Chapter 10 Laz #3
“So what do you think of the cover?” I ask Naomi, holding up a copy of my book and waving it at her.
All of us have a copy to take home and even though it’s an advanced review copy and not the final printed version (which I am told will have embossed font), it felt amazing to hold it in my hands for the first time.
But Naomi isn’t looking at the cover. She staring at me, totally unimpressed. Which is her go-to expression, I know.
“What are you doing, Laz?”
“What?” I glance at Brent, hoping to glean some information off him as to what I’m doing but he’s still staring at her with quiet intensity.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says and points her copy of the book at me until the corner of the spine is jabbing me in the chest. “You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m enjoying my book launch?”
“You’re playing with her feelings.”
“What?” I exclaim, a little too loud. Some people look over. Luckily not Jane and Marina who are at the bar and chatting to Abigail.
“Don’t play games.”
I show my palm to her in surrender. “Naomi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not playing with anyone’s feelings, nor am I playing any games. Not yet, anyway, I did pack a deck of Cards Against Humanity for later.”
She presses her lips together, eyes narrow. “I know the likes of you.”
I flinch. “You do not,” I say sharply. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me.”
“I’ve seen your type,” she says.
“And I’ve seen yours.”
Her eyes flare up like my words have invoked the bowels of Hell. Maybe they have. Both Brent and I take an instinctive step backward.
“And what’s my type?” she asks, challenging me to slip up.
But I won’t.
“Someone who took a chance on love, who never deserved to get screwed over and who did get screwed over. Proving that sometimes even the best intentions and the purest hearts can get fucked over by love.”
She blinks at me and I can tell she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words because I’ve hit the nail on the head.
I go on. Pressing my luck, maybe. “And so now you think all guys are the devil.”
“Not all guys,” she says quickly. “Just guys who play games. I’ve been through all that, pure heart and whatnot, and now I know what to look for.”
“You’re talking about me and Marina, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”
“You know we’re just friends, right?”
“No,” she says. “You aren’t. She told me about your dating game.”
“So?”
“So. I told her it was a mistake.”
“Why? We’re both bad at love. Why not fix it?”
“Because she’s not bad at it. She just hasn’t found the right guy yet.”
“And who would the right guy be?”
“Are we talking about the blonde with the big rack?” Brent suddenly says.
We both look at him, look at each other, ignore him.
“The right guy,” Naomi continues, “is someone who knows what he has when he has her. Someone who doesn’t kick her to the curb when things get real.”
“Okay. So what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Because you’re her friend and you’re… taking advantage of her.”
I shake my head, run my hand over my jaw, trying to not lose it on her because she couldn’t be more wrong if she tried. “Why don’t you ask Marina about all of this? I haven’t done a thing.”
She looks over her shoulder at Marina who is now walking over with Jane.
She steps closer and pokes the book into my chest again, leaning in close with hard eyes.
“Marina is my best friend. She’s yours too.
Leave it that way. Please. Because if you fucking hurt her, in anyway, I will cut your dick off. ”
“Whoa,” Brent says. “I am out of here.”
“Yeah, whoa,” I say to her. “And what makes you think we’re more than friends?”
She just shakes her head. “I’m not saying anything else. Just open your fucking eyes, will you, Laz?”
“I got you a drink,” Marina says appearing at my side. She holds out a cold beer and I take it from her, trying to smile my gratitude, hoping my hand isn’t shaking. “I figured you were tired of champagne.”
“Thank you,” I tell her before I gulp back the beer, knowing that Naomi is still watching me. If she wants me to open my eyes, I will.
“Hey, don’t drink it all,” Jane says, thrusting her glass of champagne out toward me. “We have to do a proper toast. Here’s to Lazarus Scott for proving to every little hipster out there that they too can become Instagram famous if they just dream hard enough and use the right hashtags.”
“Fuck off,” I tell her, laughing, and we all clink glasses, finishing the rest of our drinks right there.
“Woooo!” Jane shouts, twirling around. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“Amen,” grumbles Naomi.
“I should go say goodbye to Abigail,” I tell Marina. Without thinking, I grab her hand and hold it tight. “Come with me.”
She inhales sharply, nods and I lead her over to my editor who is sipping from a water bottle and talking to a man in a suit I don’t recognize.
“Thank you so much for everything,” I tell Abigail. “Really. I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better.”
“I’m so glad you liked it,” she says. “And that you could make it. I know it was last minute.” She looks to Marina. “Can I just say, you’re a very lucky woman.”
Marina glances at me, wide-eyed, and I know she’s seconds from correcting her so I beat her to the punch.
I squeeze her hand and say quickly, “I’m the lucky one here. If you’re looking for a book on beekeeping for the Instagram age, this is the gal for you.”
“Oh really?” Abigail says and I can see the ideas sparking in her eyes. “You’re a beekeeper?”
Marina nods, apparently speechless for once. I’m not sure if it’s because a New York editor is interested or that I’m pretending we’re together.
“Here,” I say, letting go of her hand to fish out my wallet from my back pocket. I pull out one of Marina’s business cards, albeit with her old logo, and hand it to Abigail. “Look her up. You won’t be disappointed.”
She takes it, looking it over. “Well isn’t this something?” she says. “A power couple on Instagram. The poet and the beekeeper.”
We say our goodbyes and then start walking toward Naomi and Jane by the front doors.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Marina says in a hush as I hold her hand and pull her toward them.
“What, pimp you out or pretend I was your boyfriend?”
“Both, actually.”
I shoot her a cheeky smile. “Better bee-lieve it.”
She rolls her eyes but at least it grounds her again.
“God you guys are slow,” Jane says as we approach. Her eyes trail down to our hands entwined together. I can almost feel the pulse in Marina’s palm ticking against mine in preparation for whatever Jane is going to say.
“Holding hands?” Jane notes, slurring her words a bit. She tries to raise a brow but ends up frowning instead.
“It’s New York City, Jane,” I tell her. “You never know who might try and snatch me up on these mean streets.”
They all start laughing and we head out into the night.
I don’t let go of Marina’s hand. Not for a second.
She’s not pulling away either. When we walk back to the hotel, the air thick with humidity we just don’t feel in LA, she’s right by me, leaning in, her shoulder against my arm.
We don’t say anything. Everything is so electrically charged already, I don’t think words need to be said. “Open your eyes,” Naomi had said. But my eyes are open. Maybe not always, but they are now.
I’m not ending this night alone.