When eight o’clock rolls around, I park in his empty space and sit in the car for a few minutes, just wringing my hands together and working up the nerve to go upstairs. It’s not that I’m scared. But I am nervous. I don’t even know why, but I am. Since I left the girls at the Lion, I’ve been thinking about Lachlan, about what we did. About what we might do again. I feel like I’m pining over a celebrity, someone larger than life, someone who makes me feel completely out of my element. It’s surreal.
“Get a fucking hold of yourself,” I say out loud and crane my neck to look up at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lachlan’s apartment building, trying to count floors and see which one is his. I anxiously open my compact and dot more lip stain on my lips, wondering how fast it will be rubbed off once I get into his apartment.
Is he going to kiss me right away?
Will this be a Netflix and chill night?
Immediate fucking?
The possibilities have me on edge.
With a deep breath, I get out of the car and walk over to the entrance. My finger hovers at his apartment number. I take a moment to eye myself in the reflection of the glass doors. I sped home from work to change into a strappy black dress, something like the nightgown trend of the nineties, with hot pink platform heels. No bra. No underwear. What’s the point?
I press the buzzer and wait a few moments, my pulse pounding in my wrist. Lachlan’s distinct voice comes through, slightly drowsy and smooth as butter. “Kayla?”
“Hi,” I say. I’m about to say something else, probably something awkward, but he immediately buzzes me through. I exhale loudly, trying to release tension, but I remain a fidgety mess all the way up the elevator. Last time I was in here, we’d just rescued the dogs. He was shirtless. He’d felt so close at that time and yet oh so far away. To think that now, now, after I’d had my hands and lips all over him, my need for him was stronger than ever.
I knock on his door, biting my lip in anticipation, until it swings open and I see him leaning casually against it. The dulcet tones of Fiona Apple’s “Slow Like Honey” drift in from the room.
“You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he says, a faint smile on his lips. God, I’ve missed those lips.
“Why not?” I ask with a raise of my brow. In a second, all my nerves smooth out and I realize how easy it is to talk with him like this.
“You’ll make it impossible to get through the appetizer,” he answers, moving back and letting me inside. He’s back to casual wear—a white thermal shirt that’s partially unbuttoned just enough to show a glimpse of tanned skin, chest hair, and tattoos, a necklace with a small wooden cross, green cargo pants. I like him like this just as much as I like him in a suit.
I walk in, my heels echoing on the tiles. “I thought I was the appetizer,” I tell him, looking around. The two dogs are on the couch, curled up next to each other like sleeping mice. In unison, they both lift their heads to stare at me. The pit bull gives a thump of its tail but the scruffy mutt shivers slightly, showing teeth.
“Don’t mind them. They’re still adjusting,” he says, closing the door then gesturing to the table by the kitchen, where I had done my interview with him last week. “That’s the appetizer.”
On the table is a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a cheeseboard topped with brie, cheddar, camembert, figs, jam, honey, and crostini.
“Wow,” I say softly. “You did all this?”
He shrugs, making a dismissive noise. “It was nothing.”
“This is romantic,” I tell him. “I didn’t peg you as a romantic.”
He raises a perfectly arched brow. “Oh yeah? What did you peg me as?” He slowly pours a glass of wine.
I stand there, watching him pour a smaller amount into the other glass. His forearm flexes, the lion tattoo seeming to roar. His forehead is creased with concentration, perhaps in anticipation of my reply. He seems completely at ease with me, but there’s always that wildness in his eyes that never seems to go away. The only time I saw peace in them was after he came last night.
“I pegged you as a man who wouldn’t give me a second glance.”
He gives me a crooked smile and corks the bottle “Well, love, you know that isn’t true.”