by Emery Cross
I even bought her a toothbrush but instead of leaving it in the bathroom she kept it in a plastic baggy in her purse.
I was still treating her like she was a skittish doe who’d run from me if I asked for a commitment. But I couldn’t do this one night stand bullshit much longer.
Harper was still clinging to my arm as we reached the table. I introduced her around.
“Sara picked the place.” Clay’s tone was apologetic.
“What?” Sara said. “It’s fun."
I pulled a chair out for Harper, leaning over to breathe in the scent of her hair as she sat down. “I love karaoke,” she said.
Sara gave her husband a “see, I told you so” look.
Harper took off her sweater, exposing her silky smooth shoulders.
I sat down and Nick pushed a beer bottle in my direction.
“It’s probably a good idea that we’re getting together now. Before the fire season starts, right, Captain Ford?” Kelly said in a flirtatious tone.
“Shit, it’s fire season in California all year round,” Nick answered for me.
“What are you drinking?” Harper asked Kelly. “It looks amazing.” It was a glass jar filled with more fruit than liquid.
“White wine sangria.”
“Oh, I want to try one of those.”
The wives seemed to accept her immediately. But I sensed the men’s surprise. Like they knew I'd trapped a beautiful butterfly and was going to have to let her go at some point.
Nick and Clay started talking sporting goods, aluminum bats more specifically. They owned a firm together and it was still the topic that excited them most.
Sara mock yawned and tilted her head toward the stage. “You want to do a duet?” she asked Harper.
“Sure.”
Nick finally changed the subject to something more interesting, this year’s football team at our college. Clay was the only one of us that thought they had possibilities.
We heard Sara’s comically deep voice and we all turned our attention toward the stage. She was trying to sing the man’s part of a duet. She managed only a couple of lines before both women started cracking up.
A douche bag hopped up on the stage and motioned for the mic. Still laughing, Sara handed it over.
The guy instantly picked up where Sara had left off, putting on an overdone twang.
“What a fucking showboat,” Clay grumbled.
When his part ended he gestured toward Harper.
Harper tried to hand her microphone off to Sara, but Sara refused it with a wave of her hands. She pointed at Harper and then left the stage.
Harper shrugged and brought the mic up and started singing.
I pulled in a sharp breath. Her voice had a drive-men-crazy sultry edge to it. Why wasn't she front and center in her band?
It was a country song of heartache and longing. Thank God she focused on me while she sang instead of the jackass sharing the stage with her.
Heads started to swing in her direction. The chatter noise level dropped.
She looked like a doll up there. I wanted to strip that clingy dress off of her, to yank down her panties with my teeth, and penetrate her with my tongue. I was trying to remember why I’d wanted to go out rather than spend all night fucking her.
“Damn, Harper has a set of pipes on her,” Nick said.
It was the jackass’s turn again. He was trying to get her to look at him. But she kept her eyes fixed on me.
“He’s trying to compete with her. Good fucking luck with that,” Clay muttered. One of his hands was wrapped around a bottle, the other was resting atop the table and curled into a fist. I knew him well enough to know he wanted to beat the shit out of the guy in the worst way. Probably the only thing holding him back was the setting. A karaoke bar with bright pink lighting did not lend itself to brawls.
Sara returned to the table with a glass of red wine.
“You okay, hon?" Clay asked.
“Of course, I am,” Sara said. “Now hush, this is Harper’s part.”
Harper lifted the mic to her lips and started singing again, and I couldn’t help recalling her sweet mouth on my cock for the first time. How hard she’d tried to please me. I took a long pull, trying to cool my blood.
A couple of men had gotten off their bar stools and were making their way toward the stage.
Nick backhand smacked my chest. "Shit, man, your girl’s got an audience."
The song ended and the bar broke out in applause.
“Can you believe that idiot?” Clay asked. “He’s actually bowing. He thinks they’re clapping for him.”
Some fool held out his arms to lift Harper down from the stage. It was only five fucking inches or less off the ground.
I started across the bar. I wanted to crack some heads. Maybe brawling wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Rather than deal with her admirers, Harper pushed through the back curtains.
"Didn't know you could sing like that," I said as she came around.
"I'm a woman of many talents." She batted her eyelashes at me.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe.”
Sara came over with two ping pong paddles. “Kelly’s holding the table. Let’s have a tournament.”
Harper took one of the paddles. “Okay. But I really suck at it.”
“So do I. But who cares.”
I watched them walk toward the games room.
Harper could always make friends easily. But beyond her bandmates, she just never bothered making the effort to keep up any of those friendships.
I returned to the table. They’d ordered another round of beer. I grabbed a bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a slug.
“Hey, Ford, did you buy the ring yet?” Nick asked his amused gaze shifting to Clay, as if they shared a joke.
I set the beer bottle down. “Holy shit, am I that obvious?”
Clay chuckled. “Oh, fuck, yeah.”
We were back on sports again. After another round of beer and some whiskey shots, we’d exhausted the subject.
Nick glanced around the bar. “No darts. No pool table. No fucking sports on TV. Fuck, no TV at all for that matter.”
“At least, the girls are having fun,” Clay said.
“Speaking of. Where the fuck are they?” Nick asked.
Nick went to check the games room. “They aren’t there,” he said when he returned. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Where are you?” Nick’s gaze slid over to us, and my instant thought was, now what has she done? “Okay. We’ll meet you there.” He ended the call.
“They’re at that fun park a block down.”
“Want to bet who the instigator was?” Clay asked with a laugh.
Nick clamped a hand on my shoulder as we strode down the street. “Bro, you sure caught yourself a wild one.”
We found Kelly and Sara playing miniature golf. They pointed in the direction of the Ferris wheel. Of fucking course, my babe was the lone rider of a stalled Ferris wheel, stuck nearly at the top, with the winds blowing, no less.
She leaned over and waved down at me, rocking the car.
My stomach dropped. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Darlin’, you sit your sweet ass down, and wait.” Not sure whether she heard me, I fired off a text message with the same sentiment.
“Bet you wished you had your fire ladder right about now,” Nick said.
I opened the gate and stepped onto the ride platform and ducked my head into the booth. “If you don’t want to lose your operating license you’d better get this shit ride started again.”
“Give me five minutes,” the man said.
It was more like ten before the engine finally kicked into gear.
Clay and Nick had gotten tired of my pacing and gone off to hit some balls in the batting cage.
Harper climbed off the ride as carefree as can be. She had a slushy drink in her hand and her lips were slightly blue.
I dipped m
y head and gave her a brief kiss. She tasted like cotton candy.
“You worry about me too much,” she said.
“It would solve all of my problems if I could just handcuff you to me.”
“Why not put a collar and leash on me?”
“That would work, too. A kitten collar with rhinestones and a bell.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Could be.”
“Rowley Ford, you can really be an ass,” she said with a frown, and then she broke into laughter.
CHAPTER 11
HARPER
AS IT TURNED OUT, ROWLEY's idea of a series of one night stands, did not allow for a single night off. He’d gotten even more demanding recently, insisting that I sleep in his bed even when he was working a twenty four hour shift. And I did it, without complaint. Because all my tough talk about not wanting anything more than an extended hookup, was just that—talk.
At this point, I was basically using the guesthouse as a storage unit, like a very large dressing room. It allowed me to maintain the pretense of living independently.
I’d felt him stir this morning. He was up before dawn for work. And I’d known instinctively that he wanted me, and had angled myself so that he could enter me from behind. He rocked into me long and sweet. I’d gotten on the pill at his insistence, but I enjoyed the benefits as much as he did. Sex without a condom felt sinfully good.
We were starting to fall into a sort of routine like a committed couple. Tonight, rather than eating at the station, he was coming home for dinner. I grabbed the bag of groceries out of the car and let myself in with the key he'd put on my keychain.
He wasn't thrilling to cook for. I couldn't really practice any new culinary skills. He was basically a meat and potatoes man and though he'd tried a few adventurous dinners that I'd prepared he did it without enthusiasm. I was sticking with the basics tonight, roast beef and potatoes with a side of coleslaw.
The day had started out cool and overcast, but now it was warm enough for me to putter around the house in my frayed cutoffs and a tank top. I'd clipped my hair back in a messy bun and was just basting the roast with drippings when he came in. I closed the oven door, set the spoon down, and turned to him with a smile. My gaze feasted on him in his firefighter’s uniform.
"Go put on something pretty and I'll take you out."
I frowned in confusion. "But I already made dinner. I just need to make the gravy and mash the potatoes."
He raked his fingers through his hair. He strode across the kitchen floor, dragged his hand through his hair again, and then walked out of the room.
Something was up. He was making me nervous.
I lifted the lid on the pot and tested a potato with a fork then replaced the lid. I sensed him pacing in the living room.
He stepped back into the kitchen and without a word he pulled me into his arms and dipped his head. His kiss was demanding, his tongue delving deeply. I clung to him, lifting myself onto my toes. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped kissing me and swung me up and plunked me down on the island. I reached for him but he backed up.
"This isn't working for me."
My stomach dropped. "What isn't?" I was trying to make sense of that amazing kiss followed by those ominous words.
"This arrangement. I want more from you."
More sex? More what? I felt like I went out of my way to spoil him.
Rowley dug something out of his pocket and then unfurled his fist. He was holding what looked suspiciously like a ring box.
He popped open the lid and I pulled in a stunned breath. A brilliant square-cut diamond set on a delicate platinum band glittered against the wine-colored silk of the box’s interior. I coveted that ring the instant I saw it.
He was watching me carefully. "Marry me, Harper?"
I clasped my hands together to stop them from trembling. "I don't understand. I thought you considered me too much of a risk."
The expression on his face grew wary.
"I haven't changed my mind, baby. I know marrying you is a gamble. But what you are offering me now isn't nearly enough."
"Be still my heart," I said sarcastically. "But you're right it would be a gamble. I'm not good at marriage. It would just wreck me to fail again."
"So you expect to fail...with me. That's fucking perfect."
"Why can't we just go on as we are?" I heard the pleading in my voice.
"Because, dammit, I want you to be my wife."
I refused him with a shake of my head.
"So I don't even get a chance, is that it? Yet you had no problem promising yourself to some asshole you barely knew."
"You don't understand. I have so much more to lose here if I fail."
"Give me a fucking break." His jaw was pulsing in anger as he snapped the box shut and jammed it into his pocket. "All this domestic, good little wifey stuff you do. Cooking my favorite meals." He gestured toward the dining room table. "The flowers, the candles. It's just for show. You're a beautiful little con artist, baby. And I'm done."
Just like that he was ending us. Shock slammed through my system. I scooted off the counter and landed on wobbly legs. I grabbed for him to steady myself, taking hold of his shirt, my fingers grazing the hard body beneath. I let go of him immediately as if I'd touched fire.
I felt disembodied as if I was watching myself go through the motions of slipping my feet into my flip-flops and walking over to the couch to retrieve my purse.
"That house is yours for as long as you want."
"I'll be out by the end of the month." I grabbed up the bottle of wine I'd brought over. I was going to need something to help knock me out.
"Don't even think of running back to your ex."
"You just lost any right to make demands," I said as I headed for the exit.
I closed the door and all the fight went out of me. I felt limp and drained. This was the end of my joy.
Once in the cottage, I didn't bother turning on any lights. I dropped my belongings onto the couch. Opening the wine bottle required more effort than I had to give. I made my way to the bathroom by feel. Still in the dark, I turned on the shower, stripped off my clothes and stumbled into the stall, knocking over a couple of shampoo bottles.
I'd always wanted roots, something solid or so I'd thought, but almost from the moment I'd been married I'd chafed at the restrictions. I'd felt tethered to a life I didn't want. Wrong, I'd been tethered to a man I didn't want. I wanted Rowley...I would always want Rowley.
Regret felt like a boulder weighing me down, my shoulders slumped and I pressed my forehead against the tiles. Despite his judgmental proposal, I should have said, “yes.” My whole body heaved as I sobbed. It wouldn't have been a gamble. I knew in my heart I'd never leave him...and yet I'd just rejected him.
I smacked the tile in frustration. A psychologist would probably have a field day with my penchant for self-sabotage. Was I punishing myself because I'd failed Finn? But why? I'd had no secrets from him. Finn knew why I married him, knew I wasn't in love with him.
The hot water turned tepid and soon I was shivering under cold water. It struck me that Rowley had never said a word of love to me. I'd always assumed it was because he didn't want me to reciprocate in kind. That he still dismissed my feelings for him as some sort of fevered fantasy. Was the universe righting a wrong, getting even with me? And for your next marriage the tables will turn and you will be wed to a man who doesn't love you. Sorry to blow your plans, universe, but I'd just stopped that marriage from ever happening.
CHAPTER 12
HARPER
I SIPPED MY COFFEE in the kitchen my eyes drawn to the driveway. His black truck was finally back in its usual spot. It had been three days since I'd seen any trace of him. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd volunteered for an extra shift just to avoid me.
I took another gulp of coffee then rinsed the cup in the sink. I hated the job, but even flighty old me gave most jobs three months until I quit.
Rowley's burly friend had been right. The clientele was mostly successful men meeting to discuss business deals. The atmosphere, heavy leather seats, thick steaks, and baked potatoes slathered with butter and sour cream, obviously didn't hold much appeal to most women. It was an old boys' club. They'd be chomping and smoking cigars in there if it were legal.
The waitstaff just happened to be all women. Management might pretend to be equal opportunity employers, but the one guy they'd recently hired to wait tables barely got any serving hours, yet they managed to find plenty of hours for him to bus tables. He quit after two weeks.
I went into my room and snatched my plain wedding band off the top of the dresser. I’d found that wearing it made a patron think twice about coming on to me. Even for the lunch shift, which I was scheduled to work today, the men drank too much and got too handsy.
If I hadn't been such a stubborn fool I'd be wearing Rowley's gorgeous engagement ring instead.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I'd gone platinum. I thought I'd outgrown making big changes in my looks, but the break up had left me wanting to do something drastic.
I pulled on a hoodie and grabbed my keys. As I headed to my car, I slid surreptitious glances in the direction of his kitchen window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
I was thinking about him so intently that I didn't notice at first that my car wasn't turning over. I figured I was doing something wrong and turned the key again, pumping the gas pedal for good measure. Zilch. I checked my watch, but I knew already I hadn't left myself any extra time for a transportation emergency.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Rowley rapped on the window and I turned the key to the accessory position and pressed the button to lower the window. That wasn't working either. I opened the door slightly. I had a hard time looking him directly in the eyes.
"Pop the hood," he said. He got in his truck and maneuvered it so it faced my car then got jumper cables out of a compartment in the bed of his truck.