8. Monty

Chapter eight

Monty

“Hiiiii, Dan. You’re amazing, you know that, right? Like, super-cool-fantastic-awesome-amazing. And like, a great guy. And a great friend. And you have a great butt. Oh my God, pretend I didn’t just say that. Okay. Wow. So, um, anyway. I’m out with Willow and Sadie and they just bought a bottle of champagne to help me celebrate. Oh! Wait. I’m not celebrating getting married. I’m celebrating not getting married! Yeah. I have finally decided to stop being stupid. I’m ending it with Baron. Oh man, I think I gotta go drink champagne. Champaaaaaaaaaaagne. That’s a funny word to say. Okay, anyway, ummm, I don’t know what else to say, except you’re amazing! Okay. Bye!”

I listen to Lark’s drunken, giggly message for a third time as I drive through the city toward the restaurant Willow texted me they were at. The first time I listened, I almost dropped my phone. The second time, I paced around my apartment, alternating between shaking my head in disbelief and grinning. This time, I’m coaching myself not to get too excited.

Just because she’s ending it with the asshole doesn’t mean there’s anything there for me. She might say I’ m amazing, and have a great butt, but she also said I’m a great friend . Goddamn friend zone. I hate it here. Can I give up my lifetime membership? Please?

At Grayson’s game last week, so many people were looking at the two of us. Probably taking notice of how Lark would lean against me or steal my water to take a drink. Things couples do.

Oh, how wrong they were to assume that.

I’m a great friend. So great, I’ll press pause right at my favourite scene in The Empire Strikes Back to pick her up.

Luke’s freak-out over the identity of his father? Classic.

I pull up outside the restaurant and thankfully find a parking spot. It’s a fancy place from the looks of the people coming out the door. I glance down at my grey sweats and hoodie, complete with a pizza stain in the middle of my chest, briefly second-guessing my decision to not bother changing before coming. But Willow made it sound like Lark was too drunk to just take an Uber home. So here I am, dressed like a schlub, ready to make sure she gets home safe.

The second I get out of my car, I hear someone call my name. Looking over, I see Ronan Sinclair, the first baseman for the Tridents, walking up. “Hey Monty, you here for Lark? We could have driven her home.”

That makes me pause, because yeah, he could have. “Willow just said I should come and get Lark.”

Ronan does a terrible job of hiding his smirk. “She did, did she. I see.”

I pointedly ignore him. Just then, the door to the restaurant opens, and three women stumble out, holding onto each other and giggling .

We start toward them, Willow spotting us first. “There you are, our knights in shining” — her gaze drops down, then back up with a giggle — “sweatpants.” She waltzes over to Ronan, wrapping her arms around him and plastering a kiss on his face. “Hi.”

Turning my attention from them, I see Sadie, standing to the side, typing something on her phone, and Lark, looking at me.

“Why are you here?” she asks, then hiccups, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Willow said you needed a ride home.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. Does she not want me here? Then she starts to sway, and I step forward, wrapping my arm around her shoulders to support her. “And it looks like you had a good time.”

Her head falls onto my shoulder as she lets out a soft giggle. “I did. I feel good, Dan. Really good. For the first time in a long time.”

I want so badly to ask her if that’s because she’s ending it with Baron, but now’s not the time. Not when she can barely stand up on her own. “Okay, Birdie. Let’s get you home.”

I steer her over toward my car, waving goodbye to Ronan who’s loading the other two into his car.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I make a snap decision to take her back to my place. It’s closer than hers, and if she’s had as much to drink as I think she has, the sooner I get some water into her and get her horizontal, the better. “Hey, Lark, we’re gonna go to my place, okay? You can sleep it off there, so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Mm-hmm,” is her only reply, and I glance over to see her leaning against the window, her eyes closed .

A couple of minutes later, soft snores fill the car.

When I pull into my parking stall, Lark is still asleep, her head against the headrest. I sit there for a couple of minutes, watching her. Is it creepy to watch her sleep? Maybe, but I can’t help it. She’s so damn pretty, and seeing her so relaxed and peaceful with me, knowing she trusts me enough to get her home safely, to fall asleep in my presence, it does something to me. I like being the guy she can rely on. No, I love it. I’ve witnessed my parents’ love over the years, and this is what it’s like for them. They know, without a doubt, they’re safe with each other. I’ve seen my dad climb a ladder with my mom holding the bottom. I’ve watched my mom care for my dad when he’s sick, and my dad do everything for my mom after she had surgery a few years ago. Their love, their support, their trust. That’s what I want for myself.

That’s what I want with Lark .

Quietly, I open my door, closing it just as softly before going around to her side. This part will be a bit more tricky, but I manage to open the door, reaching in to unbuckle her. Then, using the muscles honed over years of being a catcher, I squat down and scoop her into my arms, lifting her out of the car.

“Dan?” she mumbles, her head lifting.

“Shh, it’s okay, Birdie. I got you,” I whisper back. And her head falls against my shoulder, her arms winding around my neck.

“Always,” she whispers against my skin, and my goddamn heart stutters in my chest.

“Yeah, always.”

Somehow, I manage to lock my car, and then I carry her over to the elevator. Thank God for automatic opening doors. The elevator is empty the whole way up to my apartment. But that’s where it gets tricky. My keys are in my hand, and even though my arms are starting to feel the strain of carrying her for this long, I get the door unlocked and open without smacking her head against it.

Go me.

Once inside, I carry her straight down the hall to my bedroom and set her down on my bed. Good thing I never bother to make it in the morning, so the blankets are already pulled down. Eyeing her outfit, I decide against trying to get her into something else. Until, that is, her eyes blink open, and she pushes her way to sitting.

“Where are we?”

“My place,” I say, walking over to my dresser and pulling out a T-shirt and some shorts. “If you want to change, here you go. Sleep it off and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

She rubs her face and gives me a small smile. “Thanks.” Her mouth opens in an adorable yawn that morphs into a hiccup. “Oh my God.” She moans. “Too much wine.”

I chuckle and move into my kitchen to fill a glass with water and grab her some painkillers. When I get back to my bedroom, I freeze in the doorway. Her back is to me, but she’s taken off her clothes, leaving her in nothing but a pair of black panties.

Whipping around, I clear my throat. “I’ve got some water for you.”

“Oh!” I hear her soft sound of surprise, then the rustle of fabric. “I’m decent.”

Turning around slowly, I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. Decent? She’s wearing my shirt, and the shorts are still on the bed beside her. Which means she has nothing else on underneath except those black panties.

I don’t dare step any closer, simply extend my arm with the glass of water. She closes the distance and takes it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be on the couch.”

Her head slowly nods. “You’re a good friend, Dan Montgomery.”

“Yeah,” I say, the word coming out hoarse. “Sure.”

As I turn to go lick my wounds over that goddamn word friend , her hand darts out and grabs my wrist. I twist back around, and she lifts up onto her toes, her lips brushing my cheek gently, too fast for me to register what she’s doing until she’s stepping back with a soft smile.

“Goodnight.”

I’m too dumbfounded to say anything, my head bobbing up and down as my only response. Then I turn and stagger to my living room before collapsing on the couch. Only then do I exhale slowly, my hand running through my hair.

It figures. The first time I feel Lark’s lips on my skin, she’s so drunk she probably won’t remember it in the morning.

But I sure as shit will.