Page 103 of Suddenly Dating
Birta rolled her eyes. “Someone has to be honest with her, Harry.Youwere the one who wanted me to look at her book.Youwere the one who opened her up to criticism.”
“There is a difference between constructive criticism and being a bitch,” Harry said.
Birta gasped with anger and surged to her feet, bracing her hands against the picnic table as she leaned across it. “Don’t youdarespeak to me like that,” she hissed.
“I’ll do you one better,” he said angrily. “I’ll never speak to you again.” He put his glass down onto the table and went after Lola. He hadn’t gotten very far, however, before Melissa caught him, latching on to his arm. Harry tried to shake her off. “Not now, Lissa.”
“Don’t leave—”
“You were horrible back there,” he snapped, jerking his arm from her hand. “You have a mean streak when you’ve had a couple of drinks, you know that?”
“I’m sorry!” she said, casting her arms wide. “I know I was horrible, but I can’t help it, Harry. I’m just soenviousof her.” She pressed her fingertips to either side of her head and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I feel like I’m competing for you, and I’ve never...” She sighed and dropped her hands. “I don’t want to like her. I want to hate her, because she has you.”
“She doesn’t have me,” Harry said impatiently. She wouldn’t have him—she’d made that clear all week.
“Yes she does,” Melissa said morosely. “You may not know it, but she does.”
Harry scanned the upper deck. He couldn’t see Lola any longer.
“Please, Harry,” Melissa said, grabbing his hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m just going crazy with wanting you and needing you. I don’t know how to get you back.” She moved closer, slid one hand up his chest, around to the nape of his neck. “I would give anything if I could just go back and do it over, you know?”
“Okay,” he said, and moved to take her hand from his neck, but before he could do it, she kissed him.
“Just give me another chance,” she murmured.
Her kiss was as unsettling as the churning in his gut. There were many things he wanted to say to Melissa. But not here, not now. His only concern was finding Lola, and he pushed Melissa back. “I’ll call you,” he said, and walked away from her.
Twenty-seven
Lola wasn’t hurt—she wasfurious.
She was furious with Birta for being such a raging bitch, and furious with herself for having allowed that to happen. She had to take ownership in it—she had pushed down her instincts about Birta so that she could “apprentice” in the hopes of some of the magic rubbing off on her.
Lola knew better than that. She knew that the only way anyone ever got ahead in this world was to work hard and pull themselves up, one rung at a time. Writers didn’t sell books on the basis of who they knew—they sold them on the basis of a really good story.
She’d fled the party after that major disappointment—fortunately leaving before the magic hour when all the cabs disappeared—and had come home, flung off her dress and heels, yanked down her hair, and pulled on one of Harry’s hoodies that just barely covered her ass. It was the closest thing at hand.
She was in the kitchen angrily making the dough for a batch of cookies when she heard Harry’s truck in the drive. “Oh, hey,” she said as he walked into the kitchen. As if nothing had happened. As if he’d just strolled in from work and she’d just written a dozen chapters.
He approached the kitchen cautiously, as well he should have, because Lola was certain she looked like a mad scientist. She was a mad woman, which was equally dangerous. “Lola? Are you okay?”
“Who, me?” Lola asked. “Sure! You mean that business at the Cantrells’?” She waved her hand at him. “No big deal. I figured out last week that Birta is an asshole.”
He walked around the kitchen island.
“I’m okay!” she said, and moved just out of his reach. “Listen, not everyone is going to like my book. Can’t please all the people all the time, you know,” she chirped. “I’m making cookies. I need something really super sweet. When I’m really pissed off, I like to stuff my face.” She pointed the spatula at him. “It’s true. I’m not afraid to eat my emotions.”
Harry reached for her again, and Lola threw up a hand. She was suddenly trembling; she could hardly hold on to the mixing bowl. “Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice rough. “Because if you touch me, I might disintegrate. I can’t take your touch without all thisyearning,” she said, making a fist against her chest. “So please don’t touch me, Harry, because I can’t take it,” she said, her voice shaking now.
Harry grabbed her then, pulling the bowl from her hand and putting it aside as he wrapped her in his embrace. He kissed her as if she were water and he a drowning man. His hands slid down her body, to her hips, holding her tightly to him. He felt so right, so hard and strong and virile against her, and Lola lost all control. All the feelings for him she’d tamped down suddenly exploded in her, and she was burning out of control, a five-alarm fire that nothing could douse.
He kissed her with as much fire as she kissed him, their tongues tangling, his hand cupping her face, stroking her hair. He spun her around, began marching her backward to the couch as she frantically undid the buttons of his shirt. They were wild for each other, their hands roaming, their bodies pressed hard to each other. He toppled her over the back of the couch, and they landed on the soft cushions, her knee between his legs, pushing against his hardness. He pressed his lips against her cheek, her eyes, and her mouth again... and then he paused.
“What? What is the hold up?” she asked impatiently, and pulled his head down to hers, dipping her tongue into his mouth. She was a fat little pig, spinning and roasting and basking in the flames of overwhelming desire for this man.
Harry moved, pulling Lola on top of him, casing her head with his hands so that he could kiss her deeply, then sliding his hands down, slipping under the sweatshirt, up her ribcage to her breasts. Her skin was blazing where he touched her. Lola wanted him inside her, but Harry wasn’t moving fast enough. He kept looking at her. “What are you doing?” she asked frantically.
“Lookingat you,” he said, just as frantically.
