Despite this growing bond I feel with her, I hesitate, not wanting to unpack my baggage in the middle of our first date. “What do you want to do?” Please don’t say the party.

She holds my hand like a lifeline, the streetlights bouncing in her eyes as if dancing just for me, and her smile exudes happiness. I’ll give her the world if it means she’ll always be this happy. Taking a quick breath as her body still wriggles with adrenaline from the club, she says, “I’d rather be alone.”

Not what I expected, but exactly what I want as well. I’m hoping she means alone with me since I’m not ready for the night to end. “Would you like me to take you home?” I ask to make sure we’re on the same wavelength.

She grabs the front of my shirt, tugging me closer. Lifting, she kisses my chin until I dip so she can reach my lips. There’s no way I’m going to be able to resist her once we’re alone. “Yes, with you.”

I take in the sight of her before me. Her hair is up, but strands have escaped the elastic and hang wildly around her head. With her eyes locked on mine, her tongue runs along the corner of her lips completely unaware of the reaction it causes. So fucking innocent. “Is that an invitation?”

“Yes.” She kisses me, her arms wrapping around my neck and holding me close. “And sealed with a kiss.”

I smirk. How can I not? Judging by how she’s looking at me, like I might make a tasty snack, I’m starting to realize that alcohol might be involved in the action. I caress her cheek and then kiss it. “Let’s go home then.” Home?

I’m not sure why that came out so effortlessly, but with this incredible creature clinging to me, I’m not going to stand here to work it out. Not when I can be working other things out, like pent-up sexual frustrations, in the privacy of her bedroom.

I take one of her hands and hold it because I like having the connection. And by how she moves closer to me as we walk to the car, I’m certain she feels the same. Guess even the feisty aren’t immune to the Westcott charms. Go figure.

Holding her close feels natural and not like this is the first time. She feels good and fits nicely in the nook of my arm.

Plenty of girls are clingy with me.

Lark feels different.

Lark is different.

It’s how she makes me feel, lighter, like she doesn’t see the mistakes I’ve made in the past but only sees the me that exists now. She’s utterly addicting.

It’s been quite a whirlwind week. I went from just fucking around to having a full-on girlfriend. Am I insane? Maybe I am, but I don’t care. Lark Summerlin has become an addiction that I have no intention of quitting anytime soon.

“I think we jumped a few steps ahead in this relationship.” I realize how that might be taken if she takes it wrong.