Chapter 8 #3
“You look gorgeous,” I repeat, squeezing her hand with each word’s beat. “Extremely…bee-utiful.”
She giggles. I fucking love that sound.
“You better bee-lieve it,” I add, egging her on. “Because I bee-lieve in you.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I can’t. You’re just so bee-coming tonight, I might bee coming on you afterward.”
“Oh my god!” she shrieks, her face going beet red. “You didn’t just say that.”
“Bee—”
“Don’t say it!”
“—lieve it.”
She groans. I know I’m being silly and cheesy as all hell but at least it has her smiling. I’ll do anything for that smile.
When we get to Mr. Chow, just off of Wilshire Blvd., she’s back to her usual good spirits. The valet takes the car gleefully, a fan of vintage Camaros, and I take Marina’s hand, holding it tight as we walk into the restaurant.
I’ve never been to this place before but it’s pretty much what I expect. It’s busy, the tablecloths and walls are all white, there are lots of people waiting for a table, dressed to the nines, and everyone seems to know each other.
Luckily, the man at the front isn’t snobby in the slightest, neither are any of the waitstaff. We’re seated in a nice corner spot across from someone I recognize as a movie producer with his very young wife or girlfriend.
“I think I see Jennifer Aniston,” Marina whispers over her expensive martini, staring at the entrance.
“Look at you, all star-struck even though you’ve lived in LA for how long now?”
“Hey, if you don’t get star-struck by people every now and then, what’s the point in living? I’m not going to pretend to be too cool for school.”
“Neither am I. But the people I see in LA are rarely the ones I care about. All mine are in New York, or back in England.”
“That’s because all your idols are musicians.”
“If I was ever lucky enough to meet David Gahan or Jimmy Page or Tom Waits or Nick Cave, then yeah, I would be star struck.”
“I would love to see that,” she says, giving me a small smile. “See Mr. Cool lose his cool.”
“Mr. Cool?” I laugh. “You must have short-term memory because yesterday I completely lost my shit. Not one of my finest moments, I must say.”
“I don’t know,” she says rather coyly, “something good came out of it.”
My skin feels impossibly warm at that.
She didn’t regret the kiss.
Thank fucking god.
“Excuse me,” a voice says to the right of me.
I tear my eyes away from Marina and look up to see a stunning brunette with golden tanned skin and a mega-watt smile that she’s directing at me, dressed in a chic black dress that shows off her legs.
I glance quickly at Marina to see if maybe she recognizes her and actually it seems like she does. She’s wide-eyed and curious as she stares at her.
“Uh yes?” I say to the woman.
“Are you Lazarus Scott?” she asks.
“Uh, yes?”
“Sorry to be so nosy,” she says, smiling warmly at Marina before turning her attention back to me. “I overheard them calling your name for the table. Are you the poet Lazarus Scott? Like, on Instagram.”
“That’s me,” I tell her. This is always awkward. Well, okay it’s not normally awkward when a gorgeous woman approaches me like this but it’s awkward now with Marina here. I don’t want her to feel left out.
“Wow, I thought so,” she says, brushing her stick-straight hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know what you looked like so I hoped it was you. I don’t mean to interrupt your date.” She glances again at Marina and smiles.
“It’s not a date,” Marina blurts out. “We’re just friends.”
Okay then. In case I was wondering where we stood, there we have it.
“Oh, okay. Cool,” the girl says. She sticks out her hand to me. “My name is Colleen. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand, my grip firm enough to leave an impression, but as hot as she is and as much as Marina made it clear we are just friends, I’m not interested.
“Lazarus. Nice to meet you.”
She takes her hand back, that big smile still on her face as she looks between the two of us. She points behind her. “Well, I’m going to go back to my table over there. Having a girl’s night with a few friends. Sorry for interrupting and I’m so glad I got to meet you.”
And with that and a little wave from her, she walks away to the back of the restaurant.
Marina is staring at me with an expression I can’t read. Is she…impressed?
“You know you’re getting famous when the famous are coming after you,” she says under her breath before she sips her drink.
“Famous?”
“You didn’t recognize her?” she asks incredulously.
“I don’t know, she kind of looks like everyone else in LA.”
“That’s Colleen Croix. She’s a big deal. She’s like in every movie now.”
“I stand by what I said.”
She leans across the table slightly. “She wanted you. Like, very obviously. You should go over there.”
“No,” I tell her.
“No? Why not?”
I study her carefully. I don’t know what she wants, if she’s pretending not to be interested in me because she thinks it will scare me. Or if she actually isn’t interested. So I decide I’m just going to tell her the truth.
“You say we’re just friends,” I tell her. “But we are on a date. And that means something to me. As did that kiss yesterday. I’m not going to go talk to that chick because I’m not interested in her. Right now, I’m interested in you.”
She watches me for a moment as she carefully swallows her drink. I think she’s trying not to choke on it. It’s not unusual to say what’s on my mind but I’ve never said anything about her quite like this.
Of course now she’s not saying anything in response, so there’s probably a reason why I never say shit like this.
But I’m just going to fucking own it.
“Look, Marina, I—”
Her phone starts ringing from her clutch on the table, rather loudly.
She jumps, spilling a bit of her drink and then quickly fumbles for it, glancing down at the screen. She frowns and holds up a finger, motioning that she’s going to take the call.
“Naomi?” she says into the phone. “What’s wrong?”
I watch Marina and wait. She worries her lip between her teeth, nods at whatever Naomi is saying. “Oh fuck, Naomi. I’m so sorry. I…yes I know. You did the right thing. No, don’t do that. Promise me you won’t do that. Okay, look I’m going to come and get you right now.”
Fuck.
“No, I’m just with Laz.”
Just with Laz.
Ow.
“But I’ll be there in like forty-five minutes, okay? You shouldn’t be alone right now. No, it’s fine, really. Okay I’ll be there soon.”
Marina hangs up the phone and gives me an overly apologetic look.
“Laz, I am so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” she says. “She just came home and found another woman in bed with Robert.”
“Jesus. What a piece of shit.”
“I know. She kicked them out but she can’t be alone.”
“Marina, I completely understand.” I look around for the nearest waiter and signal for him to come over. “We haven’t even ordered the main courses yet, we can just pay up and go.”
“But the appetizers,” she protests feebly. “We won’t be able to eat them.”
“It’s just food,” I tell her. “Your friend is more important.”
“But you’re my friend too.”
I nearly snap at her but I manage to rein it in. “I know. And I’m sure if the roles were reversed you would be coming to my side. You’re a sound friend, you know that? No one is going to fault you for always wanting to take care of people.”
So I get the bill, pay for the drinks and appetizers we didn’t get a chance to eat, and then I drive Marina home.
She’s silent for most of the drive, on the phone texting Naomi, maybe even Jane.
By the time I pull up to her house, I’m exhausted by everything all of a sudden.
“I am so sorry,” she says to me again, taking off her seatbelt, her features shadowed by the streetlight.
“Me too. We’ll just…”
“Do it again,” she says quickly. “Not at Mr. Chow. Let’s just watch a movie. Call it date three point five.”
“Shouldn’t it be date two point five?”
She sighs, looking overly forlorn, which I’ll admit makes me feel a bit better. “I was really looking forward to this.”
I try and brush it off. “Yeah, well, shit happens. I—”
Before I can finish my sentence, she twists in her seat and leans across the center console, grabbing my face.
She kisses me so hard I feel my heart still with the shock of her impulse, her fingers pressed into my jaw, one hand going through my hair and giving my strands a sharp tug.
I moan into her mouth, my tongue sliding in against hers as the kiss deepens. I’ve been needing this so fucking bad and now that I have it again, I don’t want it to ever stop. My dick is already so hot and hard in my dress pants, it’s almost painful.
“Marina,” I whisper harshly, impatient, trying to undo my seatbelt so I can kiss her better, harder, messier. I want to throw her back against her seat, get between her legs, feel every inch of that decadent dress and her soft skin underneath.
But then she’s pulling away and staring at me with huge eyes, her mouth wet from my mouth. “I have to go,” she says quietly.
Then she quickly gets out of the car, shuts the door behind her and heads through the gate down the side of the house.
Gone.
Holy fuck.
What the fuck just happened there?
And holy fuck…
When can that happen again?