Page 55 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“You got a dog?” she clarifies.

“Yep.”

I help her stand up, and she dusts off her pants. “Good. You need a dog.”

I’m surprised but not. Maria is like a mother hen, and this puppy is just another being she can mother.

“Come on…” she starts.

“Asher,” I finish.

“Come on, Asher, let’s get you some fresh water,” she says as she walks over to where we’ve placed dog bowls.

My phone buzzes and I look down. It’s Kade. I see Lark eyeing me, and I decide it’s time to put my plan in action. Screw it. I’m in love with this woman, and she’s about to find out.

“Hey, think you can help me get ready for a date?” I ask her. Her smile immediately falters, but she’s quick to replace it with a fake smile.

“Sure. Celia?” she asks.

“Something like that,” I say as I pat Asher on the head.

“Just let me do a little work, and then I’ll be up to assist you,” she says. It’s awful, but I always ask Lark to help me dress for every occasion, even dates. I realize this has probably made me a dick boss, but she does have a great fashion sense. I wonder why she doesn’t apply that to herself. Although she did have on a hell of a dress at the festival.

I run upstairs and try to straighten up my room a bit and put away my stuff which I left sitting in my suitcase. Normally, I make Maria do that, but I’m feeling like a new man. A man that will not be treating anyone like he did before. People can change, and damn it, I’m going to prove that to Lark this evening.

“Mr. Lincoln, I have your dinner in the fridge with heating instructions. I am heading home for the evening,” Maria calls out. “Has Asher gone potty?”

“Oh, shit, uh, nope,” I say because I am officially a shitty dog owner. “Hold on, I’ll do it.”

I run back down stairs and grab Asher’s leash before taking him outside. My yard is fenced in, but I don’t need Asher running all over the place again. Surprisingly, he does his business quickly, and I praise him before letting him loose in the family room. He curls up in a ball on his doggie bed and is falling asleep as I head back up to my room. I notice Maria has filled his food bowl. So much for being responsible.

I make sure all the clothing items that Lark likes best are front and center in my closet. I grab a quick shower before calling Lark up to my room.

“Just a minute,” she calls out from the office downstairs.

I pace in my room. I haven’t been this nervous in forever. I question whether I’ve done enough “homework” on Lark. I’ve tried to ask about her, every chance I’ve had. I even have snuck past the office and checked out her playlist on her iPhone when she’s not paying attention. I feel like I know everything now. I can only hope that she still feels the same way about me.

Chapter 25

Lark

“Everything needs to be perfect,” he says as I walk into his bedroom.

I roll my eyes. He’s God’s gift to female kind, and he’s worried about the ambiance in his bedroom.

“You don’t have to try so damn hard,” I mutter as I fluff his pillows.

He looks over at me from where he stands in front of his enormous walk-in closet. He’s been watching me lately. I keep finding him looking at me, and it’s unnerving. We’d shared one drunken kiss, days ago, and now he watches me. I don’t know what to make of it, but every time I see his eyes fixated on me, a chill runs down my spine. I have to stop thinking about him like that.

He clears his throat and beckons me to him with a wave of his hand. “Help me pick out an outfit,” he says.

I follow him like I’m a freakin’ magnet. My body craves him, but I won’t give in, I can’t give in.

“So?” he asks, turning so that I can feel his breath on my ear. I feel the goose bumps rise on my skin as the heat of his breath caresses my earlobe.

“Blue button-down, dark jeans, and those shoes,” I state, pointing to a pair of leather boots that he wears often when he performs. I’m not a boot girl myself, but Lincoln would look hot in anything, and Celia will like them. I internally sigh…Celia. She’s perfect for him. She’s clean as a whistle. A real Hollywood-type sweetheart. He needs this to work. His image needs this to work. Shit, the band needs this to work. He strips in front of me and puts on the clothes that I’ve picked out for him. He looks absolutely edible.

“What about my cologne?” he asks, motioning to his colognes set out on a table in the middle of the walk-in closet, slash that, wardrobe room. I don’t have to think for this one. I point to my favorite scent. The one that makes my knees weak. He sprays it on his neck.

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