21. Chapter 21
Lark
“What are these?” I’m standing in the doorway that separates Lennon’s en suite bathroom from his bedroom wearing nothing but one of his giant USC T-shirts and dangling from my outstretched hand a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that had been sitting on the counter next to the sink.
It’s early Sunday evening, and we’ve spent all day in bed, having switched rooms because his is so much bigger.
We explored each other’s bodies over and over again and finally came up for air about an hour ago to order food.
Lennon is sitting—gloriously shirtless—against the headboard. He leans his head forward and squints, confirming my suspicions that these are, in fact, his and he hasn’t been wearing them.
“I would think that should be obvious,” he says drily. “They’re glasses.”
They sway back and forth in my hand. “But are they your glasses?”
His squint turns into a narrowed gaze directed at me. Or, depending on how bad his eyesight actually is, in my general direction.
“Yes.” The word is curt and leaves no room to further broach the subject.
Too bad that’s not enough for me. I cross to the bed and climb up so I’m straddling him. He watches me with and amused lift of an eyebrow as I place the glasses on his face. “Are you resisting them because your failing eyesight is a signal of your mortality?” I tease.
“No.” By the quiver in his voice, I can tell he’s trying to hide a laugh.
“Is it because you think they make you look old?” I tilt my head and make a show of studying him. “Because I am here to say, definitively, that they make you look distinguished.”
“Every man’s dream,” he intones.
“ Distinguished is professor-speak for super sexy ,” I explain.
His hands land on my hips, and he holds me in place as he lifts his. “Well, Professor Caspian, in that case…” The man is insatiable.
I tip my head back and laugh, and he uses it as an excuse to kiss my throat.
These little touches are as natural as breathing.
We’ve fallen into them as easily as if we’ve been together in this way for years, and my insides go a little gooey.
As much as I like it, though, I still haven’t gotten an answer.
“Seriously.” I lean back slightly so I can look at him again. “You should wear them, if for no other reason than to be able to fully see how good I look.”
“Songbird, I’ve been fully seeing how good you look for over twenty years. Trust me when I say I don’t need the glasses for that.”
I cross my arms and don’t miss the way his eyes dip to my chest and drag their way almost reluctantly back up to my face. “Okay, fine,” I say, pretending his compliment and subsequent gaze didn’t just heat the room by ten degrees. “So why don’t you wear them?”
He sighs and falls back against the headboard with a dull thud. “I put them on once, and I didn’t like what I saw.”
“I’ll refer you to my aforementioned comment about you looking distinguished.”
He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “No. I mean, I looked in the mirror and I could see myself. Clearly. Suddenly, there were all these lines and wrinkles I had no idea were there before. So, I stopped wearing them.” He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug.
“I don’t really need them anyway. They’re barely a prescription. ”
I blink a few times, trying to process what he just said. “You do know the wrinkles are there whether you can see them or not.”
“If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to hear it, does it still make a sound?”
I raise my eyebrows and blink at him again.
“Yes.” I take the glasses off him and fold them to carefully set them on the nightstand.
“And besides, I’m here, and I can see them.
” I kiss the crinkly lines at one corner of his eye, then the other.
“And I like them.” Then, I kiss the lines bracketing each corner of his mouth, followed by the strong line of his jaw.
“There aren’t any lines there,” he insists.
“Oh, no?” I nip at his jaw, then smooth my tongue over the spot. “I thought I saw one.”
Lennon mumbles something incoherent, even as his fingers dig into my skin.
“You can’t be expected to look like a teenager for your entire life.” I kiss the other side of his jaw for good measure.
“Says the woman who has fifteen bottles of potions lined up in my guest bathroom.” He’s being sarcastic, but it’s a gentle prod. I pull back so I can see his full face. He’s searching mine, his gaze snagging on places I know have those same lines he’s so worried about.
“I don’t look like I did in high school, either.” Not just in my face, but in my fuller hips and deflated breasts. It’s unfair those two can’t be the other way around.
Lennon takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He turns my face this way and that, inspecting and squinting and humming thoughtfully until I fall into him in a fit of giggles.
“You look better than you did in high school,” he proclaims.
I run a hand over the swell of his biceps. “You do, too,” I say quietly.
He tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him again and smirks. “Even better that now I’ve had the added benefit of seeing you naked, which teenage me would be very jealous of. And I would very much like to see it again.”
“Okay.” I eye the glasses still sitting on the nightstand. “But you’re going to put those on for me.”
He frowns, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “Why?”
I flash him a wicked smile as I pull the shirt off me and toss it aside. “Because I like them.”
It only takes a second for him to snatch the glasses off the nightstand and put them back on. “Say no more.” He kisses me deeply, effectively silencing any more teasing I might have come up with.
***
“Hey,” Lennon’s exasperated voice floats in from the living room on Monday morning. “Five till we leave.”
“Thank you, five,” I call back almost automatically as I dip the wand in my mascara and start quickly swiping at my lashes.
It’s his fault I’m late, since he was the one who woke me up by running his hands over my skin and kissing me.
And when his lips met mine, what was I supposed to do but let him devour me again?
I watch in the mirror as a slow smile spreads across my face at the memory. It’s not like I was an unwilling participant, so maybe I’m just as much to blame.
Lennon’s face appears over my shoulder, a flush creeping up his neck and his lust-addled gaze trained on me.
My smile turns into a smirk as I tick an eyebrow up and meet his eyes in the mirror. “Oh, you liked that, did you?”
“A little too much, I think.” He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my middle, kissing my neck and letting me feel exactly how much he liked my theater talk.
I reach up to run my hand through his hair, holding him close to me and tilting my neck to give him better access. “What happened to leaving in five?”
His teeth scrape against my pulse, then he licks the spot to soothe the sting. “We’re coming back to this,” he practically growls into my skin.
Our gazes meet in the mirror, his hazel eyes dark and full of desire and my blue ones bright and happy. “Is that a promise?” I ask.
He nods, then lingers there as if he wants to say something else. But ultimately, the only thing he says is “We’d better go,” before he pinches my side affectionately and walks out of the bathroom.
Lennon holds my hand the entire way to the studio.
Even though we’ve held hands a million times over the years, this feels different.
It’s more meaningful, more noticeable. Before, I was hardly aware of when his thumb would brush across my knuckles.
Now every slight shift registers, either with a shock of need up my entire arm or a vague worry about whether or not he’s comfortable.
This budding relationship between us is so new.
And now that we’re outside the safety of his apartment, I’m not quite sure how to act.
Do we tell Noah and the others or let them realize it themselves?
Or do we not bother because I still don’t know what’s going to happen once I finish recording this audiobook?
Do I tell Devin? Would it be weird for her?
I never got serious with anyone when she was younger because I was always worried about how it would affect her.
Would I still risk breaking her heart if things didn’t work out with Lennon, or is she old enough to understand?
She loves Lennon so much…would he still be part of her life if he wasn’t part of mine?
Is there a world in which I’d survive if Lennon was no longer my best friend? Is that what’s going to happen if I decide to leave Los Angeles and go back home at the end of this thing?
I’ve been chewing my lip for so long that I can taste the iron tang of blood by the time Lennon pulls up to the studio entrance. I lick it away quickly and paste a smile on my face before I turn to him.
He’s still holding my hand, and he doesn’t let go even when he parks the Jeep. He gives it a squeeze. “You look like your brain is working on overdrive, Songbird.”
“Hmm?”
“You were pretty deep in thought over there.” His tone is light, but his soft eyes suggest he’s concerned.
He’s already been so anxious about his parents, and we’ve barely been together for two days.
I can’t burden him with any of this yet, even though he’d be the first person I’d confide my worries in if I were falling for a different man.
I decide to open the door just a crack. The other bridges are ones we can cross when we come to them.
“I don’t really know how to act in public. Do I kiss you now, knowing whoever is in there can see us and is probably watching? Do we pretend everything is normal for a while longer while we adjust to…whatever we’re doing?” I shrug helplessly.
He watches his thumb brush back and forth over my hand. “What are we doing?” he asks quietly.