Chapter 11
Harbor
I hate nightclubs.
Especially small-town clubs that think they’re edgy by playing pop music from the previous decade.
I don’t hate it so much tonight, though. Lark’s body glides from side to side while her shoulders sway under the lights of the dance floor. She claimed in the car that she had no moves, but I could argue otherwise after watching her for the past few songs.
She’s magnificent in her blend of virtue and vixen, a body caught in the middle of two identities, her sneakers lying in distinct contrast to her dress.
Eyes closing.
Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.
The skirt of her dress rising when she raises her arms in the air.
A fascinating and so fucking sexy creature in a small package.
Plenty of women are showing more skin. Even her cutoffs at the gas station were shorter. But in this environment, with other guys staring at her as if she’s their next meal, she dances for me.
Every time her eyes find mine, her smile grows.
Such a fucking turn-on.
I could watch her for hours, and it still wouldn’t be enough time to riddle through how this woman has become my sole fascination in such a short time.
I’ve started to miss her when we’re not together.
We sit together now in class, but between her other classes and work, her studies, and mine, we’ve not had much time together since we went to dinner at Moretti’s.
So I’ve been looking forward to seeing her free of obligations all week. Even if it had to be a late-night date.
Lark Summerlin is worth the wait.
The lights flicker, warning that it’s almost two o’clock, and the music is turned down. Disappointment fills the air as the sea of dancing bodies begins to dissipate.
I wave and then finish drinking my bottle of water, ready to have Lark to myself again. I push off the wall, toss my bottle in the trash, and work my way toward the dance floor.
Cutting through the crowd is easy but keeping an eye on Lark is a little harder. She’s not short, but it’s easy for her to disappear in the crowd. Like Moses, the sea of heated bodies part for me as I cross the dance floor.
She runs into my arms, our bodies slamming together. I catch her just as she says, “Hey there, stranger,” while gripping the front of my shirt.
Having a conversation in here is impossible, though, so I tilt my head and signal toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Those teasing pink lips are licked, and she nods.
I wouldn’t say she’s drunk, but she’s tipsy.
I wrap my arm around her lower back to guide her to the door.
If I didn’t, we’d end up in a corner by the way her hands are rubbing all over me.
Like a bodyguard, I use my other arm to keep others out of her personal space.
We make it out of the exit and take a sharp right to head toward the car. She bumps into me and then snuggles under my arm. “Did you have a good time?” she asks when we’re clear of the crowds.
“I did.” A half-truth is better than a lie.
“I’m not ready for the night to end.”
The unsubtle batting of the eyelashes, the way the back of her hand is practically glued to mine, and the shared glances, I think it’s safe to say, “I was hoping you’d say that.”
With the crowd flooding down the street around us, we stay with the flow. I keep her tucked under my arm when a group passing is oblivious to her presence.
She looks up at me, and asks, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why were you hoping I’d say that?”
Oh. Um. I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m not ready to say good night to you either.”
“You say such sweet things to me, Harbor.” She double steps, walking backward in front of me. “Why do you have to be so good?”
“Good to you? Because I like you, and you deserve it. You have a good heart, Lark.”
Though others are rowdy in the vicinity, I’m more in tune with her. She’s the kind of good that needs to be protected at all costs, the light that makes a day shine brighter, and my night worth staying awake longer. I scratch the back of my neck as my head fills with nonsense. What am I doing?
Lark’s great, but I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time.
For good reason. I’m a fucking mess. She doesn’t need me to dump that on her.
But fuck, she’s gorgeous, and that mouth—whether speaking or kissing—tells me to fuck it all and go for it.
She’s worth the mess and pain, the lost early morning hours.
She takes my wrist, holding it between her hands, and double steps. “This was fun.”
“It was.” I give my trust to the hands of fate and swear I’ll never complain about the direction our lives take if it means more of Lark in my life. I ask, “Are you hungry?”
“I wish we had somewhere else we could go, grab a meal, and spend time together.”
“Everything’s shutting down at this hour.”
She sighs. “That’s too bad.” Suddenly, she pulls me to the side of a building, out of the main foot traffic of the sidewalk.
Stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, she digs into her bag and pulls out her phone.
With her eyes on the screen, she says, “My friend invited us to a party over on Delaware Avenue.” She looks up at me. “Do you know where that is?”
Too well. It’s not an area of town I visit anymore. I run my hand through my hair and look to the side. It’s quieter, most clubbers already gone from the area. I reply, “I know.”
She drops her phone back in the small bag looped around her body and takes my hand.
The connection is felt strong in my chest, causing me to stand straighter as energy vibrates between us.
Anticipation. Exhilaration. The feeling of something new, something beautiful blooming between us. She asks, “Do you want to go?”
Despite this growing bond I feel with her, I hesitate, not wanting to unpack my baggage in the middle of our first date. “What do you want to do?” Please don’t say the party.
She holds my hand like a lifeline, the streetlights bouncing in her eyes as if dancing just for me, and her smile exudes happiness.
I’ll give her the world if it means she’ll always be this happy.
Taking a quick breath as her body still wriggles with adrenaline from the club, she says, “I’d rather be alone. ”
Not what I expected, but exactly what I want as well. I’m hoping she means alone with me since I’m not ready for the night to end. “Would you like me to take you home?” I ask to make sure we’re on the same wavelength.
She grabs the front of my shirt, tugging me closer. Lifting, she kisses my chin until I dip so she can reach my lips. There’s no way I’m going to be able to resist her once we’re alone. “Yes, with you.”
I take in the sight of her before me. Her hair is up, but strands have escaped the elastic and hang wildly around her head. With her eyes locked on mine, her tongue runs along the corner of her lips completely unaware of the reaction it causes. So fucking innocent. “Is that an invitation?”
“Yes.” She kisses me, her arms wrapping around my neck and holding me close. “And sealed with a kiss.”
I smirk. How can I not? Judging by how she’s looking at me, like I might make a tasty snack, I’m starting to realize that alcohol might be involved in the action. I caress her cheek and then kiss it. “Let’s go home then.” Home?
I’m not sure why that came out so effortlessly, but with this incredible creature clinging to me, I’m not going to stand here to work it out. Not when I can be working other things out, like pent-up sexual frustrations, in the privacy of her bedroom.
I take one of her hands and hold it because I like having the connection. And by how she moves closer to me as we walk to the car, I’m certain she feels the same. Guess even the feisty aren’t immune to the Westcott charms. Go figure.
Holding her close feels natural and not like this is the first time. She feels good and fits nicely in the nook of my arm.
Plenty of girls are clingy with me.
Lark feels different.
Lark is different.
It’s how she makes me feel, lighter, like she doesn’t see the mistakes I’ve made in the past but only sees the me that exists now. She’s utterly addicting.
It’s been quite a whirlwind week. I went from just fucking around to having a full-on girlfriend. Am I insane? Maybe I am, but I don’t care. Lark Summerlin has become an addiction that I have no intention of quitting anytime soon.
“I think we jumped a few steps ahead in this relationship.” I realize how that might be taken if she takes it wrong.
She asks, “Is that what this is?” When I look down at her by my side, she’s already got her eyes on me. “Are we in a relationship, Harbor?”
I stop because what the fuck? Nothing I’ve done in years has made sense, except one. Lark. Taking both of her hands in mine, I search her eyes, praying to God that she’s as deep into us as I am. “I want it to be.”
There’s no humor or jokes, no lightness that usually comes from being around her. My heart thumps in my chest as I stare at her, silently pleading to end my misery. This woman can’t fix my past, but I’m hoping that my future plays out differently. If anyone has a shot of doing that, it’s her.
Reaching up, she cups my face. “You want to be in a relationship with me?” she asks wistfully.
“I do,” I reply, sounding a fucking lot like I’m ready to commit to more. “I want us to be together and date exclusively.”
A smile wiggles into place where it always should be on her face. “You want me to be your girlfriend?”
I hold her by the waist, the thin material not able to hide the shape of her body. I run my hands up and down her middle and then pull her even closer. “I’d really like that.”
“What’s the criteria?”
“Huh?” I should have known this wouldn’t be easy. This girl has a wildly independent streak. I don’t want to tame it, but I would like to be a part of her journey.
She takes my hand, and we start walking again. “Expectations.”
“Uh . . . huh. Well, we’ll spend some of our free time together . . .” I glance at her. “We can even study together. As the relationship progresses and our feelings evolve, we can review the agreement.”
She stops again, laughter shaking her body. Tapping my chest, she says, “I don’t want agreements. I want investments—my heart for yours.”
I tuck some of her hair behind her ear and grin down at this stunning woman. How did I get so lucky? Guess I’ve been given a second chance. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I kiss her, good and hard, firm and with passion. “Sealed with a kiss.”