There, that sounds better. More appropriate of a response. But when I force myself to meet Lark’s gaze, I am very much unprepared for what happens next.
Like a tiny blond tornado, she flings herself across the kitchen, my arms opening just in time to catch her. But when I go to hold her away from my body, she presses in. My eyes widen as she fumbles her hands up to cup my cheeks, fiery determination clear in her gaze.
She pauses, her eyes searching my face.
I hear her mutter under her breath, “Fuck it.”
Then.
Holy shit.
Then, she kisses me.
Chapter twelve
Lark
Somehow, I keep it together until I pull my car into the parking lot of the Tridents stadium. Then, and only after making sure there’s no one around to witness my impending freak-out, I drop my head to the steering wheel, thunking it over and over again as I mutter under my breath, “What. Was. I. Thinking.”
Once my forehead starts to hurt, I stop beating myself up, physically, at least. Slumping back in my seat, I let my eyes fall closed, my mind instantly bringing up the image of Dan’s face after I pulled back from our kiss. Shock was written all over his features, from the rigid stance of his body to his blank expression.
It wasn’t the reaction of a man with romantic feelings. It was the reaction of a man stunned by what I did. And not necessarily in a good way.
I didn’t wait around to discuss what happened. Instead, I bolted from his apartment as if I was trying to outrun the devil. And maybe I was, if the devil is my impulsive decision to kiss my best guy friend just a few hours after breaking off my engagement.
I guess I drove on autopilot, coming to the stadium like this. I do have some work to do, a couple guys coming in for treatment, but not until later on.
But I climb out of my car anyway and slowly make my way into the facility. It’s drizzling, cold, and wet. Kind of fitting, given the way I feel. Like there’s a very real possibility I messed everything up.
Inside, the stadium is fairly quiet. Most of the offseason work happens up in the administrative offices. The lower level where the gym, locker rooms, and training facilities are located tends to be mostly empty with so many of the players not in the city right now. When I push open the doors to the therapy wing where we do all medical and rehab assessments and treatments, the Tridents’ head trainer Mattias is there, walking out with one of the second basemen, Ben.
“See you next week and remember to take it easy on that knee.”
“Will do.” Ben gives Mattias a nod and turns toward the door. “Oh, hey, Lark. How’s it going?”
I muster up what I hope is a believably calm smile. “Great, thanks. Have a good one, Ben.”
He leaves and Mattias turns to look at me over his shoulder as he types some notes into one of the tablets we use to keep track of treatment plans and progress. “Yo, Lark, you’re here early.”
I set my bag down and move to the coffee machine we installed last year to save us having to go to the cafeteria all the time. “Yeah, I figured I’d get a workout in, catch up on some notes.”
Lies. All lies.
But Mattias just nods. “Cool. Any word from the university yet?”
He submitted a reference on my behalf to the research team, but honestly? That is thelastthing on my mind right now.
“No, nothing yet.”
“It’ll come soon,” he says. “Hey, I’m heading to Maura’s for lunch, want me to grab you a sandwich when I go?”
“Sure, that would be great, thanks.”
The mundane conversation does the trick of settling some of my freak-out nerves. Coffee in hand, I move into the smaller room where I have a table for when I need to do manual treatments. Setting my water bottle and coffee down on the small desk, I fire up my computer and check my emails and calendar for the day. Nothing new has cropped up, which means I’ve got some time. I could do what I told Mattias and go to the gym, but I need to talk to someone first, before I explode.
A few minutes later, I’m knocking on Willow’s office door.
“Hey girl, come on in.”
