Chapter 24 Lois
I slam my hands against the bathroom door to hold it shut, as if the others might barge in. There’s no way they can see me like this. No way. I can’t even bring myself to check the mirror. I don’t know this version of myself. I’ve never met her before. Fuck, I just… Fuck!
I try to regulate my breathing, torn between wanting to laugh and cry.
I have no idea how Lane managed to open the door and let those guys in—my legs are like Jell-O, I can hardly stand.
Oh my God! What was he thinking? Like “Happy New Year, Lois! Here, let me stuff my hand in your pants to celebrate!” What kind of fucked-up resolution is that?
And why did I roll with it? Playing the wide-eyed innocent is all well and good—but who am I kidding?
I could have said no, and I didn’t. Because ever since we kissed on the beach, I can’t get that moment out of my head.
My plan was to slam my walls up and bury it all deep inside me.
I did my best to play it cool. I figured that night was small change to him.
I latched on to this idea that Kirk was the only guy in the world for me, but I’m struggling to keep the faith.
Lane’s whole attitude, everything he said to me before he started… My head is spinning.
“Lois?” Becca calls out from the living room. “What are you doing?”
Fighting for my life. And kind of waiting for Lane to come knock on the door and help me get my head straight. But the minutes tick by, and there’s still no sign of him. Time to face the music, I guess. It’s not like I can hide away in the bathroom forever.
I force myself to stroll back into the living room as casually as I can, slapping a cool, calm, and collected look on my face.
I flash the boys a quick smile and wave at my friend before ducking behind the fridge.
I kill a little time examining our groceries and consider rearranging them by alphabetic order, desperately dragging my feet.
“What’re you doing back there?” Donovan yells.
“Just looking for…” I grab the first thing I find. “Pickles!”
I set the jar down on the counter and crack it open, cramming my mouth full.
As the sour juices hit the back of my throat and my eyes flood with tears, I remember just how much I hate pickles.
Needs must, though—I hold my breath and swallow hard, before reaching for a glass and gulping down some water. Get it together, girl!
I wander over to the living room, where Adam looks up from the circle.
“Sorry for rocking up like this. We tried calling, but nobody picked up.”
No shit.
“What were you guys doing?” Lewis asks sweetly.
“Nothing,” me and Lane answer together.
I glance at him. My cheeks are on fire.
“Wanna sit down?”
Becca pats the couch, and I stare at the cushions, my pulse racing as I play it all back in my mind. The couch. The couch I just had the best orgasm of my life on. Nuh-uh. There’s no way I’m sitting my ass down there just yet. The floor will do nicely.
“You okay, Lois?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I slap my hands down on my thighs. “Sure!”
“You’re acting weird.”
“What do you feel like drinking, Becca?” Lane asks, too loud.
“Got anything sweet?”
I breathe out a sigh of relief and glance over, meeting his gaze for the briefest of seconds before he looks away.
Fuck. I’d hoped to see a glimmer of reassurance from him—but nothing.
Not a single sign. Jesus, it was hard enough after what happened in Fort Myers. This is setting up to be way worse.
“So, dude—how was Florida?” Don pops the cap off his beer.
“It was cool,” Lane drawls.
“Cool”? I’m disappointed that’s all he has to say about our week. Yeah, man. Cool…
As the night unfolds, Lane’s behavior just makes me feel worse and worse: He’s totally normal, like nothing ever happened.
Like it’s no big deal. I watch him laughing with his buddies, teasing me, pulling faces at me, just the way he always has, and I know that should make things easier, but instead I feel hollow.
THE FOLLOWING DAYS, IT ONLY gets worse. Classes still haven’t started yet, but we spend every waking moment with the Campus Drivers.
Lane keeps acting like nothing’s changed when we’re around them.
Unfortunately, that means I keep turning into this uptight, awkward mess whenever he teases me like he’s always done.
It drives me nuts. I could probably accept that the whole couch thing was just a onetime experiment—if Lane would just talk to me about it.
I mean, I have zero experience with this kind of thing. Am I overthinking it?
And maybe I could move on—if it weren’t for the fact he does a complete one-eighty the moment we step into the apartment.
Once it’s only the two of us, I can feel his eyes lingering on me.
When I brush past him, he hardly steps aside.
He’s a walking, talking contradiction, and it’s got me so confused.
I’ve had to stop myself from yelling at him so many times now.
I want to scream at him to just talk to me, to just tell me what exactly is going on—but there’s a small part of me that actually enjoys this weird tension we’ve got going on.
This is so messed up. Every time I get a little too close to him, my heart skips a beat.
When he falls back onto the couch to watch TV, my breath catches in my throat.
And when he drums his fingers a hair’s breadth from my thigh, I wish they’d inch a little higher.
I’m spending way too much time obsessing over this.
I’m even having dreams about it all. I don’t know who I am or what I want anymore, and that scares me.
I don’t recognize him anymore, either, and that’s… thrilling.
“Shit.”
I stare at myself in the mirror, a toothbrush hanging from my mouth. I’ve been scrubbing my teeth for a whole five minutes now, playing everything back, going all the way to… When was it? Christmas—or before?
“I need professional help.”
I spit the toothpaste into the sink and dunk my head under the faucet, the water drowning out Lane’s footsteps.
“You nearly done?”
I jump, swinging back to face him, wiping my chin dry with my hand.
“I’m in the bathroom!” I clutch my towel tighter around me.
It doesn’t cover much, but at least it’s something.
“Yeah, you’ve been in here for like an hour.” He folds his arms over his chest, his voice cool. “Your phone rang. Twice. It was Kirk.”
My mouth falls open.
“I told him you were just putting your panties back on.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Isn’t that what you were planning on doing next?” He smiles smugly at me. “Seems like Kirk’s having second thoughts about dumping you.”
“Shut up.”
There’s no way. I’ve been seeing him around way more since we got back from Fort Myers, it’s true—but this is the first time he’s tried calling. I guess I should be happy, but there’s a tightness spreading across my chest.
“I’ll call him back tomorrow.” Why does it sound like I’m asking a question?
Lane gives me a long, unbearable stare, before sighing.
That’s when I remember I’m practically naked, and considering the weird electric tension between us, that’s probably not a great idea.
“Let me put my pajamas on,” I say, tugging at the towel skimming the tops of my thighs.
I nod toward the door, but Lane doesn’t move.
He’s undressing me with his eyes, and the realization roots me to the ground.
Just leave, already! Slowly, he uncrosses his arms, looking me up and down, his eyes lingering on my neck, trailing down to my ankles.
The air between us is hot and thick, even though the shower steam has evaporated by now, and I’m suddenly not sure I can breathe.
By the time Lane steps closer, I’m basically panting.
Suddenly, he’s less than a foot away from me.
I wish I could tell what he’s thinking, but his eyes burning through mine are unreadable.
I watch as he clenches his jaw, his muscles rippling, like he’s fighting the urge to take another step forward.
My throat tightens as I understand he’s waiting for me to make the first move and close the distance between us.
I don’t think I can, though, I’m not feeling very bold.
And besides, I need him to act—I need some sign that it isn’t just me, that I’m not making it all up in my head.
I stand as still as I can, the towel knotted around my chest growing tighter by the second, the only sound the running water.
Lane reaches over me to turn off the faucet.
The motion closes the distance between us, and my eyes shut instinctively.
As his lips brush my temple, I fight to steady my breathing, not wanting him to see how much I love his warm breath against my skin, love imagining how wild he must be feeling right now.
I’m scared. I still don’t know what exactly flipped his switch, or why the sexual energy is rolling off him in waves, because he hasn’t said—he hasn’t given me the slightest explanation.
I’m just about to start spiraling down a rabbit hole again when Lane’s hand lands softly on my thigh, lingering against my skin for a moment, before sliding up under my towel.
The whirlwind in my mind settles in an instant, leaving just one single desire: how badly I want to feel the way I did on New Year’s Eve, how much I’m craving everything he did to me.