Лорен Блэйкли - Big Rock

Other things will be surging soon, too, if we keep this up. And while that’s precisely what I want, I’m not done yet with the tour.

Twenty minutes later we roll up to Gin Joint, and I lead her into the sultry, sexy bar where she drove me wild. “This is where I was a complete idiot.”

Her hand slinks up my arm, and a shudder wracks through me. “How?”

“Because of that,” I say.

“Because of what?”

“Because when you touch me, it turns me on like nothing ever has in my life,” I say in a husky voice as I tug her close. “Yet for some crazy reason, I thought I could resist you.”

She laces her hands in my hair and whispers, “So silly.” She shakes her head in admonishment, now fully playing along with the tour.

“You think that’s silly, then wait ’til you hear what’s next. If I were to take you to the next spot, you’d realize the height of my ridiculousness.”

“I would?” she asks as I walk her to the car and the cool backseat.

“Yes. Because after I took you home that night, I returned to my house and took matters into my own hand. You rode me hard in my fantasies.”

Her eyes light up with the realization, and then her fingers tap dance across my leg. “That’s so hot. I want to watch someday.”

“Yeah, I want to watch you do that, too.” I curl a hand around her head, bring my lips to her ear, and whisper, “Three times that night. And somehow, I thought I could get you out of my system that way.”

“Oh, Spencer,” she whispers. “I thought the same thing, too.”

Our lips crash together as the driver pulls away. We kiss hungrily, erasing the hours apart, the lies, the pretending. We kiss until our lips are bruised. We kiss until we reach the next destination. The corner of Forty-third. It’s six-forty-five now, and theater traffic has begun, so we don’t stop the vehicle.

I point through the tinted windows. “Strangest thing happened on that corner.”

“What was so strange?” she asks, her happy tone telling me she wants the answers as much as I love giving them.

“I wasn’t a complete idiot that night. I made sure to tell you the full truth—that I was jealous of anyone else who’d ever had you. Which was really my way of saying I don’t want anyone else to have you,” I say, then brush my lips against the hollow of her throat. “Ever.”

“I feel the same,” she says, her smile like sunshine as she grabs her phone again, this time showing me the messages she sent right after she left this morning. “Look. Just look.”

About that horrid lie.

It hurt so much to say that.

I didn’t mean it.

It feels so real to me.

Do you feel it too?

I look up from the screen and press my hand to her chest, over her heart. It thunders under my hand. “Yes, Snuffalaffugus. I feel it everywhere .”

She giggles when I use our term of endearment. “Me, too. But before we fully explore everywhere, I really want you to read the rest of these,” she says, as she peels my hand off her chest and presses her phone into my palm.

Oh great. I just realized I’m sending all these text messages to myself. BECAUSE YOUR PHONE IS LIGHTING UP MY PURSE!

Okay. So yeah. This sucks.

You’ve got to know I only said that on the field to try to help. I was trying to stick to the plan. To make it all believable. I HAVE NO IDEA IF IT WORKED.

Ugh. I feel awful now. I messed things up even worse, didn’t I?

I’m talking to myself. But look what I found…

Seems I have your keys and wallet, too. Hmm. You have a lot of credit cards.

I’ve been meaning to get a new Kate Spade.

And some Louboutins.

WHERE ARE YOU? DON’T YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?

I’m not relinquishing this phone unless you feel the same way. I swear if I see you and it turns out this is a one-way street, you will never get this phone back. It will die a fast, painless death by the hammer of my embarrassment.

So if you’re reading these messages, it must mean only one thing.

You’re crazy for me, too.

“I’m so crazy for you, too,” I say, and our lips come together again.

Before the moment can turn heated, before she can climb on top of me like I want her to, we somehow make it to Central Park and the baseball field. The car idles on the path, waiting for us as I walk her to the grass.

Another game is underway—a pizzeria is batting against a shoe store chain. I pull Charlotte close to me. “But this,” I say, pointing to the ground, “this is where I was a huge dumbass.”

She grins. “Why’s that?”

“Because right here, earlier today…” I take a breath, letting it fuel me to finally share my whole heart. “This is where the woman I love went to bat for me.” She gasps when I use the L word. “I should have told you then that I love you. I should have said everything to you.” Inching closer, I press my forehead to hers. “I should have told you I’m madly in love with you, and I want you to be mine. When you told me it wasn’t real, I was devastated—”

“Spencer, I didn’t mean it. I said it to try to fix things.”

“I know that now. I was foolish then. But it was all for the best. Because feeling like I lost you made me realize I’d do whatever it takes to have you. Because you’re the one. You’ve been in front of me all along, and in some ways I feel like I fell in love with you quickly, in only one week. But in other ways, I know I’ve been falling in love with you over time, over the years. It just took faking it for me to realize that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. But more than that—you’re the only woman I want to love.” I brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek. Her eyes are lit with joy. I recognize the emotion because I feel it with her. “And I know that, because I want to eat the green gummy bears for you so you never have to taste them, and I want to sit through the torture of Fiddler on the Roof with you, and drink virgin margaritas some nights, and non-bad beer other nights, and put you in bed if you’re tired and have a headache, and make love to you all night long if you don’t.”

Her lips part, and she sighs contentedly. She grabs at my collar, pulling me even closer. “I don’t have a headache tonight. And I want to do that all night long, too. I want to do that because I broke the same rule. I’m so in love with you that I’d kiss you with morning breath, and I’ll even scrape pesto mayo off your sandwiches for you if anyone serves it to you by mistake,” she says, locking her gaze to mine.

“I hope that never happens.” My tone is intensely serious. “Because I don’t want you to have to go anywhere near pesto mayo or bad breath. But if it does, I want us to deal with both horrors together.”

“Me, too,” she says, then kisses me—a deep, passionate kiss that seals all these lessons I learned.

When she breaks the kiss, she raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Leftover cold sesame noodles at your house instead of dinner out?”

“You’re on,” I say, since I know what she wants, and I want the same thing.

“Oh, wait. There’s one more thing I want you to know,” she says, running her hand down the buttons on my shirt, a prelude to what we’ll both be doing soon.

“What is it?”

“Remember when I thought I couldn’t pull this off?”

“I remember.”

“I was able to because being with you rarely felt lying. It was easy to pretend to be yours.”

“Why?” I ask, gripping her hips.

“It didn’t feel fake. It always felt like it was becoming real.”