
Those same shiny, mossy green eyes are the reason I volunteered. That insecure look she gave me was like a kick to the guts.
She must be crazy to think of herself that low. Or just badly hurt. And I’m not one to enjoy seeing someone hurt.
“You’re not a mess.” She rolls her eyes, not believing me. But I honestly mean it. Though it’s visible she cried, she still looks adorable. “We should probably meet up before the wedding though.” I clear my throat. “To get our story straight.”
“Oh. Good thinking.” Her gaze drops, showing me the freckles on her nose. Her skin is perfection even red with embarrassment.
“Dinner?” I’m not really the type to take girls on dates, but it’s not like I can invite her to hang out in my half torn out garage.
Her mouth parts on a silent ‘oh’ before her cheeks redden even more. “It’s just…” She sighs. “You’ve seen how I have a tendency to embarrass myself, and with the weirdness of this whole thing, I would feel safer if we were in private.”
“Sure, no problem. I would invite you to my place but it’s kind of a work in progress.”
“No, you can come to my place.” She pauses, glancing at me. “If you want to.”
“Great. Give me your number so we can arrange it.”
I save her number under ‘Firecracker’, telling myself it’s in case someone at the wedding sees my phone.
“Hey, come in,” she says with a smile as she opens the door. Most of the times I’ve seen her she’d just been crying, so to see her honest smile is blinding.
Her nose scrunches up a tiny bit, a dimple forms in her left cheek, and her eyes are even more beautiful when she smiles.
“Thanks,” I rasp out. I haven’t spoken to anyone the whole day, still working on the bathroom.
She fits her apartment perfectly. Her oversized sweater matches the soft pink throw pillows. They are skillfully arranged on a comfortable looking beige couch.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.
“A beer would be great, if you have one.”
“Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable.”
A row of different plants adorns her windowsill, and a huge bookcase covers one of the walls. The books are mostly pastel colored—sorted by colors—except for one shelf completely filled with black or dark gray books. Hmm, I wouldn’t pin her as a horror reading girl.
“Here.” She puts the beer on a flower-shaped coaster and lowers the charcuterie board she was holding.
“You didn’t have to.”
“It’s the least I could do to say thank you.” She gives me another smile.
The board is mouthwatering. There are five types of different cheeses, salami and sausages, different fruits, nuts, and spreads. I wasn’t feeling hungry before I came here, but I’m pretty much salivating now.
I sit on the couch and, damn, it’s even more comfortable than I expected. As soon as I sit, an orange cat jumps into my lap.
“Of course,” Anne murmurs, chuckling.
“Sorry?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Luna hated Bryce. And when I say hate, I mean it. She would hiss every time he walked into a room even though he lived here.”
I guess the cat’s name is Luna. And I guess she’s a good judge of character. Which deserves some cuddles. I pet her soft fur and she begins purring.
“I booked us a room at the estate. And I’ll rent us a car this week if that’s cool with you,” Anne says, sipping her wine. I need to call the estate to charge the room to me.
“No need.”
“I know you love your bike, but I’m really too terrified to get on it.” Her eyes turn apprehensive.
“No, there’s no need to rent it. I bought one.”
“Hmm, I thought you said you didn’t need one.” She swats my shoulder playfully. “Guess someone ate his own words.”
“Well, I wasn’t aware I was going to drive someone terrified of bikes to a wedding when I said it.” I’m making a joke, but her eyes widen in horror.
“Please don’t tell me you bought a freaking car for this.”
“I didn’t?” I say, popping a grape into my mouth.
“Nooo,” she groans. “I was feeling bad enough you were doing this in the first place. Now I owe you a car?” Her head drops to her chest.
“You don’t owe me a thing.” I lift her chin up with a finger. “Look, I’m a grown ass man. I think I can decide what to spend my money on. And I decided to buy myself a car. Don’t overthink it.”
She nods, relaxing into the finger that’s holding her head up, and I quickly retrieve it.
“So, tell me everything about yourself,” I say, and she laughs in response. Her laughter fills the cozy apartment, wrapping itself around me.
“I think you know pretty much everything already. Prone to embarrassing myself, horrible at love, and my family is. . . uncompromising.” She lists the things with her fingers.
“Have you talked to them?”
“Nope. My sister texted me after the first Sunday brunch I missed but it was to scold me about the fact I hadn’t let her know I wasn’t coming.” Her eyes turn to mine with a playful glint. “I told her I meant what I said during the Christmas dinner.”
I shoot her a questioning look.
“I know it seems silly to you, but I’m not used to telling her no.”
“Good for you, then.” I clink my bottle to her glass, and she smiles before taking another big sip.
“The other day at the bar, you said it was your sister and father. Is your mom any better?”
“My mom passed away when I was little.” Shit. “Ever since, it’s been my dad, sister, and I. She was always what I strove to be like. Perfect grades, perfect look, perfect personality.” Another sip. “I just never lived up to that.”
“What do you mean?” I can’t imagine a universe where this girl is anything other than perfect. Her angelic features go hand in hand with her vibrant personality. She’s the embodiment of sweet .
“I’m not skinny enough, for one. My job is a joke.” My brows raise so she explains. “A non-profit is hardly a career, Annie.” She gives an impression of what I guess is her dad. “Ugh, I hate being called Annie. I read romance books instead of boring non-fiction. Oh, I’m also single because I can’t get a man to commit to me, and my hair is too red.” She downs the rest of her glass.
“Your hair is too red?”
“My sister spent the better part of three years trying to get me to dye my hair a lighter, strawberry blonde, which proper men find more attractive, according to her.” She rolls her eyes.
Her sister must be goddamn crazy. Her copper hair is more than attractive.
Though, I guess I’m not the proper man her sister was talking about.
“So, tell me about your family?”
I snort at her words. “Going to need more alcohol for that,” I joke, but she races to where I guess the kitchen is.
“Would this work?” She holds up a bottle of Macallan.
“That’s some top-shelf stuff. Where’d you get it?”
“It was Bryce’s precious possession. But I hid it before I went drinking that night when he broke up with me.” She breaks into a fit of giggles, and I can’t help but laugh along.
“Let’s try it out, then.”
“Oh, I don’t really drink whiskey.”
“I can’t drink this whole thing alone, and it’s a pity to let it go to waste.”
“Fine,” she groans. “But we should play a drinking game, then.”
Once again, my brows shoot up. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” she says, thinking for a second. “Got it! Every question you answer, you have to drink.”
My laughter breaks free. “Shouldn’t it be ‘every question you don’t answer, you drink’?”
“Typically, yes. But since the goal is to both drink this whiskey and answer a lot of questions, I think my way is better.”
“And what if someone doesn’t answer a question?” I grab a piece of cheese from the board, slowly but steadily depleting the spread.
“Then the game is done, and that person lost.” She’s adorable. Her cheeks are already pink, but she’s planning to up the stakes.
If we weren’t at her place, I would never say yes to the game. But she’s safe at home, and I’d never do anything to endanger her.
“Deal.” I put out my hand and she shakes it. A current shoots through my arm as our hands touch, her skin soft like silk.
She leaves for the kitchen again and brings back two shot glasses, putting them on the coffee table. “I don’t own whiskey glasses, so this will have to do.” Getting comfortable on the couch, she puts her legs beneath her. “Now tell me, boyfriend . What’s your family like?”
I said yes to the game. So, I guess I need to play along. “I don’t really talk to them. My father is. . . troubled. So, I decided to stop enabling his toxic behavior by going no contact.”
“Sorry to bring that up.” Her eyes are empathic, and I have a feeling she’s a second away from hugging me.
“It’s fine. People are responsible for their own behavior and choices. And I made mine.” This time, she does hug me.
Her scent invades my senses as her soft body molds to mine. She smells like flowers and fabric softener, a fragrance as sweet as she is.
Just as the hug gets too long, she whispers, “Now you drink.” She pulls away with a playful smirk and pours me a shot glass of whiskey.
My lips turn up into an unexpected smile. I don’t talk about this shit with anyone. Mostly because I don’t want them pitying me. Or telling me I should’ve done something different.
She did neither of those things. She offered comfort and changed the subject once it got uncomfortable. I have a feeling it’s what she always does. Gives people exactly what they need, or at least tries to.
“Fuck, this is good,” I say, downing my whiskey. “Your turn.”
She bites into her bottom lip, waiting for my question.
“What do you love about Bryce?” As far as I’m concerned, the asshole never deserved her, but she oddly got it into her head that he did.
“ Did . Past tense.” She sighs. I let it slide, though I don’t fully believe she’s over him. “I don’t know. He was just. . . right.”
“Right?”
“He checked all the boxes.” She lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I guess I forgot to put down a box with ‘doesn’t fall in love with other women’.”
“And which boxes did he check?” I have no idea why I’m interested, but I’m patiently waiting her response.
“Ambitious, good career, proper looking, a gentleman. He was someone I could proudly bring home to my judgy family.” The opposite of everything I am.
“Sounds romantic,” I huff, making her laugh.
“When I put it that way, it really isn’t this amazing romance I built up in my head. But my family’s opinion is very important to me.” Her gaze lowers. “Or was important to me.”
I fill both glasses with whiskey. “Here’s to finding out what you want for yourself, without the expectation of others.”
She nods seriously, like this is a promise she never plans to break, and we both drink. “Shoot, this is strong.” Her face scrunches up with disgust and even that looks adorable on her. “OK, next question. What was your last relationship like?”
“I never had one. Unless you’re counting Mary Redford in middle school.”
“So, Mary’s the one that got away?” She pokes an elbow at me, and I chuckle.
“I’m just not a relationship type of guy.” I shrug.
“Typical. Why do all men have a problem being loyal to one woman?”
“I don’t have a problem being loyal, sexually. I had some arrangements like that. But the emotional part, not for me.” She eyes me for a few seconds before pouring me another glass. I pause, chewing on an almond. “Your turn. Is your search for love your family’s ambition or something that you actually want for yourself?”
“Something I actually want.” Her gaze meets mine before she lets out a deep breath. “I know it may sound silly to you, but I want to have that feeling. I want to feel safe, and loved, and worshipped.”
“It’s not silly. You deserve it.” And she does. If anyone deserves to be worshipped, inside and out, it’s her.
“Your turn.” A soft blush taints her cheeks and neck. “Do you think you’ll be able to act like you’re crazy about me?”
“I’m sure.” I wink, acting unbothered, but it will be easy to do. She’s very likeable and I really want to rub it into Bryce’s stupid face. I drink my shot before asking the next question. “Your turn. How would you like me to show how crazy about you I am during the wedding? Just so I don’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
“Do you mean like. . . touch me?” Her voice turns to whisper as her face does its best to match her hair color.
“Yeah, I mean small casual touches, kisses, etc.”
“I didn’t take you for an affectionate guy.”
She’s spot on. “I just want our performance to be as believable as possible.” I pour her a drink. “And I think if I were crazy about you, I couldn’t keep my hands off of you.”
“I guess that makes sense. So, I think that anything that’s crowd appropriate is fine.” She nods profusely before downing her glass. I guess she got used to the taste because her face doesn’t show a bit of disgust. “Do you own a tux?”
I laugh out loud. “Yup, I do. I know I don’t look like it, but I attended quite a few fancy events while I played hockey.”
We continue going back and forth until the whiskey bottle and the charcuterie board are both empty. Luckily, we were at least smart enough to agree on the details of how we met and started dating before getting fully drunk. We’re also definitely more comfortable around each other and ready to play a loving couple, though we’re barely staying awake at this point.
“I should probably go,” I say, getting up.
“You can’t be planning to drive like this?” She gets up, her eyes wide open.
“No, I’ll grab an Uber.”
“But your bike is here.” She bites her bottom lip. “No, you should stay here. We’re going to be sleeping in the same room in a week, so sleeping in the same apartment shouldn’t be a problem.” It sounds like she’s convincing herself rather than me.
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You won’t be. And this couch is pretty comfortable, I fall asleep on it all the time.”
It is comfortable. And I am drunk. “OK.”
“Let me get you some bedding.” She scurries to her room and comes back with a pile of light pink sheets. “Here. You can use the bathroom first.”
I wash up, brushing my teeth with the spare toothbrush she gave me, and leave her to get ready for bed. Taking my jeans and shirt off, I’m left in only my boxers, but I tend to run hot.
The couch is like laying on a cloud. Still, I’m too unsettled to sleep. Once I hear her finish with the bathroom and shut the lights off, I turn on the small desk light and head to her bookcase.
Guessing all the pink and light purple books are not my cup of tea, I search the black and dark gray section, pulling out the book closest to me and bringing it back to the couch.
I open it to a random page and quickly shake my head. I must have imagined that.
‘Cock, pussy, thrust, grab, impale’ are the first words my eyes catch. What the fuck?
Starting from the top of the page, I realize it’s a sexual scene of sorts, something with at least two dicks. One inside the pussy of the female character, while she deep throats the second one. The scene is rough, practically violent as the woman is getting used to the fullest.
My heart pumps wildly inside my chest, mostly from the shock.
Is this what she reads? Is this what interests sweet little Anne?
My dick starts stiffening inside my underwear. Fuck, I feel like a creep, getting hard and reading porn while she’s sleeping next door.
I close the book but place it safely in the inside pocket of my jacket. I’ll need to read it in a more appropriate setting, for research purposes.