Bad at Love by Karina Halle
Fuck.
This is happening.
And it’s still happening.
Like any new dance, it starts off tentative, wary, and then morphs, his mouth growing hungrier, our tongues sliding in and out with building urgency. Laz presses his hips into mine and I can feel how hard he is.
For me. All for me.
He lets out a low groan into my mouth and it rumbles through me, all the way to my toes, my thighs squeezing together to quell the throbbing. His hands are in my hair, on my jaw, holding my head down against the grass and my fingers are drifting over his shoulders, feeling his strength, as our kiss deepens and deepens and deepens.
It feels so good.
So.
Fucking.
Good.
Best damn kiss I’ve ever had.
Then he pulls back, just an inch, enough for me to gasp for breath, for my mind and body to be brought back to reality. The sun is glaring above us but all I do is stare at Laz’s gorgeous face and marvel at what we just did.
“Uh,” I say, licking my lips that still buzz from the pressure of his. “That…”
He clears his throat, his eyes dancing in a mix of amazement and lust. “I have to say you, uh, definitely don’t need any pointers on how to kiss.”
“Yeah,” I say breathless. “Neither do you.”
Oh my god. It’s hitting me slowly now. Laz just kissed me. We were just hardcore making out. That wasn’t just a first kiss, that wasn’t just a joke.
It couldn’t have been.
Could it?
I’m watching his expression, not sure what to say. I should play it off because that’s what this is, what this always has been.
“Well, I’m glad I passed your test,” I tell him. I smile but it’s shaking and I’m wide-eyed and I probably look a little nuts. “You still should have consulted the 8 Ball before.”
“I did,” he says with an easy grin, running his thumb over my lip. I have to fight the urge to kiss it. What has he done to me? “Right before I walked in through that gate.”
“And what did it say?”
“It said WIN,” he says. “And it was fucking right about that.”
That’s cute. I know the right thing to do would be for the both of us to get to our feet and carry-on with ourselves like we usually do but god, if he wants to kiss me again, I will not stop him. I don’t care if we’re lying out here under the sun, I don’t care that—
“Marina!”
A shrill voice rings through the air and I flinch. I crane my neck back and look at the main house where I can see the shadow of Barbara’s face inside by one of the open windows. “Do you need me to call the police?” she yells.
“Oh, that’s just brilliant,” Laz says, quickly getting himself off me and pulling me up to my feet. So much for that.
“No!” I yell back at Barbara. “It’s just my friend Laz. He was helping me out of my suit.”
“I bet he was,” Barbara says and then the blinds come back down.
“Sorry about her,” I say as I turn back to face Laz who is unzipping his suit.
His face is flushed, his hair a mess. There’s too much distance between us now and it feels cold and unnatural. Everything that just happened before, his body pressed against mine, our mouths joined, the heat we created, that felt right. That felt more than right. That’s the us that should have always been.
“I should probably get going,” he says, stepping out of the suit and handing it to me.
“What? Why?”
Oh my god, did that ruin everything? That ruined everything didn’t it?
“Don’t look so worried,” he says to me, smiling. He reaches down and grabs my free hand. “I promised Frank we’d have a rehearsal tonight and you know he’s all the way out in Long Beach.”
“Why do you need to rehearse? New songs?” I feel better knowing that he’s not bailing on account of me, but still, I don’t want him to take off after we just had our first kiss, especially when I don’t know what it means, if it meant anything.
“Well, the show you missed the other night was a bit of a shitshow, so yeah, I think we just need to get some more practice and get a new keyboardist. A lot of the songs we always should have been doing, the songs we skip, are keyboard and Moog heavy, so we need someone who knows their shit if we’re going that route. People want to dance these days.” He punctuates that with a shrug.
“So when are you going to actually start a real band?” I ask him.
He stills at that, his dark, arched brows coming together. “A real band?”
“It’s been years of you doing Depeche Mode songs. You’re an amazing singer, you can play anything you want, and you know that your poetry would do amazing as lyrics. I mean, what’s the difference really. So why not do your own thing?”
He’s still looking at me like I’m talking complete nonsense. Maybe I am. I don’t know much about music other than the fact that it’s an important part of my life.
“Because,” he says slowly, still holding onto my hand, “this is what we know. This is what we’re known for. There’s no risk. Other than the occasional shitty show, we can’t really fail. There aren’t a lot of Depeche Mode cover bands out there because no one can pull it off like we can.”
“But you can’t really move forward if you’re always doing the same thing.” I don’t want to mention he’s just coasting along and never really committing to anything, because his band is just a hobby and not a career and it really isn’t any of my business. But sometimes I want to point out the similarities between that and his failed relationships.
“And that’s why we’re trying new material.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”
“Do we still have another date or is this it?”
I hope I didn’t sound desperate just then.
He just grins at me. “You better believe we have another date. Date number three, bumble bee.”
He turns and walks off, leaving me standing on the grass, bee suit in hand, sad to see him go but dangerously giddy at the fact that we have another date, another chance to pretend.
I’m not ready to think about what will happen when we can’t pretend anymore.
Chapter Eight
Laz
“But Not Tonight”
I wake up early for once, fuelled by my dreams again. I wish I could remember them but it doesn’t matter. The feelings are there, this time brimming with dark sexuality and wild lust along with the usual despair and emotional turmoil.
I’m not surprised. I came three times last night just thinking about Marina. It’s not that I haven’t thought about her while jerking off before, because, believe me, she’s been the subject of more than a few fantasies of mine. But this time I didn’t have to imagine what it would be like to kiss her. This time I knew.
I still can’t believe I did that. Ever since our first date, it’s all I could think about, ever since it was put out on the table like an actual possibility. I’ve tried to push it all behind me and focus on other things but it keeps being pulled to the forefront.
Marina.
Her eyes, her skin, her lips.
Her fucking soul, that pure light that comes from within her, shines through all that darkness that shrouds her. I feel like I’m one step closer to possessing it, something I never knew I needed. It’s dramatic but everything inside me feels dramatic right now, larger than life and overpowering.
I don’t know where the lines started to blur. Maybe it was last week. Maybe they’ve always been blurring and I’ve had my head too far up my arse to notice.
But yesterday, yesterday that line was crossed.
Just one toe over it.
But it was crossed.
She tastes like everything I thought she would. Like honey but surprisingly richer, like she her sweetness comes from someplace deep. I honestly thought I could drown in it.
And the way she kissed me back...
I honestly didn’t know what to expect, if she
The breathless little sounds she made told me I wasn’t the only one who was lost to that kiss.
I take in a deep breath, my pen shaking in my hand, and stare down at the last thing I’ve written.
I’ve hungered for too long
For that one drop of honey
That has hung from that lonely branch
Waiting to fall
Onto my tongue
Into my mouth
Coating my throat
Until I can’t breathe anymore
But it’s okay
Because death tastes sweeter
Than the world without you
I cock my brow and read it over. Romantic, I guess. Definitely morbid. It will do for now.
With the writing coming to a close, the muse having left with the last tendrils of sleep, I get up and start making myself breakfast.
Scooby is beating me to it, at the stove and making French toast.
“Morning, mon frère,” Scooby says to me, flipping the toast over in the pan. “Care for some French toast?”
“Bien sur,” I tell him, grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting down at the kitchen table.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” he says.
“Just a little,” I tell him. “When I went to university in Berlin I picked up some German too.”
“You really are a man of the world aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t go that far. I live here, after all.”
“Yeah but LA is like the world of America.”
“I think New York is the world of America.”
“Did you know that LA is built on top of the third largest oil field in the country?” he says to me. “In the twenties, it produced a quarter of the world’s oil.”
I grin against the rim of the coffee mug. “I fear what would happen if you and Marina ever sat down and had a real conversation with each other.”
“You think we would be a good match, huh?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder with a twinkle in his bug eyes.
“Only in the fact that you both love your stupid facts.”
“Well sign me up, mon frère. She into short guys who ride bikes?”
I actually have to think about that for a moment. Even though we’re two fake dates in, I have no clue what Marina’s type is. I probably should ask her even though it could sting a bit if her answer is the opposite of me.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him.
“If she is, she’s in for a real treat. Tell her I’ll make French toast for her every morning. She’s into bees, right? Bet some of her honey will go down real well on this. It’s probably extra sweet.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to be clever with innuendo or not.
“I always thought that maybe I’d be stepping on your turf,” he adds thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Like she’s always been yours, you know.”
“She’s my friend.”
“I know. You never hold back from telling me that. I think Lazarus doth protest too much.”
“And I think Scooby doth fallen off his bike a few too many times.”
“That’s not how you use doth.” He waves his spatula at me.
“You think I don’t know? Anyway, we are friends and no she doesn’t belong to me. She isn’t mine.”
“It bothers you, though. I mean, you don’t seem like an alpha but I bet if you had the chance, you’d totally be claiming her.”
I exhale noisily and press my fingers into the table. “What are you going on about now? Alpha what?”
“You want to stick your dick in her.” He looks at me with a big grin. “It’s obvious, dude.”
“I do not…” I start but there’s no point in lying now, is there. “How is it obvious?” It’s not obvious. I’ve been very careful about that in case Marina got the wrong idea. Also, I’ve always had a girlfriend, which made hiding my attraction to her even more imperative.
He shrugs and gets plates out of the cupboard. “You look at her in a certain way.”
“Yes. As a friend.”
He snorts. “You do not look at me that way. And for that matter, you haven’t looked at any of your girlfriends that way either.”
I frown, feeling more confused than ever. Scooby is strangely astute for someone who is always high but I still don’t know what exactly he’s talking about.
“How do I look at them? How do I look at her?”
“Not that you asked,” he says as he slides the toast on the plate and nudges it toward me, “but you look at me like I’m the coolest man you’ve ever come across and your mind is blown daily by my infinite wisdom.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, man. How high are you right now?”
He ignores that, passing me a fork, and then sits down across from me. “You look at your girlfriends like…sort of like they’re science experiments.”
“Science experiments?” I repeat through a mouthful of toast, then start coughing from the powdered sugar going up my nose.
“Yeah. Like, let’s take that last one. Simone, right? You were very analytical with her. Observant. Curious. You know, like you’re doing math in your head. You know that popular meme of the blonde lady trying to do math? That’s you”
“So I looked confused? Do I look like I’m doing math in my head right now, because I am mad confused.”
“Okay so I take it that you’re not good at math. My bad. I should have figured since you’re one of them creatives and all. Okay, so you looked at them like you were thinking all the time, trying to figure them out. You were never relaxed. You were always on.”
I mull that over. Maybe Scooby is right. Looking back over everyone I dated, I can’t remember a single moment I was relaxed. Maybe during sex but even right afterward, I didn’t feel that peace that I should have felt. That comfort I should have had with the girls I had been dating for a long time. In hindsight, it’s like they never stopped being strangers to me.
“And with the hot blonde beekeeper,” he says, stabbing a piece of toast and letting it hang off the end of his fork as he thinks, “you look at her like I look at this French toast.” He brings the toast right in front of his eyes as his face contorts into a mix of…hell, I don’t know what that is. He definitely looks hungry and yet sad about it at the same time.
“Constipated?” I guess.
“That will happen later.”
I grimace.
“But what I’m trying to convey is that you both want her and hate yourself for wanting her. You’re both longing and lusting.” He sighs dramatically. “I guess all those acting classes I did haven’t really paid off.”
“That’s because you took acting classes across the street,” I say, pointing out the window at the building where M Street Coffee is housed. Sure enough, on the other side of the building is the office of Alan M. Feinstein who taught Scooby a really bizarre version of method acting for a few weeks last year. Every time he came home from class he was limping. I’m still not sure what went on in there.
“Don’t change the subject,” he says. “You wanted to know what I thought, well there you have it. Marina is the dessert that you want but can’t have because you either think you don’t deserve it or you’re worried about the calories because you haven’t been going to the gym as much lately.”
“All right, mate, you’ve lost me now.”
“It will make sense at some point,” he says. “Helps if you’re high. Speaking of, want to go out tonight? I feel like getting outside, going to a bar, and all this talk about women makes me think I’m due for one. Or at least due for a rejection by one. Any interaction is fine by me.”
“Can’t,” I tell him. “I have a…thing. Rain check?”
He raises a brow. “I’ll hold you to that.”
With all the mad talk about Marina being dessert I’m not about
But even though I don’t mention it, it doesn’t mean it’s not eating me up inside. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this nervous over a woman before and we’re not even dating for real.
Because you’re afraid of what this means. Because a kiss is just a kiss until it means more. Honey coating your throat until you can’t breathe.
I shake it out of me. I put on some music, Deftones’ “Beauty School,” and get ready.
Tonight I’m taking Marina out for dinner to Mr. Chow in Beverly Hills. I used Daryl’s connections to get me a table because otherwise I would have no chance in hell. It’s mad posh, pricey and very exclusive.
And Marina has no idea. I know our original “plan” was to have some space between our “dates” but this was the only night that we could get. Luckily Marina didn’t object.
I slip on a white shirt, slim-fitting black suit, no tie, switching for a sleeker pair of moto boots, take out my eyebrow ring and try to tame my hair. I shave my face, getting rid of the semi-beard I always seem to have.
When I’m done, I’m fairly satisfied with the result. I’m not a bum by any means and take pride in my appearance, but it isn’t often I go out of my way to dress up. It’s certainly better than the bloody bee suit of yesterday.
“Heading out,” I tell Scooby, grabbing the car keys from the hook and then leave the apartment before he can comment on the way I look.
Eight minutes later, I’m parked outside of Marina’s house and like clockwork, Miss Havisham is peering at me through the blinds. One of these days I’m going to march right up to her door and say hello, but tonight is not one of those days.
I walk through the gate at the side of the house and go around the pool, lit up by tiny lanterns at night even though it’s never not covered in a layer of leaves. Obviously neither Marina nor Miss Havisham use it.
I take in a deep breath outside of Marina’s front door, my pulse quickening in my throat.
Take it easy, I tell myself. There’s nothing to be nervous about, it’s just Marina. Your blonde bestie. The crazy bee lady.