“Thank you,” I tell her before I gulp back the beer, knowing that Naomi is still watching me. If she wants me to open my eyes, I will.
“Hey, don’t drink it all,” Jane says, thrusting her glass of champagne out toward me. “We have to do a proper toast. Here’s to Lazarus Scott for proving to every little hipster out there that they too can become Instagram famous if they just dream hard enough and use the right hashtags.”
“Fuck off,” I tell her, laughing, and we all clink glasses, finishing the rest of our drinks right there.
“Woooo!” Jane shouts, twirling around. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“Amen,” grumbles Naomi.
“I should go say goodbye to Abigail,” I tell Marina. Without thinking, I grab her hand and hold it tight. “Come with me.”
She inhales sharply, nods and I lead her over to my editor who is sipping from a water bottle and talking to a man in a suit I don’t recognize.
“Thank you so much for everything,” I tell Abigail. “Really. I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better.”
“I’m so glad you liked it,” she says. “And that you could make it. I know it was last minute.” She looks to Marina. “Can I just say, you’re a very lucky woman.”
Marina glances at me, wide-eyed, and I know she’s seconds from correcting her so I beat her to the punch.
I squeeze her hand and say quickly, “I’m the lucky one here. If you’re looking for a book on beekeeping for the Instagram age, this is the gal for you.”
“Oh really?” Abigail says and I can see the ideas sparking in her eyes. “You’re a beekeeper?”
Marina nods, apparently speechless for once. I’m not sure if it’s because a New York editor is interested or that I’m pretending we’re together.
“Here,” I say, letting go of her hand to fish out my wallet from my back pocket. I pull out one of Marina’s business cards, albeit with her old logo, and hand it to Abigail. “Look her up. You won’t be disappointed.”
She takes it, looking it over. “Well isn’t this something?” she says. “A power couple on Instagram. The poet and the beekeeper.”
We say our goodbyes and then start walking toward Naomi and Jane by the front doors.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Marina says in a hush as I hold her hand and pull her toward them.
“What, pimp you out or pretend I was your boyfriend?”
“Both, actually.”
I shoot her a cheeky smile. “Better bee-lieve it.”
She rolls her eyes but at least it grounds her again.
“God you guys are slow,” Jane says as we approach. Her eyes trail down to our hands entwined together. I can almost feel the pulse in Marina’s palm ticking against mine in preparation for whatever Jane is going to say.
“Holding hands?” Jane notes, slurring her words a bit. She tries to raise a brow but ends up frowning instead.
“It’s New York City, Jane,” I tell her. “You never know who might try and snatch me up on these mean streets.”
They all start laughing and we head out into the night.
I don’t let go of Marina’s hand. Not for a second.
She’s not pulling away either. When we walk back to the hotel, the air thick with humidity we just don’t feel in LA, she’s right by me, leaning in, her shoulder against my arm.
We don’t say anything. Everything is so electrically charged already, I don’t think words need to be said. “Open your eyes,” Naomi had said. But my eyes are open. Maybe not always, but they are now.
I’m not ending this night alone.
Chapter Eleven
Marina
“Corrupt”
Laz is holding my hand.
He’s been holding my hand for the last thirty minutes.
I don’t know what’s going on.
But I think my hand is sweating a bit too much for my liking and I want to pull it away and wipe it off. I’m just afraid that if I do, he won’t hold it again.
It’s like I’m five years old again with my crush on Billy Drixol who lived down the street, when Billy held my hand for our entire walk to the playground. That was my first crush. That hand-holding meant the whole world to me.
Now, it’s with Laz. Tall, lean, muscled, tatted, wonderfully talented Laz with the sexiest accent in the world. This man is holding my hand and it feels like the most natural thing, despite the fact that I’m burning hotter than the sun with every step we take.
We’re not saying a word to each other. We’re not strangers to silence but this silence is different. It’s saying things that haven’t been said. I just don’t know what he’s saying to me.
“You guys are so slooooow,” Jane yells at us from the street corner.
It’s been so nice to see her and be with Naomi and let our hair down a bit but honestly, at the same time, I just want to keep walking past them and head to somewhere dark and quiet with Laz. I want to tell him all the things I wasn’t able to say when we slept together.
That was two weeks ago. I was spooked. I was scared. And it was my own doing, feeling that vulnerable. In those two weeks I did what I could to stay away from him, to stay busy, to put both of us back into that friendship box. It seemed to work at the time. The less I saw Laz, the less I talked to him, the less I thought about him. And I managed to get a lot of work done for the business too.
But the moment I saw him yesterday, all of that friendship shit was thrown out the window.
This man is no longer just my friend. He’s no longer my Laz in that sense. He’s a man that I’m giving my heart over to, whether he knows it or not, whether I want to or not. There’s no reasoning, no deciding. It’s done.
He’s a man who’s going to ruin me.
And for once, I just want to be ruined.
Ravaged.
Claimed.
My body has never belonged to anyone before but I want it to belong to him.
In his hands, his capable hands, I trust.
I want to feel him again, taste him again, hold him again. I want to see what he can do when we’re both free of restraints, free of the lines we’ve drawn up around each other but never dared to cross.
I steal a glance at him.
He’s so unbelievably beautiful right now. His hair black as sin, shiny and thick. The dark sparkle in his eyes, the way he keeps chewing on that full bottom lip of his, lips I’d die to kiss again. Maybe it’s the lights of the city, the humidity in the air, but he has this glow about him, like he’s finally realizing his dreams are coming true. Because they are. They’re exploding into confetti right in front of us.
I’ve watched him all night long, my heart bursting with pride as he finally held his book in his hands, the book that holds his heart and soul. Now that same book is in my hands, though I’m afraid to read it.
“What?” he asks me as we round the corner, Jane farther down the street now with Naomi, talking to a bouncer.
“I was wondering if you’ll sign my book later,” I tell him. “I’m your number one fan.”
“I thought you said you don’t read my poetry much.”
Oops. I forgot I told him that once.
Here’s a confession: I haven’t read many of his poems.
I have read some, here and there if I happen to catch it on Instagram. He has talent and I’m obviously impressed by how he’s able to convey life in such a way. But there’s something so intensely intimate about his poetry that makes me feel flushed and anxious, like I’m looking at something I shouldn’t. Which is really fucking weird since he literally has a million Instagram followers that read his every word. It can’t be that intimate if he’s baring all to so many.
Which has me wondering, if he has no problems putting his thoughts and feelings down for the world to see, why does he keep so much of himself hidden, even from me?
I smile. “I’m your number one fan. Not Lazarus Scott, Insta Poet. I’m a fan of you.”
He stops and studies me for a moment
. “You know there’s a difference.”
“Of course I do.”
“Hey!” Jane yells. “Get your asses over here or we won’t be able to get in!” She starts waving frantically. Naomi is having a cigarette and smoking it like it’s second nature. Who knows when she started smoking or where it came from. She might have a New York persona.
I don’t blame her. I think I have a New York persona too.
And it only has one thing on her mind.
Sex.
I glance at Laz and almost ask him if he wants to come back to my room instead of going into the bar.
He looks like he wants to say something too.
“Laz!” Jane yells again.
He swallows, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from me and nods at Jane. “We’re coming.”
He gives me a smile that borders on apologetic and then starts pulling me toward the bar.
The place is called Tanner Smiths and is one of those trendy bars with a prohibition theme. It’s packed and dark and there’s a small dancefloor by the door so that when you walk in, you’re sucked into a group of people grooving all up in your space. Beyonce blares from the female DJ in the corner and everyone is drunk and happy.
“I approve of the vibe,” I say to Laz.
“What?” he yells back mockingly over the noise, cupping his ear. Then he leans in, close. Very close. “What you havin’ to drink, sweet girl?”
His breath is hot on my ear and I momentarily close my eyes, letting the feeling sink along my skin, down my back, all the way to my toes. “Anything,” I manage to say.
I open my eyes and his face is still at my neck, lips at my ear. “I had no idea you were so easy to please,” he murmurs and I swear his lips are grazing my skin. Goosebumps spread and I’m hot and cold all at once.
My throat feels thick as I speak. “Only when it comes to drinks. Anything else, you might have to work at it.”
“Is that so?” he says, pulling back enough to look me in the eye.
There’s fire inside him. God, how I want to burn.
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” I tell him.
His languid gaze drops to my lips, his nostrils flaring with impatience.
Fuck, do it, just fucking kiss me.
Kiss me.
Kiss me.
He leans all the way back, gives my hand another squeeze before letting go. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”
“Bossy,” I comment, my stomach summersaulting like crazy.
“You have no idea,” he says. Then he winks, a bit of a smile, and heads down to the bar to place the order.
I watch him. I watch him and I watch the girls in the bar watching him and I know tonight, tonight he’s mine. I have him.
I’ve never felt so alive before, a swarm of electricity underneath my skin, my heart happy, happy, happy with anticipation.
“Hey,” Jane says appearing at my side. She’s drunk but she’s pretty good at handling herself. I probably should be more drunk than I am but I’m just so excited that I’ve been taking it really slow.
“Hey. Where’s Naomi?”
“She’s talking to some guy over there.” She points into the crowd.
“That was fast.”
“I think she’s looking for her rebound tonight. I don’t blame her.”
“Me neither. Good for her. She needs to get laid.”
“She’s not the only one,” Jane says dryly. I glance at her and she’s reaching down into her purse. She pulls out a condom and puts it in the back pocket of my purse.
“What is that for?”
“For you,” she says. “In case you lose your V-card to my stepbrother tonight. Dude, I never thought I would say that phrase.”
“What are you talking about?”
Play dumb, play dumb, she’s on to you.
Jane crosses her arms. “Naomi told me about your fake dating thing.”
“Oh.”
“How is that going by the way?”
I give a faint shrug. “It’s been fun. I learned a lot about myself.”
“Like you’d rather date my brother than anyone else?”
“Jane. I’m not dating Laz.”
“I know but you’d like to.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Good grief. Marina, you were giving him the come hither eyes from day one.”
I sigh and look away. Laz is still down at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention.
“I don’t care, okay?” she goes on. “Seriously. You’re a grown woman and you know what you’re doing.”
I meet her eyes hesitantly. “What am I doing?”
“You like him. You more than like him. You’re in love with him.”
I scoff, though the words flame inside me.
I love him.
The feeling leaves me breathless.
I attempt to protest. “You can’t base that on what you’ve seen today.”
Because if she is, then that means I’ve been acting like a lovesick fool.
“I’m not. Naomi agrees with me.”
“Naomi is completely against this. Or whatever she thinks this is.”
“Because she hates men right now. Just let her be. She’s worried too. I was as well, but now I see the way Laz looks at you and I’m not going to stand in your way.”
I perk up. “What way does he look at me?”
“You know that scene in Pride and Prejudice?”
“The one we’ve watched over and over?” Back in college, Jane and I would literally watch that movie, the one with Keira Knightly, every Friday night and swoon and cry and wonder when we’d find our Mr. D’Arcy.
“Yes. By the lake. The way that he looks at her, like he’s bewitched, body and soul, that’s how Laz looks at you. And I know my brother has a terrible reputation when it comes to women and relationships but I honestly believe he has found something in you that he hasn’t been able to find with anyone else. You get a side of him that no one else does.”
I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “He still keeps that from me.”
“Give him time,” she says. “He’ll let you in.”
“How can you be so sure? What if…what if we end up being together and we break up. What if he pulls the same shit with me that he pulls with everyone else? I mean, I don’t even know why he does it, we never even got that far in our little dating game experiment before it…evolved. I know what’s wrong with me but…”
“Dude, there’s something wrong with everyone. Lazarus isn’t so special. People are fucked up and complicated and sometimes it’s just a matter of finding someone else as fucked up and complicated as you. Sometimes that’s all you need for love to work.” She takes a step back from me and makes the motion of dropping something. “Boom! Mic drop. Jane out.”
She turns around and heads to the dance floor, immediately twirling around a bunch of strangers like they’re all part of the same group.
“Need a drink?”
I turn to see a guy talking to me. He’s cute, dark blonde hair, scruffy beard, built like a linebacker. With his flannel shirt he looks like a lumberjack.
“Thank you but I’ve got a drink coming,” I say, pointing at the bar where Laz is taking two shots from the bartender. Great, Laz. Shots.
“Just wondered why a pretty girl like you was standing here all alone,” the guy says. “Didn’t seem right.”
I smile at him, flattered but a bit uncomfortable with the attention. I have no interest in this guy whatsoever but I don’t want to be rude either since not a lot of men hit on me in general.
“I’m doing good, I’m here with friends,” I tell him.
“What kind of friends?”
“Hiya,” Laz says appearing beside me with the shots. But though his usual greeting is easy, the look in his eyes is not. His gaze is hard and mean and fixed on the lumberjack with precision.
“Oh,” the lumberjack says. “I didn’t know…are you with her?”
“I’m with
her,” Laz says, handing me my drink, then slipping his arm possessively around my waist. “She’s with me. As in, she’s mine, if you don’t get my meaning.”
The lumberjack balks. “Jeez, I get it dude. No harm no foul.”
He walks away to talk to the next girl and my heart is thundering against my ribs so hard I think they might break.
I glance up at Laz in awe. Where the fuck did this alpha speak come from? I haven’t seen Laz claim anything in his life and he just fucking claimed me. I think I might need a cold shower already.
“It’s Jameson,” he says, nodding at the shot.
Are we going to completely just gloss over what happened?
“Thanks,” I say, my voice coming out in a squeak.
“Drink. Then we dance.”
“I don’t dance, Laz. You know this. And you’re really taking this bossy thing to heart.” I take a small sip.
“You’re too fucking cute,” he says. He shoots the contents of his glass right back and then nods at mine. “Catch up.”
I take in a deep breath because I don’t think I’ve done shots for years and then slam it back.
It burns but the feeling is nothing compared to the way I’ve been feeling all night. Actually, it feels nice to have the edge taken off, just a bit. I’m wound way too tight.
Laz plucks the glass from my hand and places it on the bar, then takes me over to the dance floor. He goes over and says something to the DJ, who nods. The songs have been slow of late but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that I don’t dance. I’m clumsy. I have no rhythm.
But Laz has all the rhythm in the world and he’s moving up against me, like he does when he’s doing a show. Only now I’m his stage that he owns, a stage he has complete control over.
It isn’t until the current song ends and then a slow familiar synth beat comes on that Laz slips his arms around me, pulling me to him. Tight. He sways to the sexy swagger of the song and leans in so his mouth is at my neck.
“I could corrupt you,” he sings, his deep, baritone voice washing over me like warm water, “in a heartbeat.”