15. Chapter 15 #3
A rumble rises in his chest. I feel it more than hear it, but it’s unmistakable.
I pull my head back from where it was pressed close to his neck to meet his gaze.
It’s open and honest and focused solely on me, even as our bodies keep swaying to the beat.
It sucks out all the air that was left in this hot, sticky room as his hand dips even lower on my back.
His other hand cups my jaw, and his thumb drags over my bottom lip.
The rough pad of his finger feels so good just there.
Like he’s strumming a satisfying chord. I undeniably want him to replace it with his mouth.
Fuck , I am going to explode. I thought moving myself to the dance floor would help me work out some of this pent-up energy. But my body is sighing in relief at finally having him so close to me, even as my mind is screaming at me to back the fuck up before I ruin our friendship forever.
“Water,” I yell over the music. He, thankfully, drops his hand from my jaw and leans in closer. “I need water. And the bathroom,” I add. “I’ll be back.”
I don’t wait for a response from him before pushing my way through the crowds and to the bathroom first, where I know he won’t follow me.
I need a second to breathe, to think , and so I lean against the wall outside of the bathrooms, trying to knock some sense into myself by lightly banging the back of my head into it.
Up until now, I could explain this away.
Our proximity after so long apart. My libido in overdrive after an epic dry spell and while consumed with narrating straight-up smut every day.
A bit of a harmless crush I’ve probably always harbored for him rearing its head at me.
But every time, it has been the same thought that has doused me in cold water: We are friends, and I can’t risk that changing.
If my impulsive decision to come out here is any indication, I need him. With Devin gone, he’s all I have.
Not to mention that I’ve haven’t been sure that these feelings are reciprocated, but there isn’t any doubt now.
Not after feeling the pad of his thumb graze roughly against my lips.
My tongue darts out to taste the place he touched, and it’s just as salty as it has been in my dreams lately, which sends another wave of desire through me.
The door to the men’s room opens, and Silas emerges shaking out his wet hands. “Oh, hey, Lark. Are you okay?”
My anguish must be plainly written on my face, because he looks very concerned and crosses the hallway quickly to come to my side.
“I’m fine,” I assure him before he can reach out and touch me, which it looks like he might do. “Just…hot.”
Understatement of the century.
“It is really warm in here,” he confirms. He looks at me for a moment longer, then takes in a quick breath. “You know, you could have just told me you and Lennon are seeing each other.”
“What?” I reel back, breathless again. “We’re not.”
Silas purses his lips and glances over my shoulder to the dance floor, then back to me again. “You’re not?”
I shake my head vigorously, but it makes the room spin, so I stop. “No. We’re just really good friends.”
He tilts his head and frowns. “If you say so. See you back out there?”
“I think I might find Lennon and head out, actually. But this was really fun. I’ll see you Monday?”
Nodding once, he walks past me and makes his way out of the hallway to be swallowed by the crowd.
I quickly use the restroom to give myself an extra minute to calm down, and when I emerge again, Lennon is waiting for me.
“You were gone for a while,” he says. “I was starting to get worried.”
I give him my best casual half smile. “Worried I got swept off my feet to dance with another man?” I try to joke, but it falls flat. Lennon doesn’t say anything to that, so I clear my throat. “Can we go? I’m kind of over this place.”
His features soften, and he looks almost relieved. “Yeah, me, too. Let’s get out of here.”
Those are the last words we say to each other for the whole ride home.
I wrack my brain trying to find something to say, but it all either dies on the tip of my tongue or is rejected by my common sense before it gets there.
By the set of his shoulders and the ticks in his jaw, he seems to be struggling with the same thing.
About five minutes into the drive, I give up and settle into being grateful for the cool breeze that flutters against my hair and ripples against my skin.
Once inside, I kick off my shoes and cross the few steps to my room.
Against my better judgment, I stop in the doorway and turn around.
Lennon has his palms pressed into the edge of the kitchen countertop, his head dangling between his shoulders.
His muscles pop against his dark shirt as he grips the counter.
He looks utterly defeated, and it snaps my last thread of reason into place.
Ignoring this isn’t getting us anywhere.
We’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Might as well be now.
“What are we doing here?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t lift his head. “I don’t know,” he admits.
And there’s something so heartbreaking in the curve of his shoulders and the anguish in his voice that I know, right then and there, that whatever we’ve been tiptoeing around has to stop.
He’ll never admit that losing someone close to him scares him shitless.
That his parents’ neglect has fucked him up in so many ways.
He’d just jump right into this—whatever it is—if I wanted it, for no other reason than to make me happy.
Can I dare to hope he wants me, too? Does it even matter? He’d spiral when I inevitably leave at the end of the summer. It’s my responsibility as his best friend to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“I love you, Lennon.” My voice cracks when I say it, and his head snaps up at the sound.
“You’re my best friend. I can’t lose that.
” Except that I’d try. I’d do anything to have him near me like he was on the dance floor again.
My body sways forward an inch, like a sunflower pointing its face to the sun.
But I plant my feet and try to convey as much gravity in my gaze as I can. For him. For us.
“I can’t either,” he says thickly, though it sounds like he’s trying to persuade himself more than inform me.
“Okay, then.” My gaze drops to the floor as I search for more words, but there aren’t any. “Good night,” I say to the tile at his feet.
“Good night, Lark,” he whispers as I step into my room and close the door softly behind me.
I replay the conversation in my head at least ten times before sleep finally takes me. By the time it does, I’m not sure if what I heard in his voice was determination or disappointment.