Moore To Love (25 page)

Raven buttons her blouse and then pulls her trendy, pink-tipped hair back in a ponytail. “She’ll always be a part of me and I’m actually happy about it, because it humbles me. It reminds me that shit like that does not define a human being.”

I nod as I witness one of my role models shrug off the vulnerability she just shared with me.
Grace and dignity,
that takes guts. Modeling for the first time with your junk exposed takes guts. After her revelation, I admire her even more for laying into me for being whiney about my weight all these years. But rather than continuing this Debbie Downer duo deal, I walk over to the bar, pour myself a glass of champagne, top off Raven’s, and bring it to her.

“Toast?” I ask, hoping to let the heaviness of the last few minutes pass without any malice.

“To?”

I think long and hard about what to say. It should be sweet, empowering, something to show her that what she said sank in. But that’s not me and Raven wants me to be
me
. I lift my glass and clink it against hers. With a nod of my head and a subtle wink, I say, “To ugly ducklings and fat chicks.”

Raven giggles and then snorts as the exasperation from earlier disappears from her face. “I’ll drink to that.”

And just like that, we pull a P!nk, raising a glass in honor of the underdog.
Misfits aren’t misfits among other misfits.
Thank you, Barry Manilow, for your words of wisdom . . . it looks like we made it.

THE HAPPENINGS OF THE REST
of my week in Miami are insightful and overall . . . fun. Along with Raven, the other girls from the studio and I have plenty of downtime to relax and catch some rays and even get out to a trendy, Latin hot-spot one night. Drinks, dancing, letting loose . . . it’s a blast. But the highlight of the trip; however, is not the runway show or even the photo shoot, but rather that in ten minutes I’ll be landing at JFK, one step closer to home and my normal routine. And Lane, of course.

I missed him while I was gone and even though working on this project was an eye-opening experience
and
a giant step in the direction of expanding my career, I hated going through it all without having someone to share it. Silly, because Lane and I managed to talk every night so it was as if he were right there beside me for all the ups and downs of the wild ride. We grew closer while spilling our guts over late night chats and intermittent texts that, now that I look through them, could make a porn star blush. And while there’s no doubt that absence makes the heart grow fonder, the distance mixed with the flirting also has us desperately deprived of the other. It’s crazy what can happen over long distance phone calls and the span of seven lonely days. Crazy and pretty damn amazing.

As the plane descends, I imagine being welcomed home by Lane, the way he promised me he would. He’s my ride home from the airport, so I dig into my purse for a few frills to freshen up. I haven’t seen him in seven days, and while the sun gave my skin a nice bronzed glow and my hair a few extra highlights, I’m positive my jeans are tighter than they were when I left. All that overindulging and no time to work out—I can’t think about it now. No use in crying over a few unwanted pounds when you have a hottie like Lane as the sole member of your welcoming committee. If I’m being honest, it’s not necessarily the actual welcome home I’m looking forward to. It’s what comes after. That’s where the real promise lies.
Skin on skin
. I had him swear on all that’s good and holy.

“I’ll never get used to landing, either.” Raven squeezes my wrist. She must’ve noticed my squirming.

“Mmm hmm.” I go along with it. She doesn’t need to know that I’m all hot and bothered thinking about how Lane and I will be spending the night.

By the time I’ve said my goodbyes to the girls and grabbed my bags from the luggage carousel, my heart has become the focal point of my entire being. Fluttering, then galloping. Skipping, then palpitating. I have never been more excited to see someone in my life. Rolling the bags behind me, I check my phone to see if Lane’s texted. Sure enough, the first thing that pops up from three minutes ago is an “I’m here,” from the boy who has my heart up in arms.

If I knew how, I’d back handspring my way through the terminal and out the door to get to my handsome chariot driver as quickly as possible. But I’m me and we all know I have no business even pretending that’s a possibility, so I settle for a fast-paced stride with a shit-eating grin on my face.

When our eyes lock, Lane immediately throws his door open and comes around the front of his car. I’m not even sure it’s his car—who owns a car in the city—but who cares? He’s here and that’s all that matters. “Hi!” I beam, dropping my bags dramatically and spreading my arms for a hug.

Lane forgoes my open armed invitation and grabs my face in his hands. “Hi, gorgeous. I missed you.” His lips find mine as if they’ve been searching a lifetime and I kiss him right there, the way I want to, without reservation, as if we’re alone.

We’re soon interrupted by a security guard who clearly has no respect for the art of love in bloom and orders Lane to move the car. After one more soft kiss and a look that melts whatever’s left of my insides, he grabs my luggage, loads it in the trunk, and we get into our respective seats as driver and passenger. I touch my fingers to my lips, relishing in the feeling of
home
.

Call me bananas. Call the whole thing a bit much. But then I’ll call you a wench, because I don’t care how it seems—too fast, too forward, too whatever—this is exactly right. Timing and all. My heart’s waited a long time to feel this good and I’m allowing her this moment of glory.

“How was the flight?” Lane snaps his seat belt and puts the car in drive, signaling before he pulls out of the apparently illegal spot.

“Flight was great. Trip was great. Everything was great.” Which I hope translates to: enough small talk. Get me home so I can have my way with you.

Lane leans over the console and wraps his hand around mine, sending another pulsing ache to my lady bits. “You better step on it,” I demand.

“Hasty, much?”

“No, another word that starts with h and ends with y.”

Recognition washes the smirk right off his face and one of his dimples sinks into the pinkish tint of his clean-shaven cheek.

I bring my hand to touch it, needing to feel the heat radiate off of him. “You can’t kiss me like that and think my lips won’t snitch to the rest of my body about what they’re missing.” In a sensual trail that could very well risk our lives, my hand travels from his face to his lap.
Hello, down there. Nice to make your acquaintance again. It’s about time we get to know each other a lot better.
I squeeze a hefty helping of hardness and order, “Home. Now. I don’t care how many laws you have to break to make this happen in a timely fashion, but do it.”

Lane’s hearty laugh reverberates through my core. Hilarity overpowers longing and my hand flies to my mouth to mask the unattractive guffaw that escapes me. Looking back on the moments with Lane thus far, big and small, significant and inconsequential, this has to be my favorite. I don’t know if it’s that we became more comfortable with each other through the phone calls, or if it’s just a natural progression of things, but the happiness trapped inside this car could cause spontaneous combustion. And I’m not just talking about shattering windows and crushing metal. Can you have an orgasm from sheer happiness? Is that possible?

Traffic cooperates for a change and we find ourselves hand-in-hand as we pull up to the curb outside my apartment. “Aren’t you going to park it?” I gesture behind me with my thumb, in the direction of the parking garage down the street.

“Nope.” The word echoes through the car with a deafening pop.

“Not this again! You can’t be serious.” If disappointment and fury gave birth to a human, she’d be Leni Moore.

Lane’s strong hand caresses my fiery cheek. “Calm down, gorgeous. It’s my friend’s car. I borrowed it so I could pick you up. He should be here any minute to take it back.”

Relief triumphs overreaction. “I thought you were chickening out again,” I admit, the air returning to my lungs, with zero traces of rage.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. It’s so endearing, yet so sexy, my body goes into another tizzy.

“Let me grab my bag and air out the apartment while you wait for your friend. I need the little girl’s room, too.”

Lane kisses the palm of my hand and nods me on.

When I step out of the car, I take another look at Lane and smile. Happiness is an understatement for what’s overcome me. I offer him a wink and spin around to head upstairs. Out of the corner of my eye, a tall, handsome man catches my attention. From afar he looks familiar but as he nears and throws his hand up to wave—at me—my uterus contracts and a wave of nausea nearly knocks me off my wobbly feet.

“Leni!” he calls, picking up the pace.

There’s no mistaking him now. No turning back, no jumping into the safe haven of the car with Lane, no pretending I didn’t see him. “Hudson? What are you doing here?”