Chapter 26 Lois
Lane has been holed away in his room for hours, as cold as ever—and it’s driving me nuts.
I tried my best to seem excited about today’s news, digging deep, tapping into my inner actor.
I did my best to make it sound like a cramped dorm room was definitely on my bucket list. I finally have a place to call home.
I should be psyched—so why does it feel like I’m about to explode?
“Can I come in?” I whisper through the half-open door.
“Sure.”
I tiptoe across the room and climb onto the bed, swallowing hard, tapping the hand slung over his face. He’s straight-up pretending I don’t even exist, so I yank on his wrist for a better look.
“What?!”
“I need pizza.” I pout.
“Okay? You know where the leaflets are.”
“I mean homemade pizza. We’ve got the stuff to make it…”
“You’re not going to believe this, Lois—but there are actually people who make pizza for a living. They even deliver.”
“Oh, come on! It’s our last night.” I force myself to smile. “Pretty please?”
“Are you saying we’re never hanging out here again?”
“Sure we will! But it won’t be the same.”
“Yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “I won’t wake up to you snoring on my couch the next morning.”
“Exactly.”
Silence hovers between us. Lane is on edge—I can sense it. Maybe he doesn’t actually want me to move out, after all. He jumps to his feet and dashes around the bed, jabbing a finger in my direction.
“You’re on dish duty.”
I roll onto my back and let out a victory cry.
“And no bitching,” he adds.
I nod eagerly, sliding off the mattress.
“And definitely no splashing water all over the place.”
“Your life is about to get a whole lot easier!” I laugh, following him out the door.
Somebody get this girl an Oscar.
In the kitchen, I set about getting everything ready, while Lane turns the music up high and washes his hands. I bump into him as I load up on ingredients from the cupboards, rummaging through the drawers.
“What should I do?” he asks.
I give him his instructions, and it doesn’t take long for all the awkwardness between us to start falling away.
We chat. I sing. We argue back and forth about stuff that doesn’t even matter, we fight over pizza toppings, and I let him think he’s won before adding whatever the hell I like as soon as his back is turned. It feels great.
We peer in through the oven door at our masterpieces. “It looks weird.”
“It’s going to taste amazing, though!” I rub my hands together gleefully.
“This place looks like a bombsite—I’m still team delivery.”
“You are such a crybaby! You should be proud of yourself. You did a good job, though personally I would’ve sliced the onions a little thinner.”
“Here we go again! Girl, you wanted to add pineapple. Fucking pineapple. So leave my onions out of this.”
I burst out laughing, watching as his face breaks into a smile.
He slides two plates onto the coffee table, while I wipe down the kitchen counters.
I pour the drinks as he slices the pizza.
I’m finishing up in the kitchen just as Lane settles himself on the couch, and I’m feeling good about life, when I suddenly realize what’s happening.
We’ve slipped into a cozy routine, and I’m about to wave it all goodbye.
“This smells amazing!”
I curl up next to him, grabbing a slice, holding a second out for him.
“What do you think, Lane? Aren’t you glad you gave into temptation?”
His gaze lingers on me a second, as if what I just said has hit a nerve. And then he bites down on the slice I’m handing out to him.
“Well?” I’m beyond excited right now.
He chews slowly, making me wait for it.
I shift onto my knees for a closer look. “Come on! What do you think?”
“It’s good.”
“Is that all?”
He takes another bite, chewing even slower this time.
“Lane, cut it out!”
He moves in for a third bite of the pizza I’m still dangling in front of him, but he barely has time to open his mouth when I slap the slice down over his face.
“Fuck!”
He dabs at the tomato sauce in his eye, and I’m bent double.
“For real?”
I glance at him mischievously. His eyes drift down to the rest of the pizza on the coffee table, and by the time I get what’s about to happen, it’s too late.
He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me back onto the couch, my head resting on his thighs as he suffocates me under a thick blanket of cheese, onion, and pineapple.
I don’t even fight back. Instead, I just lie there, hiding my sadness under a slice of cheesy goodness.
“Lois?”
He peels back the pizza and laughs when he sees me staring back at him, my cheeks splattered with food, plucking a little stray onion out of my lashes. I want to kiss him so bad right now.
“I hate you,” I mutter.
That couldn’t be further from the truth—and the truth hurts more than I can say.
When Lane leans over me, my heart leaps into my throat, only to drop when I realize he’s just reaching for a tissue.
Silly girl. I grab it from him and start cleaning myself up.
I should get up and scoot over, I know, but I decide to keep my head in his lap a little while longer, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Because come tomorrow, this will all be gone.
He holds me up a peace offering, and as I take the slice from him, he falls back into the cushions.
“You’ve got to admit, this couch is seriously comfy.”
His voice sounds weird. He stares up at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” I say. “Nothing beats a real bed, though.”
“But with a couch, you’ve got everything in easy reach,” he says, gesturing at the coffee table.
“I hear they have these things called ‘bedside tables’ now.”
“Your roommates might snore.”
“I used to sleep next door to my grandpa, remember? I’m good to go.”
He nods slowly, fiddling with his lip. This conversation is so weird.
It feels like he wants me to say the dorm sucks, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I’m too scared to tell him that given the choice, I’d prefer to stay here—with him.
I’m scared because that would mean I care about him more than I thought.
I need to get him to open up, and so I start the only way I know how.
“What are you thinking?”
He lowers his gaze to meet mine. I stare at him, but try as I might, I can’t get a read.
He’s not the same guy I met all those months ago.
He’s changed—or maybe somewhere along the way, I did.
He still hasn’t answered my question, I realize.
It’s ridiculous how much time he can spend lost in thought like this.
When I was with Kirk, I guess I never paid much attention to anyone else.
Or maybe I just never met anyone worth paying attention to.
One thing’s for sure: I can’t stop watching him think, and I can’t stand feeling shut out like this, either.
I want him to say it. I need him to say it.
Tell me to stay, Lane. Please. Just say it.
“I think there’s cheese in your nose.”
So much for a heartfelt chat.
I hop off the couch and head to the bathroom to clean up.
Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I peer in for a closer look, my breath rattling in my chest. What is going on with me?
What’s changed? When exactly did I stop caring for Kirk and start feeling so much for Lane?
I can’t stop thinking back to how he kissed me, how he touched me, how his fingers…
The flashbacks are so intense, my head is reeling.
What did it all mean to him? I could have asked him straight-up—I had dozens of chances to do just that, but I can’t, and he’s a closed book, so here we are.
He started this whole thing, and then he acts like nothing ever happened.
Lane isn’t exactly Mr. Sensitive, though.
I’ve seen how he is with other girls—so why would I be any different?
If he wanted more, he would have told me.
Plus, there’s that spare room of his. There were so many times he could have told me to take it, if he really wanted me to move in with him.
At least moving out now will help set a few things straight.
I tap the edge of the sink decidedly, and force myself back into the living room. It’s my last night at the apartment. I need to make the most of it and quit the overthinking.
I curl back up on the couch. “Want to watch a movie?”
My voice is a little squeaky, but I think I sound convincing. There’s no way I’m laying myself bare. I plan on keeping up the act for as long as needed.
“I didn’t notice whether there’s a TV in my new room,” I add.
He looks at me steadily. “There isn’t.”
“I have my laptop—that’ll do just fine.” I shoot him a sideways glance.
“Yeah.” He plucks up the remote and spends a while channel surfing. I’m pretty sure his eyes aren’t even registering.
“Hello?” I wave a hand in front of his face. “You just went through a hundred channels at least.”
He tosses me the remote. “You choose.”
I don’t give a shit what we watch, but I settle on a live concert. We both love the band. I tuck myself into the corner of the couch, my toes grazing the side of his thigh.
“You can stretch out, you know,” he says, patting my ankle.
A smile plays on my lips, and I decide to do just that. This is how we spend every TV night together. This is how things first spun out of control. His arms are draped over my calves, and before long, his fingers are brushing against my skin. I’m going to miss this.
He nods at the screen. “They really are amazing live.”
“Hell yes.”
“You know they’re coming to town this summer? We should see if we can get tickets.”
“Good idea.”
He’s including me in his plans—that’s a good sign. Something for me to cling on to tomorrow morning, when I head over to the other side of town.
“You might be road-tripping with your roomies by then, though…”
I look up and wrinkle my nose.
His eyes are still latched on the screen. “Your shiny new BFFs.”
“You sound jealous,” I counter, giving him a light kick.