Lara and I sat on the bar stools against the kitchen island, pouring over the Styrofoam containers full of Chinese takeout. I’d cracked open a bottle of red wine and we were already half-way through it by the time we got to the wontons. We spoke softly, doing our best to hold a conversation without waking Clarissa. A part of me thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t believe Lara was actually here, laughing quietly as we both reached for the same steamed pork bun.
“Please,” she said, “you take it.”
“No, it’s okay,” I insisted. “This is your food, after all.”
“How about we split it?”
“Sounds like a perfectly reasonable compromise.”
Lara expertly used the ends of her chopsticks to cut the bun in half, handing me the left side while taking the other to promptly bite down on.
“How did you get started in writing?” she asked after swallowing. “No great author just popped up out of nowhere.”
“I was actually a journalist,” I explained. “I went to school to study politics, but loved writing so much that I decided to go into journalism after I graduated.”
“No wonder your political subplots are always so flushed out.”
I chuckled, “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“How long were you a journalist?”
“Only two years or so. The flashiness of the job kind of wore out quickly. I eventually realized I wanted to do so much more with my life. I transitioned into freelance work. Since I’d collected a significant number of articles for my portfolio, the switch was really easy. Before I knew it, I was writing short stories and novellas for clients.”
“When did you start writing for yourself, then?”
I hummed, thinking back. “Not too long. Maybe after my fourth client project. I had a ton of ideas and stories I wanted to share with the world, so I spent all of my free time working on my own thing.”
“How long did The Last Remembering take you to finish?”
“The first book took me a year and a half, not including editing time. The second and third book took less than a year each.”
“And then Charles Hill reached international success. That must have been really surreal, huh?”
I shook my head. “Not really. It didn’t happen overnight. Believe it or not, The Last Remembering didn’t even blip on anybody’s radars until a year after its release. Since the book’s popularity grew gradually, it all kind of dawned on me slowly. It wasn’t until my publisher called me asking for a full trilogy that I realized how big the series had become.”
“Still, that’s pretty amazing. You said before you were working on something new?”
“Yeah. It’s a big departure from my normal work. But I’ve been suffering from a serious dry spell. I’m half tempted to scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.”
Lara frowned, brows pulling together in concern. “Don’t do that. I’m sure it’s great. I’m sure you weren’t one hundred percent confident The Last Remembering was any good before you published it, right?”
“That’s very true.”
She playfully punched me in the arm. “See? Maybe it’s the exact same with this new book. Don’t give up before you’ve even started.”
“You’re pretty damn wise for someone so young,” I quipped.
“‘I do my very best, Captain Pangstar.’”
I smiled wide, a giddy pressure building up in my chest. “Did you just quote my book at me?”
“Maybe,” she giggled. “Maybe not. Was it true that you based the space pirate Mauright on an old lover? I happened to catch that theory on an old sub-Reddit.”
I laughed loudly, clapping my hand over my mouth upon remembering Clarissa was just on the other side of the wall. “Yes,” I replied. “On my wife, Sandy.”
Lara’s shoulders slumped, the cheery smile on her lips falling with them. “Oh,” was all she could manage.
“My ex-wife,” I corrected quickly. “Sandy’s my ex-wife. Sorry. I’m still not used to calling her that.”
A little flicker of hope relit Lara’s eyes. “Oh?”
“Our divorce was finalized in October. You probably don’t want to hear about it.”
“I do,” she said a little too quickly. “I mean. If you want to tell me, of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m sorry to hear that. About the divorce, I mean. Am I rambling? I feel like I’m rambling.”
I smiled, daring to reach out for a brief moment to tuck a strand of Lara’s hair behind her ear. I adored the way her face flushed red when I pulled my hand away, a look of shock on bashful surprise written in her expression. “It’s okay,” I said. “I like it when you ramble.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I think it’s cute.”
Maybe it was the wine talking. Maybe it was the way Lara wouldn’t stop staring at my lips, her tongue mischievously darting along her own like a tempting lure. Without a second thought, I leaned in to kiss her, savoring the surprised gasped that managed to escape her before our mouths came together. Her lips were incredibly soft, and I didn’t much mind the taste of alcohol and pan-fried pork dumplings on her tongue. The only thing I cared about in that moment was the way Lara dropped her chopsticks onto the kitchen island and immediately grabbed at my shirt collar, simultaneously pulling me in close and refusing to let go. She was the one to deepen the kiss, curious tongue poking into my mouth to meet my own. Lara hummed, satisfied, as I carefully ran my fingers through her soft hair and dragged my hand across the top of her thigh.
It had been so long since I’d felt this way. Thrilled, excited and alive. I’d wasted so much time and effort on Sandy that I’d completely forgotten what it was like to feel like a person. I’d spent years at Sandy’s every beck and call, trying to please her –which I now realized was an impossible task from the start. Her expectations had been too high, and Sandy never really worked with me to find equal ground, level footing. But Lara wasn’t like that. Lara really was sweet and curious and kind. She seemed as happy to be kissing me as I was with her. Maybe, just maybe, opening up to her was a good idea. Maybe I could find the courage to pursue something with her, after all.
I was eager to get closer to her, to greedily touch her and get to know her gentle curves. I stood up from my stool and tilted my head down, not once removing my mouth from hers. Lara instinctively tilted her head back to continue to kiss me, her small, dainty hands roaming about my chest. I felt like a foolish teenager, much too turned on and way too clumsy and rushed. But Lara didn’t seem to care. She continued to kiss me, her long lashes brushing against my face as her warm breath heated my skin. One of her hands eventually worked its way down to the front of my pants, teasing the hard bulge that was forming there. I stifled a moan, unintentionally leaning into her touch for more.
“Daddy?”
Lara jumped back instantly, cheeks turning beet red as Clarissa wandered out of her room, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the backs of her hands. I cleared my throat and sat down quickly, crossing my legs to conceal my arousal.
I let out a shaky breath, “Baby? What are you doing up?”
“I’m thirsty. Can I have a glass of water?”
I looked to Lara in concern. She nodded, as though she understood I was in no condition to get up and help my daughter.
“I can get it for you, sweetie,” she said gently. Lara held her hand out for Clarissa to take. They made their way over to the kitchen sink where Lara then grabbed a fresh glass from the cupboard to her right before pouring my daughter a drink. “There you go, sweetie. Now, go to bed.”
“Goodnight, Lara,” Clarissa mumbled sleepily. “Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Night, baby. Have sweet dreams.”
My daughter scuffled back to her room and closed the door behind her, leaving Lara and I to the silence. We looked to one another, quiet for a tense beat before bursting out into stifled laughter. Lara nervously played with her hair, much to timid to look me in the eye.
“I think I should g
et going,” she whispered. “I’ve got to get to work first thing tomorrow.”
Sure, I was disappointed to hear that, but I also completely understood where Lara was coming from. Much of the mood had been diffused by Clarissa’s unexpected entry, and I wasn’t sure if we could get straight back into kissing. Needless to say, I didn’t want Lara to leave. Not yet, anyways. There were so many questions running around in my head, so many answers that I was searching for. I knew that if I let Lara go home now without asking her out on a date, I’d regret it.
“How do you feel about parties?” I asked hurriedly.
“Depends on the party.” She raised a curious eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s a get-together of sorts coming up next weekend,” I explained. “Hosted by my publisher. Tons of authors and literary agents are going to be there. It’s supposed to be a great networking opportunity, but most of us just go there for the free booze. Would you be interested in coming with me?”
The smile that stretched across Lara’s lips could have lit up the entire room. “I’d be happy to,” she giggled.
“It’s a date, then.”
“I’ll mark it in my calendar.”
7
Lara
I’d been looking forward to the party all week. Several professors noted that I’d been particularly distracted, and dear old Alistair noticed how spacey I’d been acting during my shifts. I just couldn’t stop daydreaming about Chuck. He’d actually asked me out. I had to pinch myself several times to make sure that this wasn’t all a dream. I thought for sure I was dreaming when Chuck kissed me the other night in his apartment. Holy cow could that man kiss. He’d knocked the air right out of my lungs and left me seeing stars, head swirling crazily as he grabbed hold of me. There was experience behind his kiss, control and surety I’d never experienced with past boyfriends and casual flings. Chuck was a man, in charge and confident. And if I said that our kiss hadn’t left me a little wet between the knees, I would have been lying.
The evening of the party, I found myself frantically shifting through old dresses in my closet. I wasn’t sure how fancy this party was going to be. Chuck said fellow authors and important figures in the literary industry were going to be there, so I felt sure this was one of those black-tie events. It wasn’t like I had a great selection of dresses to choose from. My wardrobe was seriously outdated and left much to be desired. After at least half an hour, I managed to round down my picks to just two dresses: a short black dress that hugged my figure tight, and a calf-length red dress with a high neckline but plunging back. Both dresses had been gifts from Hannah, one for my twenty-second birthday and the other for an evening out. I’d put on a bit of weight since receiving the dresses, and I had to admit I didn’t think I’d feel completely confident in either selection.
As I ran my fingers over the fabric of the black dress, thoughts of Chuck’s strong hands in my hair flashed across my eyes. I wondered how far we would have taken things if Clarissa hadn’t interrupted us. What would we have done if it was just the two of us alone? What if I’d let him take me, then and there? Would Chuck be wonderfully gentle? Or would he be deliciously rough? I was just following Hannah’s advice, trusting my gut. His kisses had been intoxicating, and the sensation of his fingertips against my skin made me feel like I was on fire. The growing hardness in the front of his pants was the perfect confirmation that he liked me more than he let on.
I somehow managed to get dressed, choosing the little black dress over the red one because I quite frankly didn’t think it was wise to go braless. I was worried that maybe Chuck would read it as an overtly seductive sign, which was the last thing I wanted. We were going to a party to have fun, to make idle chitchat with his peers. I wanted to look presentable, for both his sake and mine. After applying a discreet amount of makeup –rouging my lips with a bit of cherry tinted stain and applying a bit of mascara and eyeliner– I spent the next hour working on my hair. My long black locks were difficult to work with, too thick to curl properly, but too plain to just let down. I nearly burned my fingers twice while trying to use the curling iron, but finally settled on a hard do that I was at least half-satisfied with.
Chuck arrived shortly after, knocking on my door like some gentlemanly caller. He was dressed in dark blue dress pants, a white button-down shirt, and a matching dark blue sports coat. He’d styled his hair back with a bit of gel, and he’d trimmed his beard to perfectly accent his strong jaw. If I didn’t know anybody, I could have mistaken Chuck for a runway model. How was it possible that a nerdy science-fiction author could look so damn fine?
His mouth dropped open a little upon seeing me. “Lara, you–” He swallowed hard. “Wow.”
I giggled, “Oh, stop that.”
“You look amazing.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely.” Chuck stuck out his elbow for me to take. I did so, grinning stupidly as I locked the door behind me.
“Where’s Clarissa?” I asked as we made our way down the hall to the apartment complex’s front entrance.
“She’s actually at her grandparents’ this weekend.”
“So what you’re really saying is that we don’t have to worry about being back at a certain time.”
Chuck winked at me. “You get me.”
* * *
The publishing house had rented out a massive banquet hall at one of the fancier downtown hotels, one that practically screamed wealth and status by its massive marble signage alone. Tables had been set up along the perimeter of the ballroom, covered in expensive looking silk tablecloths and floral arrangements. Upon them rested a wide variety of finger foods sitting on fine china, and there was even a tower of champagne flutes at the very end of the buffet lineup. The gentle glow of warm white fairy lights that hung from the bannisters had me hypnotized, and the smooth swing of jazz music by the live band in the corner of the hall similarly had me entranced. I’d never before been in a room so lavish, never before rubbed elbows with so many authors who I’d admired for so long.
Chuck introduced me to a number of his peers, fellow authors of similar acclaim and status in the literary world. I shook hands with many of them, too dumbfounded to say more than ‘hello’ and ‘nice to meet you.’ As dazzled as I was with the sights, the smells, and the line of new faces, I found myself pulling closer to Chuck as the night went on. His company, his attention, was the only thing I wanted. And what made things even more spectacular was the fact that he seemed to feel the same way. No matter how many people came up to greet him, to chat his ear off about their latest projects, Chuck always seemed to return the conversation to me.
“This is Lara,” he said. “She’s my date this evening.” He said this with so much pride I almost felt embarrassed. It actually felt wonderful to be the only thing on his mind, showing me off to everyone like I was someone special.
Everyone Chuck introduced me to seemed to like me well enough, though I couldn’t remember any of their names of their faces. I was too distracted by the way Chuck had easily settled his hand on the small of my back, by the way his cologne filled my nostrils with a scent that was both sweet, but not overpowering. I was pleasantly distracted by the lilt of his voice, by his perfect pronunciation and choice of words. He spoke like he wrote –formal, but not in an offputtingly snooty way. I was especially taken with the way he looked at me; always tender, always sweet.
We eventually found a quiet corner of the banquet hall to enjoy some drinks, the mood set by twinkling string lights and little tea candles on the table before us.
“What do you think so far?” he asked me, leaning in close to speak over the music. “Having a good time?”
“I always have a good time when I’m with you,” I said lightly.
“I had no idea you were such a tease.”
“Do you not like that?”
Chuck laughed, “I didn’t say that.”
“Thank you for inviting me to this. I haven’t had this much fun in a long while.�
��
“I’m glad.”
“Not to be a party pooper, but when do you think we’ll leave?”
The corner of Chuck’s lip curled up into a smirk. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”
I tilted my head to the side and bit my bottom lip. “Well, I figured since Clarissa was away at her grandparents’, that’d mean we’d have a little privacy.”
Chuck eyed my lips. “I really like how you think. I just have to say goodbye to my editor before we leave.”
I allowed my hand to slip down Chuck’s back and gave his ass a quick pinch. He jumped up a little in surprise while holding in a laugh.
“I hope you won’t keep me waiting too long,” I teased.
Behind us, a woman commented derisively, “Wow, right in front of my salad.”
Chuck and I both turned, startled. Standing behind us was an incredibly tall and elegant woman with fiery red shoulder-length hair. She was dressed in a long pink evening gown, her neck decorated with a classy string of pearls. Her earlobes and wrists were similarly accessorized, and there were several bejeweled rings upon her fingers. There was a hardness to her face, something a bit unnatural in the way her lips were swollen and the lack of elasticity in and around her eyes. She’d clearly had a bit of work done, though I couldn’t tell for certain. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and there was nothing but bitterness behind her cold blue eyes.
He stiffened, straightening his posture like someone had stuck a meter ruler down his shirt collar. Chuck set his jaw so tight that I could see the muscles in his face tense up with stress. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. I could only look from Chuck to the woman, and then back to Chuck in confusion. The tiniest trace of dread began to claw at my heart, concern filling my stomach to the point of making me sick.
Author Next Door: A Single Dad Romance Page 4
