16. 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.
“Don’t eat my cupcake!” she calls as I shut the door to give her some privacy.
***
I make it through the audiobook edits faster and with less of a hard-on than the past few days.
Things are looking up, I suppose, though it could be because these chapters are more plot and less erotica.
It’s naive, but I have a vague hope that I might be able to get through this project in one piece.
When I pick up Lark from the studio, she’s as effervescent as usual. Things have been going well, and it has been such a privilege to watch her come back out of the shell she found herself in these past few years.
“So, where are we going?” she asks as soon as I pull away from the studio.
I smile slyly. “I was thinking of seeing a show.”
She straightens in her seat and leans toward me. Her sunshine-and-citrus scent wafts in my direction on a breeze. “What show?” she asks, clearly elated.
I laugh heartily. “I wasn’t going to tell you…”
Lark pushes her bottom lip out into a pout. She clasps her hands under her chin and makes her eyes go wide. “But it’s my birthday,” she pleads. “Tell me!”
“That’s not fair. I don’t stand a chance when you make that face.”
“Which is why I don’t use it unless I really need to. Power and responsibility and all that. Come on, tell me,” she begs again.
I sigh good-naturedly and glance at her before turning my attention back to the road. “Shakespeare in the Park.”
At that, Lark goes absolutely giddy. She claps her hands and bounces like a schoolgirl, and I can’t help but be delighted to have made her so happy.
“What show are they doing?”
This was the big surprise. “You’re not going to believe it,” I say slowly, “but they’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream this season.”
Lark gasps. “I love A Midsummer Night’s Dream ,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“We did it in high school.”
“Did you think I could ever forget?”
She studies me thoughtfully, chewing on her lip. Then, she shakes her head. “I don’t suppose you could.”
I don’t know if I realized how ingrained my memories of her are into my psyche until she got here, but now I can’t unsee it.
She’s as much a part of me as my own DNA.
And yet I still want more. Even though it’s unfair of me to ask more of her than she’s already given, I still want it.
I want to go back to that dance floor and press my lips to hers before she has a chance to tell me it’s a bad idea. To prove to her that it’s not.
We both sit in silence for a minute before I try to break whatever moment we’re having. “Do you think you could still do all the lines?”
She sits back in her seat and laughs. “I could totally still do all the lines. But I promise I won’t. That would be insufferable.”
Even though I told myself I wouldn’t, even though I know it’s a terrible idea, I reach over and grab her hand. She smiles her brilliant smile up at me.
Nothing she does could ever be insufferable.
***
We arrive at the park early. There’s a stage with a tall green set decorated in fairy lights at the end of a grassy field. I spread out a blanket as close as I can and unload the snacks I packed earlier to bring with us.
“You did not bring a cake,” Lark groans when she sees it. “How embarrassing.”
“It’s just a little cake,” I insist. “And it’s not every day you turn—”
Lark’s blue eyes narrow, and she juts out the bottom of her jaw.
“Twenty-nine?” I ask.
She smiles, appeased. “Good man.”
I drag the picnic basket in front of me to hide what her praise does below my waist under the guise of unloading more stuff.
We eat and chat as we wait for the show to start, and it’s so easy.
Everything with her is refreshingly simple.
Even wanting her has been effortless, if not uncomplicated.
But being here with her tonight, lying on a blanket in the grass snacking on almonds and cheese, laughing and joking like old times… it’s perfect.
And when the show starts, we settle in to enjoy it, though I probably spend more time watching her than the stage. When Helena enters, Lark lights up. She doesn’t recite the lines, but her lips move almost imperceptibly in time with Helena’s words.
Toward the end of the fifth act, I slide a packet of tissues next to her hand. She glances at it, then looks at me, her brow furrowed.
“You always cry at live theater,” I whisper.
“It’s a comedy,” she murmurs back.
“Doesn’t matter.” I flash a knowing grin.
And sure enough, when Puck starts his epilogue with “If we shadows have offended…” Lark sniffles and takes a tissue from my hand.
“It was just so beautiful,” she says, gazing longingly at the stage as the actors take their bows.
“I know,” I reply. But I’m not looking at the stage.
I’m looking at her.