Page 85 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
“I could stare at this for ages,” I confess.
“Then stare. Don’t let me stop you.”
My gaze slips to his mouth and his eyes meet mine as his fingers entangle with mine. A throbbing sensation pulses through my nether regions. His lips are so kissable, so perfect, but there’s a gauntness around his eyes that I hadn't noticed before. Things can’t be easy for him, with the divorce being so recent. I know how much he loves his daughter.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, because it seems like he picked something I would like. He hasn't really commented much on anything and seems to be content to walk around with me.
“I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t sure. I'm with you, so this is already a great night for me.”
It's back again, the humming between our bodies, the invisible, tenuous cord that ties me to him. “You always say the right things.”
“I say what I feel when I’m with you.”
“You’re doing it again.” I lean into him, feeling like we are a couple, after all.
“Did I surprise you? With this?” He gestures to the room around us.
“You did.” I take another flute of champagne from a passing server, Lance declines, and we continue to walk around, taking our time, getting used to being with one another. Trying out this new relationship as if it’s a luxurious new wool coat, something that will keep me warm and happy in cold, dark times.
We're examining another painting. This time it's of a wall of graffiti with flowerpots on the ground.
“Hey there …” A light tap on my shoulder makes me turn around to look at a face I don't recognize.
“You're Arla's friend, from the spin class.”
It’s the guy who adjusted my gear level in the spin class even though I didn’t ask for his help.
“Hey.” We shake hands. “I didn't recognize you in the light. It’s Chris, isn’t it?” he looks so different without sweat trickling down his face. He grins, then looks from me to Lance.
“Yeah. Chris. You’re Megan. Arla didn’t introduce us but I’ve heard plenty about you.”
I fight the urge to roll eyes. Something tells me that Lance isn’t too happy with this interruption. An older couple look as if they're about to talk to this guy when they realize he's talking to us. “We'll be over by the entrance,” the man says.
“My dad and stepmom,” Chris explains. “It's my dad's birthday and he wanted to come here.” His gaze bounces between me and Lance.
“This is Lance.” I introduce them and the two men shake hands. There’s a question in Chris’s eyes and I feel wary.
“What brings you here?” he asks. I hesitate to answer.
“I wanted to surprise her.” Lance beats me to it.
Chris’s expression indicates that he is none the wiser. I’m about to say something.
“My dad's getting impatient. See you around.” He nods at me then leaves.
“How do you know him?” Lance’s voice is tight. I can feel the tension in the air and I try hard to fix my attention on the graffiti painting. Did Chris think Lance is my boyfriend, or my father? A young father, perhaps. Is this what it will be like, always?
“From the spin class I went to, that time me and Arla saw you.”
“You must have made an impression if he remembers you.”
I look at him. “Do you have a problem with him wanting to talk to me?”
He looks down. “No.”
“It sure sounds like you do.” I don’t understand it. I care nothing for that guy. I wouldn’t have remembered who he was had he not told me. But Lance acting like a possessive dick worries me.
“Were you embarrassed to be with me?” he asks, finally.
