Pollack grew jealous of the attention Professor was getting and came to whine too. She also panted in her brother’s face again.
Staring at the still wet painting of Lark smiling back at me, I knew she was mine. Even after telling Cooper I would let Lark set the pace and find her way back to me, I was tempted to get dressed, ride to her house, and force her to choose me that very moment. Lark was fragile in a lot of ways, but I sensed those weaknesses were out of habit and a defense mechanism like her smiling. Under her quiet demeanor, she was a fighter and I knew she was ready to throw a punch.
“Do you think Coop would fucking wait for his girl?” I asked Pollack who was panting on my bare leg. She responded by licking me then turning around and sitting on my foot. Professor looked as impressed by my question. “The answer, guys, is no. He would stalk anyone and everyone to get what he wanted. Coop wouldn’t care who he messed with or how much he scared his girl. He would just take what was his and screw the consequences.”
I wasn’t Coop though. Normally, I thought my self control was a good thing. A sign of my superiority to the guy who fucked up regularly then apologized like his crazy was just a side effect of perfection. Standing in the hot studio and staring into the painted eyes of the girl I needed, I realized there were benefits to being Cooper.
“I’m giving her a week,” I said, tossing my empty beer bottle and heading for the door. “A week to take her punch at that shit family of hers. If she can’t do it, I’ll throw it for her.”
Chapter Seventeen - Lark
Bailey’s tough girl expression was really a variation of the duckface. She pursed her lips and strutted around the room like something was stinky. On anyone else, her expression would cause people to point and laugh. Yet, on Bailey Fucking Johansson, no one was laughing.
As we waited for Larry to arrive, my mom kept offering Bailey crackers.
“They’re really good crackers,” Margo said. “Larry gets them from a friend at the cracker company.”
“I don’t want your damn crackers, woman!” Bailey finally cried. “Stop asking.”
Laughing behind my hand, I watched Mom stare at the crackers as if shocked anyone wouldn’t want them. Bailey noticed me giggling and rolled her eyes.
“When’s this old guy coming home?”
“Larry isn’t old,” Margo said quickly. “He’s only fifty.”
“I’m nineteen, so yeah, he’s old.” Bailey stretched in the air. “Can’t you just say Lark has permission to stay at my place this weekend? And why does she need permission anyway? Are you running a gulag here?”
“What’s a gulag?” Margo asked.
Bailey shrugged. “Say yes, so I can leave. I have homework to do. I care about my grades lately. It’s my new thing.”
“It’s Larry’s decision,” Margo mumbled, glancing towards the garage where the door opened. “He’s the man of the house.”
“Barf. No man tells me what to do. Well, except my pop and occasionally my stupid brothers. I once let a cop tell me what to do, but I was sleepy and didn’t need the hassle of putting him in his place. You should try growing some balls, lady, and make your man behave. Just saying.”
While I laughed, Margo only frowned. Entering the room, Larry looked at the three of us then focused his fake happy gaze on Bailey.
“Who is this?”
“Bailey Fucking Johansson. Don’t pretend you don’t know me. I have no time for lies, Larry. I’m a busy woman. You know, with me caring about my grades and everything.”
Clearly confused, Larry frowned so I stepped up. “I want to spend the weekend at Bailey’s house. She lives with her parents.”
“Because I want to, not because I have to,” Bailey interrupted. “I’m mature enough to be on my own. Just saying.”
“I don’t know if this would be such a good idea,” Larry said, resting his briefcase in Margo’s obedient arms. “You’ve been running wild lately.”
“Are you telling me no!” Bailey hollered then stood on the coffee table. “Do I need to make a scene here, old man? Should I call my pop and have him explain shit to you?”
“Look…”
“No! No! No!” Bailey chanted and kept chanting.
As Margo covered her ears, Larry’s stupid poodle yelped and spun around in a circle. A moment passed when I thought the old man would treat Bailey the way he treated all women. Put her in her place, remind her how he was the man, and she was lucky to breathe the same air as him.
I saw in his fair eyes how he planned to grab Bailey who was still yelling, “No!” Realization flickered as he remembered why Bailey Fucking Johansson could walk into an upstanding member of the community’s house, stand on a coffee table, and scream like a child in the throes of a tantrum.
“You’ll stay at Miss Johansson’s house. No wandering off to see any boys.”
“Okay,” I said quickly then took Bailey’s hand so her yelling would stop.
“Did we win?” she asked.
“We won.”