Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
LIAM
M y heart is pounding so fucking fast I think I might pass out. Lark’s hand is so small and soft in mine, and she’s being so understanding and sweet. Suddenly it clicks into place that this is what her family has been talking about. That grumpy exterior she gives the rest of the world is slowly melting away with the development of our budding friendship.
I’ve only officially known this woman for half a day and she’s already burrowing her way under my skin with her sharp tongue and kind eyes. I can only hope to hell my resolve to keep her at arm’s length is as strong as my love for plants and art.
In a desperate effort to lighten the conversation a bit, I try to steer us back to safer topics. “Anything for my best friend’s sister! I’m sure after a bit of time, we’ll be besties too.”
She snickers, dropping my hand to lean back on the bench. “Besties? What are you, twelve?”
Rolling my eyes, I stand up and grip her hand to pull her up with me. It’s starting to get dark out and even though I know Echo Cove is safer than anywhere else I’ve lived, the thought of Lark walking home after dark makes me uneasy. The fact that I’m here to protect her doesn’t seem to deter my anxiety.
“My shop assistant, Riley, is eighteen and does his best to keep me up to speed on all the new lingo.” Shaking my head with a chuckle, I consider her earlier request and shoot Riley a text to see when we could fit her in on the schedule.
That gets a true smile out of her, and it damn near knocks the breath from my lungs. The red strands of hair caressing her cheeks against the setting sun light up her face in the most ethereal way and it makes her freckles stand out like crazy against her fair skin.
The buzzing of my phone startles me out of my transfixion and I smile when I read Riley’s text. Lark seems lost in her own world next to me as we walk so I gently nudge her shoulder with my arm.
When she looks up to me with her usual stoic look fixed in place, my heart sinks a little bit, but I shake it off. I have plenty of time to warm her up to me, and what better way to do that than to have her stuck in my chair for a few hours?
“You have any plans tomorrow? I wasn’t sure if you were jumping right back into work or not.”
She shakes her head, tucking the cherry-red strands of hair behind her ears. “Nah, I’m taking a few days off. I think I’ll pop into the salon tomorrow and check in on things and say hi to my manager Kelsey, but other than that I’m just going to go jump-scare my parents and relax on the beach.”
Snorting, I shoot an incredulous expression her way. She shrugs with a mischievous gleam in her pretty blue eyes. “My dad and I like to scare each other, it’s kind of our thing. Plus, it annoys the hell out of Mom, so all the better.”
I can imagine. Momma Monroe doesn’t seem like the kind of woman you want to mess with, but what do I know? I’m always on my best behavior for Sunday supper, so I’ve never had the chance to incur her wrath.
“Well if you can take time out of your busy schedule, what would you say about coming in for a tattoo tomorrow morning? We can grab coffee and breakfast from Coastal Coffee , and then you can sit your sassy ass in my chair for an hour or two and let me torture you.”
Lark’s cheeks flush pink at my words, but an excited look lights up her face. Her small hands fold together in the prayer position under her chin as she looks up at me with stars in her eyes.
“Really? Keelan told me I should get something done by you, but I figured it would be months before I could get on your books.”
I shrug my shoulders like it’s not a big deal, because it really isn’t. “Someone canceled tomorrow morning, and I’m more than happy to give that slot to you. Plus, what better way to cement our newfound friendship than by letting me permanently mark up your virgin skin?”
It doesn’t take long for my unintentional double entendre to register this time, because that one word leads my mind down a filthy rabbit hole that I cannot afford to go down with Lark Monroe.
Rather than making a big deal about it, I continue walking. The house is in view now and all the lights are on downstairs, which means Mom is back from her picnic with Dad.
It’s a few long seconds before Lark’s footsteps catch up with mine, and she’s positively beaming when I look down at her. My traitorous heart stutters in response. “Liam, that would seriously be so cool! Do you have a time limit in mind or anything you don’t like doing? Obviously I’ll pay whatever your normal rate is and then some for the last minute appointment.”
The fact that she’s thoughtful enough to ask only makes me like her more. “First of all, it’s laughable that you think I’m letting you pay. Second of all, I have another appointment at one, so you’ve got me for three hours if we hit the studio at ten. And if we need to go in earlier or do another session on a different day, that’s cool too.”
She gapes at me like I’ve just spoken gibberish, so I lean forward and tap her jaw to close it. We finally make it to the back porch of my house, and I lead her to the wide swing bed. For some reason I’m not willing to explore too deeply, I don’t want to end the night yet.
“Liam,” she chokes. “You’re not tattooing me for free. Are you crazy? You’re an artist using your time, skills, and equipment on me. I am absolutely compensating you for it.”
I struggle to think of a way to politely phrase my rejection without outright saying absolutely the fuck not , but nothing comes to mind for several awkward moments. When I reach up to scrub a hand through my hair, it hits me.
Grinning triumphantly at her, I pull off my hat and point to the mess of waves on my head. I always keep the sides short, but I’ve been neglecting the top for a bit too long, and it shows. “Then let’s trade services. I tattoo you, you tame this mop.”
She considers me for a moment before nodding, lips pursed in annoyance at my ploy to give her a free tattoo. “Fine. But that’s not an even trade and you know it. So I’m giving you a punch card for free haircuts, and you can redeem them directly with me whenever you need a trim or a change.”
Lark nods decisively and the look on her face tells me she’s extremely proud of herself for coming up with that, making me bite my lip to hold back a laugh. At least until she reaches up and threads her lean fingers through my hair.
My breath catches in my chest as she slips into her professional persona, muttering things about length and density and conditioning treatments. She’s so close I worry she’ll be able to hear my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. Eventually she smiles and with a final playful tug on the strands that sends a bolt of lust straight to my cock, taps me on the nose.
Why did that just make my dick harder?
“I can’t wait to take a pair of shears to your hair, but honestly it’s in great shape. You know, in spite of the fact that I can tell you wear a hat way too often,” she teases quietly.
From the corner of my eye I see the curtains move almost imperceptibly, which tells me my mother is spying. I move back from Lark the slightest bit, not enough to hurt her feelings or make things awkward, but enough that I can subtly adjust my erection in case Mom decides to make her presence known.
“Alright, Red, you’ve got yourself a trade.”
Some sick part of me is jumping up and down with glee, wondering what her soft hands will feel like running through my hair and just how often I can get away with needing a “trim.”
It doesn’t matter that I’m not supposed to want her. The more time I spend with Lark, the more I like her, and the fact that having my hair played with is my biggest weakness isn’t helping things.
“I tell you, if I was twenty years younger and into the oil-slick-hair look, I would have fought Amber for Link, too,” my mom says dreamily. She somehow talked Lark and I into a movie night tonight instead of waiting for later in the week, so after watching Mamma Mia , we’ve now moved on to Hairspray .
Lark’s eyes are glued to the television as she mouths the words to “You Can’t Stop the Beat” and I fight the urge to laugh. Here’s Lark, this badass, successful business owning, black-cat woman singing along to a cheesy musical from the early 2000’s.
She’s a beautiful contradiction.
I can’t resist the urge to poke at her a little bit, if only because she’s so cute when she’s all riled up. Plus, when she’s her usual prickly self, it’s easier to push back these concerning feelings I can’t afford to be having for my best friend’s sister.
Leaning over the back of the couch, I tug at a lock of her soft blonde hair. When her icy glare springs to mine, I smirk. The irritation in her gaze and the flush spreading across her cheeks sends a twisted thrill through my chest. Like some kid on the playground, any attention from Lark Monroe seems to be good enough for me.
Keeping my voice down so as not to bother Mom, I lean down and whisper in her ear, catching the sweet smell of berries and vanilla as I do. “If you’re gonna mouth the words anyway, why not just sing out loud?”
Lark opens her mouth to speak, but promptly closes it when I reach out a careful finger, brushing a lock of red hair behind one ear. “Unless you’re chicken. Did Keelan get all the musical talent in the family and leave poor little Lark musically bereft?”
A determined gleam enters her eyes at my taunt, and I give myself a little mental high-five. She still hasn’t moved but as soon as I open my mouth to push her some more, she surprises me by scrambling off the couch with a manic grin on her pretty face.
Stopping in front of my mom, she holds her hand out. “What do you say we turn this into a karaoke night instead, Carol?”
Mom squeals, clapping her hands in excitement. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen her this excited about something, and I’ll need to remember to thank Lark later for including her even if she’s only doing it to spite me.
The movie is quickly turned off and traded for a karaoke app Lark conveniently already had on her phone, and the two women giggle, whispering behind their hands as they choose a song. Lark stops scrolling and points, murmuring something to my mom who throws her head back and cackles.
The smirk on my new friend’s face should make me nervous, but I’m too interested in seeing how this plays out to care much. Lark rounds the couch and snags my hand in one of hers, her ocean blue eyes bright with mirth.
Like a puppy, I have no choice but to follow her command straight to the middle of the couch where she pushes me down so I’m sitting on the edge of the cushion. I see Mom out of the corner of my eye with a sly look on her face that spells trouble, and some of the trepidation I’ve been ignoring slithers through my body.
One of the two women must have connected to the sound system I have wired through the living room and kitchen, because all of a sudden Jack Harlow’s “Lovin on Me” blasts through at full volume. Lark disappears behind me for a moment and returns with a naughty smirk on her face. Lifting a wooden spoon to her mouth, she begins to sing.
My jaw drops to the fucking floor . Her sensual voice flows over my body as smooth as water, cleansing my soul of everything wrong in life .
Lark sings like the sweetest goddamn siren, and if that’s what she is, then let me meet my demise by her hand.
I lose all track of my thoughts as she begins to move her hips in time with the song. My eyes track every rock and sway, imagining her making those same movements in a much more lascivious scenario. I know my mom is in the room somewhere, and yet I still have to shift to hide my body’s reaction to the off-limits woman in front of me.
The song ends what feels like all too soon and not soon enough, and Mom takes over as Lark drops down to the seat next to me, panting with the biggest smile bunching her flushed cheeks.
“Holy hell,” she chuckles breathlessly. “I haven’t had this much fun…maybe ever. I love your mom, Liam.”
In a move that I’m pretty sure shocks her just as much as it does me, she leans into my side with an exhausted smile, wrapping both of her arms around one of mine. It takes everything in me not to react as an internal war wages.
The thought of moving and losing her comforting presence against my side is a risk I’m not willing to take right now, so I ignore my better judgment and stay quiet, reveling in the warmth of her slight frame.
One of the downsides of social anxiety and a decade of relationship abstinence is that I’m incredibly touch starved. Sure I’ll get the occasional hug from Mrs. Monroe, Mom, or Keelan, but overall, my only physical contact comes from having someone in my chair at the studio.
A throat clearing startles me enough that I have to consciously make the effort not to move, and Mom finally makes her presence obvious when she steps in front of me with a knowing smile.
“She’s out.”
Glancing down at Lark, I find her lips parted in sleep, small puffs of air escaping every few seconds with each soft exhale. The way her face relaxes in sleep makes her look so much younger than her twenty-eight years, and it makes me wonder what it would take to have her looking that relaxed all the time.
Before my thoughts have a chance to turn lurid, I force myself to grin up at my mom, hoping she can’t sense my internal struggle. “I’ll carry her upstairs. She’s exhausted and I don’t want to wake her when she’s had such a big week.”
There’s something in Mom’s eyes I refuse to examine too closely, but the way she pats me on the cheek makes me feel like I’m somehow in over my head with the beautiful woman in my arms.
Because if Mom thinks I have feelings for Lark, then I’m in even more trouble than I thought.