Our lips mold together gently, and I smile into the kiss.
I try not to chuckle. I’ve imagined kissing her a million times. I always assumed when I finally had the chance to taste her, she’d taste like the watermelon gum she’s constantly chewing. Instead, the taste ofal pastorand beer with lime lingers on our tongues as they massage each other. I file the sensation away with all my most treasured memories.
We break away, and she smiles. “You canreallykiss, Karl Sommer.”
I chuckle for real now. “So can you, Lola—”
And for one panicked second, I almost called her LolaSommerbut stopped myself just in time.
What the actual fuck?
17
LOLA
When we get back home, our home—I still can’t believe it’sourhome—Karl has to help me with my balance.
The perfect Jimmy Choo’s that fit like a glove have pinched my skin raw to within an inch of its life over each pinky toe. And let’s not forget the two glasses of champagne and two beers that we used to wash down our two dinners. I suck in my belly, hoping it’s not too noticeable in the second-skin dress. And all this means I have very poor balance, and Karl has to help me out of the car. Our hands lace together as I lean on his arm for support.
As we ride the elevator up to the penthouse, I let my head drift to his arm. It’s the most content moment until the elevator doors slide open and reveal a party taking place inside our apartment.
Karl’s hand tightens around mine as he leads me toward the crowd. It’s a small party, only about fifteen people, but that’s fifteen more than I want here tonight. And I’m sure fifteen more than Karl wants around after his talk with Bren.
But what has me freezing on the spot is the sight of Sandy sitting on the couch, a handsome man on either side of her, as she sips from a martini glass, holding court. She laughs at something one man says until her gaze cuts to us and her eyes drop to Karl’s and my hands still laced together. The man next to her follows her line of sight, and he stands and walks over to where Karl and I stand frozen.
I look up at Karl, his every muscle taut with strain. I can even feel the vibrations in my hand from his shaking.
He is pissed.
“Karl, man!” the man greets, reaching us. “Who’s this?” he asks, looking at me.
“Lola,” Karl hisses. “My girlfriend.”
The man’s eyes widen with surprise, and he quickly recovers. “Well, hello, darling,” the man says. “I’m Roger—”
“Kemp. Yes, I know,” I say. I try getting my hand back from Karl, but he only grips it tighter, as if I am his support beam.
Roger Kemp is the infamous band manager forIndustrial November. I’d know him anywhere.
“What the fuck is going on?” Karl says in an eerily soft tone.
“I thought we’d have a little housewarming—”
“Lola and I have a housewarming planned. And it includes none of these people, and it certainly doesn’t include you.” Karl’s eyes are narrowed to slits, daring Roger to challenge him.
“I think I’ll head to my room,” I say, feeling uncomfortable as all hell.
“No,” Karl says. “You aren’t going anywhere. This is your home now, and you won’t be made uncomfortable in it.” His eyes never leave Roger, though. “You,” he pokes Roger in the chest with his index finger, “get everyone the fuck out of my house.”
“Come on, man, they just want to see how you’ve been—”
Roger’s words die in his mouth when Karl finally drops my hand and rushes over to the sound system to cut the music. Everyone turns to look at him now. Even the bartender they apparently hired looks up from the drink he’s mixing.
“Everyone get the fuck out,” Karl roars.
Everyone in the room turns to Roger for direction, and Roger hesitates.
What the fuck?