Chapter Four #3
Lennox sent a quick text before leading her to his car.
He didn’t touch her lower back, though he wanted to.
He didn’t take her hand, though his palm itched with memory.
He walked beside her, keeping his body slightly angled toward the street because protecting was second nature to him, and Lane noticed.
His car unlocked as they approached, low and black against the curb like someone with expensive taste had designed it. He opened the passenger door.
She looked at him. “Don’t get used to this.”
“Too late.”
“Delusional ass.”
“I prefer consistent,” he shrugged.
She slid in with a muttered curse as Lennox closed the door and rounded the hood, smiling.
By the time he got behind the wheel, he looked over to see Lane with her arms crossed and one orange mule bouncing with restrained violence.
The expensive scent of her filled his car with warmth and sweetness immediately.
Everything about her, down to her fragrance choices, slid under his skin like it owned a key.
He started the engine as soft R I’m single.”
“Technically.”
“There is no technicality. I’m single-single. Legally, spiritually, contractually, sexually when I choose—”
“No.”
Her head jerked back. “No?”
“No.”
Lane blinked slowly. “Did you just tell me no about my own body?”
“I said no to the idea of you belonging to somebody else.”
“I don’t belong to anybody,” she said incredulously.
“You belong to me, Lavender.”
She laughed so hard it startled him. Not because it was funny. She was outraged at the ever-present audacity of this man.
“Oh, this is rich. This is premium delusion with a side of artisanal audacity and locally sourced bullshit.”
His mouth curved. “I missed you.”
“Don’t say sweet things while saying stupid shit.”
“Nothing stupid about what I said and you know it,” he challenged.
“I know what?” She asked, knowing what he was going to say.
“You know you’re mine.”
“I know you need help.”
“I’m not stopping, Lane.”
Her eyes cut to him as the mood shifted again, deeper this time. He kept his hand on her thigh. He wasn’t gripping it; it was just there as an act of possession.
“I’m not stopping,” he repeated, “I messed up. I got scared and pulled back when I should’ve stayed and let you in. I watched my father love my mother badly my whole life and convinced myself wanting one woman was the beginning of becoming him. Wanting only you scared me, and I ran.”
Lane didn’t say anything, but he could feel her looking at him now.
“I should have handled us differently,” he said. “I should’ve come to you instead of treating you like a late-night creep and disappearing when you didn't respond how I wanted you to. I should’ve told you what was happening in my head and heart instead of showing up with another woman like a fool.”
“Facts.”
He smiled faintly. “But hear me clearly—that date tonight? That was your last one.”
She scoffed. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.”
“Lennox.”
“I’m not stopping until you’re Mrs. Jackson.”
The words filled the car. Back In My Arms by Isaiah Falls curled around them. Lane stared at him like he had just proposed and committed a misdemeanor in the same breath.
Then she rolled her eyes and faced the window. “You sound ridiculous.”
“No, I sound like a man who’s willing to do the work to get the reward of loving you.”
“You sound like a man who wants his tires missing.”
“Will you leave the rims?” He asked foolishly
“No.”
He laughed softly even though Lane didn't, but he saw her mouth twitch in the reflection of the window, and that was enough, for now.
The city blurred past them. Stonebridge alive under nightfall was a sight to see as Lennox drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on Lane’s thick thigh like he had finally stopped pretending he knew how to let go.
Lane remained silent, but she didn’t move his hand, and in the space between her fury and his certainty, the whole car seemed to hum.