Chapter 13 #3
“You nearly did,” she says, leaning against the bar beside me with a small sigh of relief.
“I managed to break away but I desperately need a five-minute break where I’m not trying to be impressive.
Plus my face literally hurts from smiling so much.
I need a cocktail to give me the courage to go back out there. ”
I laugh, signaling the bartender. “What would you like? I’m at your service.”
She considers this, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the bar. “Ugh, what to pick. Something that tastes good but won’t make me embarrass myself. I still have to be charming and articulate for at least another hour and I can’t do that if I’m making weird faces at my drink or slurring my words.”
“So no tequila shots then?” I tease. “Or should I order you a Long Island iced tea? I remember a certain story about a high school party…”
“Absolutely not,” she says, shooting me a withering look that could probably kill plants before breaking into a grin. “I learned that lesson the hard way and I’m never revisiting it. I should have never told you that. That night is banned from all future discussions.”
I hold up my hands in surrender, laughing. “Message received. Long Island iced teas are off the table forever. How about a French 75?”
“Ooh, that sounds good actually,” she says, her face lighting up. “I made that for someone a few days ago, but it’s been ages since I’ve had one myself.”
I order her drink and another beer for myself. When the bartender slides the elegant champagne flute across to her, she takes a careful sip and makes an appreciative sound.
“Okay, this is dangerous,” she announces. “I forgot how good these are.”
“That’s how they get you,” I say, amused.
She takes another small sip, then turns to survey the room before looking back at me.
“This is insane though, right? Thanks for being here, by the way. Moral support and all that. Really helps to have someone to ground me when I start overthinking everything. And to have arm candy that makes me look good.”
I laugh at that. “Happy to provide aesthetic enhancement to your professional reputation.”
“Thank god for that.” She takes another sip, her eyes scanning the room before landing back on me.
“Speaking of music, Sam was telling me he used to work with Joni Mitchell back in the day. I mean, can you believe that? I just about died. I wanted to ask a million questions but I didn’t want to seem like a total fangirl. ”
“Wow. Joni’s a legend,” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “One of the best songwriters of all time.”
She glances over, eyebrows raised. “I’m surprised you’ve even listened to her. She doesn’t really scream race car driver.”
“Always such a lack of faith, Lark,” I say. “I spend half my life alone in cars and hotel rooms with a pair of headphones. I’ve listened to her album Blue a hundred times.”
She laughs. “Okay, now you have to tell me your favorite song from that album. This is a test and there are wrong answers.”
“Well, the title track is objectively perfect,” I say without hesitation. “Fight me on that.”
“I’m not going to fight you when you’re correct,” she laughs, looking genuinely delighted. “Though I think A Case of You is a close second.”
“That’s a solid choice,” I concede.
“Still can’t believe you’re a Joni fan. We need to compare playlists! I don’t know how we haven’t done that yet.”
“Done,” I laugh, taking another sip of my beer. “We have a long flight to Miami tomorrow. I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”
“Not a bad way to spend a flight,” she declares. “Though I know some of your taste is questionable since you told me you liked that Neon Wolf album the other night.”
“I am going to change your mind about that album.” I say, shaking my head. “It’s good and you’re just being stubborn.”
“Not a chance, though I am excited to see what else you’re hiding in there. Maybe some guilty pleasure pop?” She’s teasing now, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Or like, European techno to get pumped up before races? Heavy bass drops and no lyrics?”
“I do like European techno,” I admit. “If we’re ever in Europe together I’ll take you to this club in Berlin. Berghain. It’s legendary. Twelve-hour DJ sets, complete sensory overload.”
“Yeah? I think I’d actually like that.” She laughs, leaning her hip against the bar. “I haven’t been dancing in years but I love it. So we can stay out until sunrise if the music’s good.”
“Deal. And trust me, the music’s always good.”
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and a warmth settles deep in my chest. This easy back-and-forth, discovering we like the same things. Like we just found another piece that fits together.
Maya appears at Lark’s elbow suddenly, breaking the moment. “Lark, there’s someone I really want you to meet. Harrison’s boss just arrived and he’s only in Seattle for tonight. He’s been asking about you specifically.”
“Oh, I’d love to meet him,” Lark says, shooting me a quick wink before returning to Maya. “Lead the way.”
She gives me one more smile over her shoulder as Maya guides her back into the crowd, and I watch her go. She’s magnetic without even trying. And I’m completely fucked because I can’t stop thinking about how much I want this to be real.
We stay another hour. Lark works the room like she was born for it, collecting business cards and making connections.
Every time I catch her eye across the room, she’s smiling.
This is what she’s been working toward for years, and watching it happen feels like being part of something bigger than our arrangement.
Finally, around eight, we make our excuses because of our morning flight and head out to the parking lot. The night air is cooler now, a relief after the warmth of the crowded bar. In her car, I drive while she tells me all the details of conversations I missed when she got pulled away.
“I mean, three people gave me their actual business cards with their direct phone numbers,” she says, practically bouncing in her seat. “Not assistants, their actual numbers. And Maya said she’ll be in touch next week, that the team has a lot to discuss. That’s huge!”
“You killed it in there,” I tell her, merging onto the highway that’ll take us back to Dark River. “Everyone in that room wanted to work with you. You could see it.”
“I still can’t believe it,” she says, pulling the business cards out of her clutch to look at them again like they might disappear. “That this is really happening.”
“It’s happening because you’re talented as hell and you’ve worked for it.”
“And because you’ve been helping with the Instagram thing,” she adds, looking over at me with gratitude clear in her expression. “Don’t pretend that didn’t matter. Maya mentioned our engagement rates multiple times tonight.”
“Your music got you in that room,” I say firmly. “The Instagram stuff opened the door, but your talent is what made them pay attention.”
We’re quiet for a few miles after that, comfortable silence with just the highway noise and the radio playing low. The city lights fade behind us as we head north, replaced by darker stretches of road lined with Douglas firs.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” she says, shifting in her seat to look at me.
“Shoot,” I say, glancing over briefly before returning my eyes to the road.
“So Maren called me earlier,” she says slowly.
I already know where this is heading, and it was bound to come out sooner or later.
“She was telling me that she felt terrible about accidentally mentioning something to you. About Brandon being at my performance. And she said after she told you, you suddenly had very urgent errands to run.”
“I did have errands,” I say, glancing over with a half smile.
“Jack.” She rolls her eyes. “What did you do?”
“I had a conversation with Brandon,” I admit, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “Explained that he should find other entertainment options on Friday nights. Ones that don’t involve watching you perform. Or visiting you at The Black Lantern. Basically nowhere near you.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Did you punch him?”
“Once,” I confirm. “But he started it. And I didn’t hit him hard enough to do any real damage. And I could have.”
“Not that I think he doesn’t deserve it, because he absolutely does. But why risk getting in trouble over someone like him? That could get out and mess up your reputation even more. It’s too risky with everything you’ve worked for.”
“I don’t really care about that,” I say.
And it’s the truth, at least when it comes to Lark.
“When Maren told me he showed up at your performance, I just couldn’t let that slide.
And I know you don’t need me fighting your battles for you.
You’re tough as hell. But you deserve to have someone in your corner who’ll tell him to fuck off when he crosses a line.
And Brandon’s not particularly good at taking hints. ”
Her hand finds my arm, warm even through my jacket, and squeezes gently.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “I think he gets off on trying to ruin things for me. And he had it coming. Though I still think you shouldn’t have done it. It’s risky for your career.”
“Come on, you don’t think I’d let some dickhead mess with you just to protect my image?” I look over at her with a grin. “I’ve got enough money and lawyers to handle whatever Brandon wants to throw at me.”
She swats at me, laughing. “Just don’t let it go to your head, action hero. I can take care of myself. This doesn’t make you my knight in shining armor or whatever.”
“I know,” I say. “I’ve seen you at Dom’s gym. You’re legitimately terrifying. Those boxing lessons have turned you into a weapon.”
She smiles at that, flexing her arm dramatically. “Damn right I am. Dom says my right hook could drop someone.”
“I believe it,” I say, glancing at her flexed bicep, which actually is really impressive. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
We drive in silence for a while, the miles disappearing beneath us. By the time we pull up to her apartment, I park in a visitor spot next to where I left my bike earlier. I walk her to her door, moving slower than necessary, not wanting the night to end quite yet.
“So… Miami tomorrow,” she says, unlocking her door but not opening it yet. She turns back, leaning against it and looking up at me.
“Yep. Eight AM pickup,” I confirm, shoving my hands in my pockets because if I don’t, I might reach for her and fuck up whatever this fragile thing between us is.
She looks up at me. “Thanks for tonight. For coming with me, for being there. For… everything.”
“Anytime,” I say, and I mean it more than she probably realizes.
She steps closer and rises up on her toes, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
Her lips are warm and soft and it takes everything in me not to close the distance, to turn my head and capture her mouth with mine.
She pulls back, only slightly, looking at me with those brown eyes that I’ve thought about every night for weeks.
Then her mouth is on mine.
My hands move to her waist before I can even fully process what’s happening and I’m kissing her back.
She tastes like champagne and something sweeter, and every fantasy I’ve had about this moment disappears because nothing compares to the reality of her lips on mine.
Her hand comes up to rest against my chest and I pull her closer, needing more of this, more of her, more of everything.
The kiss deepens and for a few perfect seconds there’s nothing else. Just her.
She breaks away suddenly, stepping back. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing hard.
“Uh,” she says, her voice unsteady. “Thank you. I just wanted to say thank you. For the Brandon thing. I wanted to thank you… for that. I… goodnight!”
Before I can respond, she’s turning away, pushing open her door.
“Lark—”
The door closes. The message is pretty clear. Instant regret.
I stand there in the hallway staring at her closed door, my heart hammering against my ribs, the ghost of her kiss burning like a brand on my lips.