Page 33 of Sweet Little Lies
But when he left us standing there to return to his group of friends, the way he said goodbye to me…the way our eyes connected together and how his smile made my heart ricochet in my chest. Well, I knew he was special. That there was something inside Lance that spoke to me and maybe I to him.
“But he can also be careless with girl. I hate to speak poorly of him, because he’s my friend, but I just don’t want you to get hurt. I love you, girly.”
Ainsley’s fears are not unfounded, because Lance does go through scores of girls and he presents himself like a player. But that’s the way appears on the outside – to people who don’t take the time to understand him. I know him better than most.
He’s just not accustomed to having love returned, so he pretends to act like he doesn’t care – even when I know he does. And I know he cares about me.
“Love you too. I gotta get going, though. I’ll talk to you later this week, k?”
We hang up and I jump into my car, which I’m borrowing back from my brother tonight. It’s a short drive to Lance’s apartment complex, but during the drive I get to thinking about all the sweet things Lance has done for me over the past year.
And while some of it might have originally been to get in my pants, he’s turned more sentimental and maybe even romantic without even knowing it.
That’s the Lance I’ve fallen for. The guy who cooks me dinners every Sunday night (even though he’s a horrible cook and it’s mostly takeout), or stays late after a class to drive me home from school, or quizzes me the night before I have a big test in my Nursing Theories class.
Or the guy who respects me enough to stop when I tell him “no” – which has been every time - and still continues to like my company even though I’ve turned him down time and time again.
But enough if enough. I’m tired of saying no, when what I really want to do is say yes. Tonight, it’s going to happen between us. Damn the consequences.
Forget the potential that this could go bad for me in the long run. Or could ruin our friendship. Or could alienate my family.
It could also be a jumping off point to something really, really good.
~~~
Lance lives in a four-plex apartment quad just outside of campus. It used to be overflow units for the dorms and is now more like upperclassman housing. What’s nice about the place is that they aren’t typical apartments and have small balconies and a courtyard below each one.
When I get to the door I notice it’s cracked open and there’s a heavy residue of smoke wafting outside.
I tap on the door and poke my head in.
“Lance? You here?”
I’m treated to silence, so I step inside and cock my head to the side – like that will give me super hearing powers or something. Walking into the kitchen, I notice the mess on the counter and the source of what caused the burning smell.
A blackened pizza – burnt to a crisp but now soggy – sits in the sink looking like a Freddy Kruger face, all burnt and gnarly. My eyes scan the kitchen and I see a handful of bottle tops on the counter and a bunch of empties in the recycle bin.
I’m not opposed to drinking and I’m not a tea-totaller or anything. The evidence there could point to any number of things – like Lance had some guys over last night or something. I won’t jump to the wrong conclusion just because my instincts tell me to worry.
Although I’ve ignored it for the better part of the year, I am concerned about Lance’s drinking. He gets out of hand a lot of the time. But he’s never done anything to put himself or anyone else in harm’s way, so I guess it’s just his way of blowing off steam.
When I turn, I’m gifted with the sight of Lance standing in the arched doorway, arms raised overhead as he grips the frame, a flirtatious smile drawn across his face.
“It appears I’ll be taking you out to dinner tonight, as my attempts at cooking have once again gone up in flames.” He lets out a loud cackle of laughter and I bite my lip trying to subdue my own.
But it’s no use. I burst out laughing looking behind me at the mess he made.
“A top chef, you are not,” I note, lifting an eyebrow in amusement.
The next thing I know, he’s got me up against the counter, his arms caging me in as he hovers over me with a serious expression.
“I have other talents and skills, ya know. If you’re lucky enough, I may show you.”
He presses his lips to the curve of my ear, his fingers sweeping the hair which I’ve left down tonight over my shoulder, his nose caressing the sensitive skin underneath my earlobe. I tilt my head to the right, closing my eyes from the sheer intoxication of being surrounded by Lance.
His strong jaw, normally covered with a mass of dark scruff, is clean-shaven tonight and feels soft against the skin of my neck. Words get caught in my throat when he pulls away from me and I see the searing gaze that reaches straight through me and into a private corner of my soul.
“Micaela,” he says almost breathlessly, my name floating out in the charged air between us. “I need you so bad. Don’t deny this anymore. Please.”
