Big Rock (Big Rock #1) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,51
tin, sort of a mosh pit meets a zoo of people in a city of millions. A man painted as a silver robot makes jerky gestures next to a top hat collecting a few coins. A guy peddling Statue of Liberty key chains bumps into Charlotte and knocks her with his elbow.
“Ow,” she mutters.
“You okay?” I ask, and reach my hand to rub. Instinct, I suppose—to take care of her. But I pull my hand back. She doesn’t want it, or need it. She can take care of herself.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she says, shrugging it off. “And hey, we survived another performance.”
“Of Fiddler?”
She shakes her head. “No.” She adopts the tone of a radio announcer. “And tonight at eight p.m., we have another rendition of Happily Engaged Couple.”
I wince. “Right. That one.”
This is when I should make a joke. When I should reassure her. When I should tell her thanks once again.
I say nothing. I have nothing to say. A bald man with two gold teeth barks out offers to a half-nude comedy act. “Half nude, half off.”
Someone shouts back, “All nude, all off?”
We pass a theater, then a T-shirt shop, and sidestep a couple in khaki shorts, white sneakers, and FDNY T-shirts. I have no idea where we’re going. Honestly, I’m not even sure why we were walking on Broadway in the first place. I think we just went in a U. What is wrong with me? I can’t even navigate my own city anymore.
We reach the corner of Forty-third and stop on the concrete. A bus crawls up Eighth Avenue. Tourists circle us as we stand awkwardly, facing each other. My whole life I’ve known what to do, how to move forward, how to meet life at every curve and bend. Tonight, I’m thrown, and I barely understand how to put one foot in front of the other.
I scratch my head.
“Um, where are we going, Spencer?”
I shrug. “Hadn’t thought about it.”
“What do you want to do?” she asks, clasping her hands together as if she’s looking for something to do with them.
“Whatever works for you,” I say, jamming my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans.
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
“If you do.”
She sighs. “Should I just get a cab home?”
“Do you want to get a cab?” I ask, and I’d like to kick myself. I can’t stand me right now, this indecisive, uncertain dude in a funk who is trying to take over my body. I don’t know him. I don’t care for him. And I didn’t give him squatter’s rights in my body. I’m going to have to muscle him out of the way. I hold up a hand. “Scratch that,” I say with drummed-up confidence. This fake affair might be ending in a few more days, but I’m not going to mope my way through the best sex of my life. I’m going to rise to the occasion.
“Scratch what? Getting a cab?”
I shake my head and park my hands on her shoulders. “This is what I want to do right now. I want to take you back to my place. Strip you naked. Run my tongue across every inch of your skin, and then do that thing I told you I would do to you when we were in Katharine’s.”
Her eyes sparkle, then shine with desire. She nods eagerly. “Yes.”
There. Beautiful. I grab my phone from my back pocket to order up an Uber, since catching a cab here is impossible. As I tap my details into the app, she places her hand on my arm.
“But, um, there’s something I wanted to tell you first.”
Oh shit. My heart pounds. She’s going to end this. She’s had enough. She’s gotten her fill. She’s saddling up for one last ride tonight, and then she’s putting me to pasture.
“What is it?” I ask, and my heart feels like it’s in my throat.
“Remember when we said no lying?”
“Yes.” I swallow, bracing myself. The tension ties itself into knots in my chest, and I don’t like this feeling. I don’t want to ever feel this way. It feels like need and dependency. Like something I barely know. “Are you going to?” I spit out.
“Going to what?”
“End this?” I ask, because I can’t take it anymore.
She laughs.
“It’s not funny,” I insist.
“It is funny.”
“Why?”
She shakes her head. “You idiot.” She grabs my shirt and brings me closer to her. My heart throws itself against my ribs. “This is what I wanted to tell you. When you asked me what was wrong