Dark Wild Night (Wild Seasons #3)(60)
Author: Christina Lauren

“We need a better one,” London agrees. “I do like pussy, though.”

“But we wouldn’t just casually refer to our pussies the way guys refer to their dicks,” Harlow says.

“Is that a bad thing?” Mia asks. “Do we need to casually refer to them?”

Harlow looks insulted.

“Like, how about . . . sock.” London angles both hands to point between her legs and looks at us for agreement. “This is my ‘sock.’ ”

“Maybe something that isn’t already a thing, and doesn’t rhyme with cock?” I suggest.

“Oh.” London deflates. “That’s so weird. I didn’t even think about that. Clearly it has been far too long since I thought about cock.”

“How’s the new house?” I ask Mia, changing the subject. I zip up my duffel bag and drop it near the desk.

She shrugs, grinning with bliss. “Gorgeous. We got the keys yesterday.”

“Did you spend the night there?” I ask.

She nods. “No furniture, no electricity, it’s about two degrees inside, and Ansel ran around the entire place naked before attacking me on the wood floor of the living room.” She grips her lower back, wincing. “Is twenty-three too old to comfortably have sex on the floor? I thought we’d have more longevity than this.”

“Well, that explains the geriatric curve to your spine,” I say.

London sighs. “I would have sex on a pointy rock right now.”

I high-five her, but she immediately grabs my hand and swipes her palm across mine. “Wait. I’m taking back my high-five. You got superbanged last night. And today.”

“It was nearly a year ago that I was last banged!” I protest. “And I’m headed to L.A. for three days with no banging. Give me that high-five back.”

London limply wipes her hand back over mine and the four of us fall into silence at the mention of L.A. The quiet tells me they’re done giving me shit. But their continued presence tells me they’re not leaving until they get some more details.

So I give them what I can.

I tell them about drawing him, about the tension that seemed to be let loose after that, about how my feelings seemed to grow exponentially as soon as I gave them air. I tell them about the night at his house, cuddling, about the party in L.A., the bar afterward, and Oliver’s bare admission that he’s in love with me.

My heart seems to balloon until it’s hard to take a deep breath.

Harlow’s hand is pressed firmly to her chest. “He said that?”

I nod, chewing a nail and speaking around it: “He said it.”

“And you didn’t have sex with him immediately that night?” Mia asks.

“In a hotel room,” Harlow adds, horrified at my missed opportunity.

It’s too much, and I feel months of longing crash into everything else going on in my life right now. “It’s a big deal to me,” I say. And, inexplicably, tears fill my eyes.

Pushing past a surprised Harlow, I rush into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

“What—?” I hear London say.

Harlow’s voice is a calm murmur: “I got this.”

I hear her knock quietly on the door as I fill my cupped palms with cold water, splashing it on my cheeks before pressing my face into a soft towel.

Breathe.

It’s just a lot all at once, I tell myself. Breathe.

“Lola?”

“Just give me a second.”

I don’t know why, but I have this dark sense of dread. My blood rushes cold in fear and hot in thrill, wildly alternating between these two poles. This is good. Everything is good. So why do I feel like I’m trying to contain a hurricane in the palm of my hand?

I take a few minutes to brush my hair and put it back up in a neat ponytail. I put on a little makeup. I stare at myself in the mirror, and try not to worry that the woman staring back at me is going to fuck all of this up, every last bit of it.

“Lola,” Harlow whispers through the door. “Lola. It’s okay for it to be intense. Oliver isn’t going anywhere.”

* * *

THE CAR PULLS up in front of the Four Seasons Beverly Hills and the driver lifts my sad little duffel bag from the trunk, smiling blandly when I give him a pathetic tip because I only have ten dollars in cash.

I’m startled when the bellhop reaches for my bag before I can pick it up and we apologize in unison. He gives me a sympathetic smile and nods to the opulent hotel entrance. I must look like I’ve just emerged from a cave: I’m going on a night with little sleep, and napped like a milk-drunk newborn the entire drive from San Diego. But even with the darkening sky all around me and the promise of a comfortable bed, unfortunately I know I will be up for hours now.