The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,12

repeat.”

She laughed and leaned toward me. Her green eyes gleamed in the shifting light. “I meant, with these guys…not New York.”

“We met at the office, and Court invited me out,” I said stiffly.

The Lark I knew was particular about this sort of thing. She also got drunk and did stupid shit. We were two for two so far.

“I thought this wasn’t your scene.”

“And it’s yours?” I asked a bit harsher than I’d intended.

She heard my tone even through the drunkness. She cringed away from it, but she answered anyway, “English is in town, all the way from LA. Normally, I don’t have time, what with living the campaign life—you know how it is.”

I didn’t know why I was provoking her. Maybe it was just the way she seemed right at this very moment that brought back a slew of bad memories. And I couldn’t disentangle the Lark from when we’d fallen apart from the one standing in front of me. They were one and the same. And it didn’t matter how gorgeous she was after what had happened.

“Well, I guess this isn’t professional,” she said with a small laugh.

“I guess it isn’t,” I agreed.

Her eyes skimmed my face as if she were looking for something but couldn’t find it.

“Don’t let me keep you from a good time,” she said and then turned to head back to her friends.

I reached out and grabbed her arm. She glanced back at me in drunken confusion.

“What?” she asked when I didn’t say anything.

But I didn’t know what to say. My feelings toward Lark were dark and tangled. I shouldn’t even be touching her right now.

So, I hastily released her. “Nothing.”

She stiffened at the harsh way I’d said it. She swallowed hard. For a moment, I thought she might actually be fighting back tears. But no…had I ever seen Larkin St. Vincent cry, except out of campaign-induced exhaustion and anxiety?

“Come dance with me, Lark,” Whitley called from where she was twirling her body in place.

Lark looked me over once more, waiting. And then when I didn’t say anything, she stepped away toward her friend. Whitley grabbed Lark’s hand and spun her in place, putting Lark in front of her. English giggled and then jumped in behind Whitley. The three girls danced and twirled, grinding up against one another in a way that made me adjust my pants.

Court appeared then with two drinks. “Hope you like your whiskey strong.”

“That I do,” I agreed easily. I took a long, fortifying drink. I’d already had a few, but the encounter with Lark had left me uncomfortably sober.

We both watched as Whitley touched her toes and shook her ass in a way that I’d thought only professional dancers were capable of. English reached forward and smacked her ass and then Lark’s.

“That is quite a sight,” Court said.

“It’s something,” I said.

The girls all gasped out loud as Gavin unceremoniously jumped into the middle of their trio. Whitley ran her hand up her legs and then shook herself against Gavin’s crotch. English and Lark jumped into the action, dancing around Gavin like he was some god.

“So,” Court said, turning his attention back to me, “you and Lark, huh?”

“Oh, uh…no.”

Court arched his eyebrow. “Really?”

“Uh…well, we dated in the past. But it’s been five years since I’ve even seen her. We just work together now.”

“Just?”

I shrugged. “Nothing is going on.”

Court shot me an exasperated look. “Let me tell you something, Sam. You seem like a nice guy. I’ve known Larkin St. Vincent for a long time, and I have never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you.”

Fuck.

“I don’t…know what to say to that.”

“Be less obvious when you lie,” Court said with a wink. Then he downed his drink and headed to the group dancing. “Hey, don’t let Gavin have all the fun.”

I glanced around the room in frustration. I didn’t want to leave. I wasn’t ready to go back to my small, sad apartment in Brooklyn. I’d been in New York for a year, and I still hadn’t made any lasting friendships. The guys I’d worked with at the law firm always felt more like colleagues than friends. This was the most fun I’d had in the city, period.

But at the same time, I wasn’t sure I should or even could continue to watch Lark move her body in ways that my brain and my cock remembered vividly.

“Sam!” Whitley cried from where they were dancing.

She crooked her finger at me, but I shook my head. She rolled her eyes,