The Lying Season

by Linde, K. A.

  “Y’all,” she cried, “look what I found.”

  “What did you find, Whit?” English asked with a shake of her head.

  “A guy for Lark.” Whitley not-so-subtly winked.

  “Oh,” I muttered.

  He was incredibly good-looking. Platinum-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a dimpled chin. He wore fitted dark jeans and a short-sleeved button-up. He wasn’t exactly my style. But then again, I was used to Upper East Side guys. And while they all dressed nice, they were also douche bags.

  “Hi,” he said, stepping forward. “I’m Chad. You must be Lark.”

  “I am.”

  English nudged me toward him. I stumbled forward a few feet, suddenly losing control of my legs with all the alcohol. It was like it all hit me at once. I’d thought I had control over it. I wasn’t a lightweight. My parents had started me drinking wine at a very young age because they said that you were never too young to develop tolerance and taste. They’d hardly approve of the option before me. But maybe that was perfect.

  “Yes, I am,” I said more forcefully. I stepped away from my friends, and Whitley hustled over to the other girls. “So, do you live in the city?”

  “Yeah. Queens.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  “You?”

  “I’m on the Upper East.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh wow. So, I guess your place is closer than mine.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it. “Uh, yeah. I mean, physically speaking, yes?”

  He chuckled. “Cool. Well, you ready to get out of here?”

  “Already?” I asked in surprise. I was drunk, but I couldn’t be that drunk.

  “I mean…you do want to hook up, right?”

  I whirled around. “Whitley, what did you say to him?”

  Whitley just grinned back at me. “I told him that you wanted a one-night stand.”

  I shook my head at her in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Whit! I do not want a one-night stand! Let alone with a guy I just met!”

  “Uh…guys,” English muttered.

  Katherine had skipped over to the front of the box, and for the first time, I realized through my drunken haze that we had an audience. Camden had just shown up. Katherine must have let him know where we were.

  Next to him stood Court and Gavin.

  And then, to my shock and utter horror, I locked eyes with Sam Rutherford.

  5

  Sam

  Larkin St. Vincent stood in front of me.

  And she had just screamed something about a one-night stand.

  Fuck. Me.

  Well, this night had just spiraled completely out of control. I should have known better than to agree to hang out with these guys. I liked Court and Gavin a lot. When I’d met them at the campaign office, we’d hit it off immediately. Camden…I was still getting to know. But Court had assured me that Camden’s frosty behavior wasn’t personal. He just didn’t like new people, and it took him a long time to warm up to anyone.

  But still, I should have put two and two together. They were Upper East Side. Just like Lark. Why wouldn’t they frequent the same nightclubs and know the same people?

  This was a mistake.

  I’d just felt like we were on the right foot in the office. Agreeing to be professional. Well, that was fucked now.

  “Sam,” Lark said gutturally. Her big green eyes were wide. Her mouth slightly parted. She swayed a bit forward.

  She was drunk. And fucking beautiful.

  “Oh, you’re Sam?” the girl with the pink hair next to her said twice as loud. She whipped around to the guy on Lark’s other side. She waved her hands away from her. “Shoo, shoo, you. No one-night stand for you.”

  Lark looked like she might kill the girl. “Whitley,” she groaned.

  Ah. So this was the infamous Whitley.

  The guy glanced around in confusion. “This is fucked.” Then he stormed off as if he was personally affronted.

  Gavin seemed to take the pulse of the room. “Well, if we’re talking about one-night stands…”

  Court just shook his head at him.

  English muttered, “Typical,” under her breath.

  Katherine was already diverting Camden’s attention.

  And just like that, the tension in the room was defused. Gavin called for a round of drinks, and Court seemed to purposely move into place so that I was all alone with Lark.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I feel like we keep asking each other the same questions on 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, clearly not taking no for an answer. Then she left the group and dashed toward me.

  She grabbed my arm with more force than a tiny pixie of a girl should be able to. “Dance with us!”

  And I should say no.

  Not a single part of this was smart.

  But I let Whitley drag me over anyway.

  A minute later, even Camden and Katherine were dancing with us. Which, if I had to guess by the others’ expressions, was out of character for them both.

  I let the concern wash away from me. We were all dancing and having a good time. I finished my drink and had a pleasant numbness come back over me. Maybe it would be fine to do this. To pretend to be the kind of guy who drank top-shelf liquor in a box at the hottest nightclub in New York City. To spend time with Lark outside of work. Even if she seemed both exactly the same and completely different and I couldn’t decide which I preferred.

  Then the song changed from whatever techno beat had been playing to a remix of Ellie Goulding’s “Lights.” Without even meaning to, I drifted into Lark’s personal space. Her eyes widened with alarm and something else. Something I remembered all too clearly. Heat. We moved closer. Our bodies almost but just not quite touching.

  “This song,” she whispered.

  I nodded. This song had played over and over and over again when we had worked on the presidential campaign together. At some point, it had just become our song.

  “What are the chances?” I asked her.

  “With us?” She bit her plump bottom lip. “Always.”

  And then the hairbreadth space vanished. Her arms wound around my neck. Mine found her hips, my hands digging into the material of her slinky green dress. Our bodies moved in time, remembering the hours and hours we’d spent together. The easy way she moved. The pace I set. The time we had done all this with no clothes at all.

  “This feels…familiar,” she breathed into my ear.

  I closed my eyes. “We used to do this.”

  She leaned her forehead into my shoulder before whispering boldly, “We used to do a lot of things.”

  Jesus Christ.

  My grip tightened on her. “Yes…yes, we did.”

  She was just drunk enough to pull back and look up at me with those big green eyes so full of want. Her tongue flicked out and wet her bottom lip, drawing my attention to them. She was so close. So familiar. So…Lark.

  I could kiss her. I could kiss her right now.

  Except I couldn’t.

  “I have to go,” I said, dropping my arms and taking a step back.

  Her mouth popped open in shock. Her hands fell to her sides. “Go? Go where?”

  “Home,” I said automatically.

  Her eyes hardened into something lethal.

  There she was. That was the Lark I knew.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” Then I took another step back.

  “Yeah,” she said in confusion, “work.”

  I forced myself to turn around and walk out of the nightclub. Because if I stayed another moment, against all reason, I’d kiss her. And I didn’t trust myself not to.

  6

  Lark

  Sam made no sense.

  None.

  At all.

  I was still fuming about his abrupt departure and then the subsequent cold shoulder at work. One minute, he had been a dick to me. And the next, I had been in his arms, about to kiss him. Then he’d freaked the fuck out and ditched the entire party. Hello, mixed signals.

  English just thought this was proof that I needed to leave Sam in the past where he belonged. I wished that she was still in New York instead of back in LA. Katherine and Whitley had polar-opposite advice about the whole thing, and I felt battered back and forth like a tennis ball.

  Luckily, I had work to keep me company. The fundraising banquet for the mayor was tomorrow, which meant the office was in full panic mode. I barely had time to think, let alone eat lunch or take a break. We had to finalize all plans today, and then I’d head over with the advance team in the morning to make sure everything was set up.

  I was reviewing the paperwork that Demi had just sent out to the team. It included the full script for tomorrow and everyone’s specific jobs for the event. My eyes narrowed when I saw Sam’s name next to legal staff.

  I sighed.

  Of course they’d send Sam to the banquet. He was the new guy. It made perfect sense. But that meant that I wouldn’t even be able to escape him tomorrow. I bristled and wondered if I could convince Gibbs to send someone else. He was in charge of the legal department. But I wouldn’t be able to tell him why I wanted someone else without lying. Saying that I wanted someone with more experience. But it was bullshit. It would just draw more questions.

  I flipped to the next page when a notification for an incoming email appeared on my screen. I almost closed out of it, but then I saw the name attached.

  Why was Sam emailing me?

  I narrowed my eyes as I clicked on the email and watched it pop up on my screen.

  Lark,

  Do you need a break? Want to go get coffee?

  Best,

  Sam

  A thrill ran through me before I could prevent it. I wanted to get coffee with Sam. I wanted him to think of me when he went on break. But at the same time, this was just another one of those fucking mixed signals. Why would he want to go get coffee after what happened when we went out?

  Unless he wanted to apologize.

  I closed my eyes and slowly counted to ten. I didn’t have time for this. For whatever Sam was going through. I’d turned over a new leaf. I wasn’t the same Lark I’d been when we first met. And I didn’t want to play games. I didn’t want to deal with any of this.

  No matter how familiar things seemed.

  I remembered how it had ended. And I just needed to keep reminding myself of that.

  Sam,

  The banquet is tomorrow. No time for breaks. There’s coffee in the break room.

  —Lark

  I gulped before I hit Send. It was abrupt. And said everything I hadn’t.

  Translation: I don’t want to see you. Even if I had a few minutes, I would rather drink the shit break room coffee than step out of the office with you.

  I pulled up the banquet itinerary again and then nearly groaned as another email came in. Had he not understood the first one?

  Lark,

  I understand that there is coffee in the break room. But I think a ten minute break might be good for the both of us. Don’t you think?

  Thanks,

  Sam

  No. No, I did not think a ten minute break would be a good idea.

  Why was he pushing this? I’d already wasted more than ten minutes on these stupid emails. I couldn’t afford to walk out of this office today. Not even to find out what other mixed signals he wanted to send me in person.


  Sam,

  I don’t need a break. Thanks though. Feel free to run out and get coffee. I recommend Coffee Grounds. You’re perfectly capable of leaving without me. Right?

  —Lark

  Translation: You ran out the fucking door at the club earlier this week. Get your own coffee!

  Lark,

  I suppose I am. I will take your recommendation. I have something I’d like to discuss with you. Since you’re so busy, perhaps we could meet after work? I heard there’s a good burger place not far away. No mustard, right?

  Think about it.

  Sam

  Why, oh why did he have to remember how I liked my burger?

  I closed my eyes, and my finger hovered over the Reply button. This had gone on long enough. I didn’t need to respond. I could just say no. That would be easier. But now, I was curious.

  Damn it!

  Why had he made me curious?

  Sam,

  I don’t know what you need to discuss with me. But can’t you do it in an email?

  —Lark

  Translation: Get this over with. You are killing me slowly.

  Lark,

  I could. I’d rather do it in person. I owe you that much.

  Please.

  Sam

  He owed me that much? What the hell did that mean? Was this about the club? Was he finally going to explain why he’d run out?

  I chewed on my bottom lip. It could just be a line to get me to agree to see him again. I didn’t know why he needed it, but I didn’t really understand Sam at all anymore.

  Sam,

  Fine. I’m signing off now.

  —Lark

  I exited out of the email and returned to my work, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. Now, I was wondering what he wanted to talk about. And despite it all, I felt nerves take over. Wondering if this was good or bad or somewhere in between.