Maggie McKinney, mom of three, Serious McSnooper, and all-around good person even when annoyingly in my business, crosses a hand over her heart and says, “I’m going to cry. You look so beautiful.”
I turn so I can speak to her and not her reflection in the mirror. “Please don’t cry, Mom. If you cry, then Aunt Betsy will cry and then Colleen will cry and then I might cry, and I do not cry.” Crying is contagious, like yawning, or something like that. And seriously? Isn’t she only supposed to cry when looking at the bride?
“Fine.” She straightens her back. “I’ll stay composed.”
“Thank you.”
Once the fittings are done, we leave the tulle and chiffon behind and step into the California sunshine to walk to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel for lunch.
“I almost forgot to tell you congratulations,” my mom says, linking our arms as we follow the rest of the group. “Your dad told me about the offer from Make A Splash Foundation. I’m so happy you’re a step closer to getting something you really want.”
She says this with love and sincerity, but there’s a hint of disappointment in her voice, too. This is because I’ve yet to give my mom what she really wants—me in a relationship. As her only daughter, I’m constantly being set up on dates with anyone who has a penis and a pulse, and she’s always reminding me that all work and no love isn’t the way to live. (Um, hello? I’m only twenty-three.) It’s a bone of contention between her and my dad, who, despite setting me up with a trust fund, insists I focus on a career while in my twenties. (Thank you, Dad.)
This work mentality goes back years. My brothers and I busted our asses off around the house to get our allowance when we were young. I’ve earned everything I’ve gotten.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh! And I also forgot to tell you I had lunch with Marin the other day, and Chad is back in town. He asked her about you.”
Marin is my mom’s best friend, and for the past few years the two of them have schemed to get their children together. But Chad Buckley has zero chance of scoring with me. He’s selfish, too serious, and in seventh grade, when I asked him to rank his favorite dog breeds, bulldogs weren’t even on the list.
“That’s nice,” I say to keep the peace.
“He’s single.”
“Uh-uh.”
“You’re single.”
I wrinkle my nose. Just because my mom met my dad when she was twenty and fell madly in love does not make it hereditary. “I—”
“He’d be the perfect wedding date, don’t you think?”
It’s moments like these that I need a teleporter. Or laryngitis. Or a flight to Paris I’m running late for. There is no way in hell I’m taking a date to my cousin’s wedding. I think this. I know this. But somehow my mouth doesn’t get the memo, because I say, “I already have a date.”
I’m not proud of my lie, but bringing someone to a family wedding is a top-level serious date, and my mom will start planning Chad’s and my wedding this instant. If I fake bringing someone she doesn’t know, she’ll have to chill.
Or not. Because her entire body shakes with excitement, and her megawatt smile is blinding. She steeples her hands like all her prayers have been answered. “Is it serious?”
Fuck. Those five words I vomited, and which left a nauseating taste in my mouth, have ruined me for the next month. Here’s the thing, though. I could have a real date. He—whoever he is—just doesn’t know it yet.
“It’s—” I’m saved from having to come up with an answer when my phone rings. I quickly grab it from the outside pocket of my purse. “It’s Dad,” I say. More like I sing it, I’m so grateful for the interruption. Or I am until he talks on and on about the reason for his call. Then I wish I hadn’t answered.
“It’s the perfect job for you,” my dad continues. “Gets you on my payroll, but not in my building. Yet.”
I wave off my mom with the rest of the group, mouthing I’ll be a minute as I tug at my earlobe. Dad knows how I feel about us working together, and while it may seem like the perfect offer, it’s not. I want the job with MASF. “Dad, I don’t think—”
“Don’t give me an answer now. Let me know in the next couple of weeks.”
“I have no idea if I’ll know about the ambassador job that fast.”
“I’ve got a sure thing for you, honey. Think about that.”
His sure thing is some blockbuster movie where they need a swim consultant. My dad has invested in films before, but this one is the most commercial. It’s Jaws meets Pretty Woman.
“I know you’ve got your hopes pinned on MASF, but I’ve got mine pinned on you. Think of all the different projects you can work on with me, okay?”
His voice is considerate yet firm, and I hate the thought of letting him down. Again. It took some negotiating to get him off my back immediately after I graduated with my bachelor degree in business. “Okay,” I say.
“I love you and only want what’s best for you. You know that, right?”
“I know. Love you, too.”
“Enjoy lunch. Have the lamb burger. It’s the best thing on the menu.” I roll my eyes. “And don’t let your mother order anything with cheese. She’s—”
“Bye, Dad.” I disconnect and drag my feet toward lunch. He’s got my head filled with what-ifs and worries about disappointing him—but worse, myself.
My dad has no idea what’s best for me. How could he, when I don’t have a clue?
Chapter Two
Levi
Attraction comes in all different shapes, sizes, and forms. I’m cool with that. I’ve got a mom and four older sisters and they’ve taught me to look beyond the surface. Let’s be honest, though, when a guy hasn’t been laid in a while, he’s not going to think much beyond his first impression of a woman.
Take right now, for example. I’m sitting at the indoor-outdoor bar at Tenants of the Trees with one of my roommates, Elliot, and two smoking hot models visiting from New York who are also attentive and smart, despite laughing at Elliot’s god-awful jokes. The brunette, in particular, has my notice with her killer smile and appreciation of filmmaking. I’m a cameraman. When I tell her this, she puts her hand on my arm, looks me right in the eyes, and asks if I’ve ever made a sex tape.
Smart and adventurous. I like it. The late-night landscape is looking full of possibilities. When her friend moves her attention from Elliot to me and says the idea of being filmed turns her on, I’ll be honest. I immediately picture her lying on a bed with soft lighting, one hand cupping her tit, the other hand stroking between her legs, her mouth slightly open. My dick stirs. Both these girls are ridiculously good-looking, and I’m game for either one.
Threesomes aren’t my thing, though. I’m a one-woman guy, always. Elliot, however, is about to fall off his stool. And, if I’m not mistaken, I think he’s drooling. Maybe I’ll give him an early birthday present and set up my camera on a tripod so the three of them can go to naked town.
I’ll have no trouble rubbing one out on my own later tonight. All I have to do is think about Harper McKinney, and I go off like a porn star.
Elliot flags down the bartender and orders a second round of drinks. I take a minute to look around the popular, sophisticated venue. We’re here tonight because I heard Leo Gaines likes to frequent the place. Leo is killing it as a film director, and all I want is to work with him on a movie. Or ten. He’s the newer guy on the scene, but insanely talented, and in this town, when it comes to Hollywood jobs, it’s all about who you know. If I can get in with him, my career will be set.
When my gaze tracks to the other side of the glass wall and onto the patio, I’m dumbstruck. It’s not Leo, but the girl I just admitted I like to stroke myself to, standing right there with a small group of people.
“Hey, isn’t that Harper?” Elliot asks, noting where my focus has strayed.
“It is.” And she looks amazing. Legs for miles, toned arms, long, delicate neck. Her little black dress—simple, clingy, and maybe a little Playmate-
of-the-Year-y—doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. But then, I don’t need my imagination. I’ve seen every inch of her. Tonight, her dark hair is in a high ponytail, and shiny gloss coats her full, pink lips. She has a spectacular pillowy mouth. And the things she does with those lips have fueled my fantasies ever since our night together a couple of months ago.
“You should go say hello,” Elliot says with hilarity in his voice before he turns back to our model friends. If there’s even a one percent chance he can have both these girls tonight, he’ll stick with them.
I, on the other hand, am now completely distracted by a sexy, interesting girl who hates my guts.
And I have no idea why. Which is damn frustrating. It makes me want to poke and poke until I find out what her problem with me is. Her dislike makes absolutely no sense. We had a fantastic night together. We met at a bar over a mutual appreciation for the Dodgers kicking the Giants’ asses on the flat screen TV. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something familiar about her. We started talking, and when we realized we’d known each other as kids, we clicked even further. Before I knew it, we were on our way to her place. I made her come three times. I worshipped her body but was equally interested in her mind. We didn’t just fuck. We talked. But when I asked for her number, she said she only does one night.
Then to my surprise and total gladness, she shows up on my doorstep two weeks later. It turns out her best friend is Teague, my other roommate Mateo’s girl. Harper takes one look at me when I open the door and almost immediately goes cold and distant, like I ran over her dog or something.
So what did I do? I dished it right back to her. I was pissed. She damn well could be cordial to the guy who had been inside her. Worse, the memory of my ex and how she’d run hot and cold had slammed me in the chest, putting me on edge.
But as hard as I try, I can’t forget the girl I spent the night with. We’ve seen each other a few times—a casualty of our best friends dating—and Harper’s a good person. She’s got a great sense of humor. She’s approachable. To everyone but me, that is. The friction isn’t all hostile, though. There’s an underlining current of sexual tension, which makes this weird relationship we have even more frustrating. I’m not looking for a commitment from her, just some fun. Something sorely lacking from my life lately.
“Dude,” Elliot says under his breath. “If you’re going to keep staring at her, go say hello already.”
The thing is, against my better judgment, I do want to go say hello, if for no other reason than to get under her skin. She sure as hell is under mine. It’s a bad idea, man. She wants nothing to do with you. Respect it, even if you don’t understand it.
I glance at my roommate to gage his interest in Harper. They’re friends. I think for a time he wanted more than that, but Harper quickly set him straight on that score. Still. That he’s indifferent to her presence is solely because of the models holding his attention.
“Better yet,” Elliot says, like the best idea in the world just struck him. “I bet you can’t get her to go home with you.”
“What?” I heard him, but I can’t believe what he’s suggesting.
“A hundred bucks says you can’t get her to sleep with you.”
Yep, Elliot definitely wants our current company to himself. But more than that, I get the feeling his pride is rearing its head. Harper shot him down, and he’s betting she’ll do the same to me. He doesn’t know I’ve already been with her.
I glance back in her direction, my body tightening at the memory of how good we were together. She might be all cold-shoulder now, but that night she was hot, willing female.
“Tonight?” I ask. The hundred bucks isn’t really what’s at stake. This is about the friendly competition that’s existed between Elliot and me for the past ten years. Both of us hate to lose. Last weekend at Boardners, I bet him he couldn’t get the bartender’s phone number. He struck out in spectacular fashion and hated handing over a Benjamin. He wants a little revenge.
“I’ll give you a month,” he tosses out, like he has no doubt I’ll fail. Given what he’s observed between Harper and me, I’m not sure he’s wrong.
“Deal,” I answer anyway. I can definitely make a repeat happen in the next thirty days. Probably. Maybe. I rub the side of my neck. The bet doesn’t exactly sit well with me, but it is the incentive I need to get to the bottom of her issues with me.
Here’s the thing. It’s clear she doesn’t want a relationship. And after the shitstorm my ex, Kayla, put me through, I’m in absolutely no hurry for one, either. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever trust a woman again. But as I walk toward Harper, my heart is doing something weird in my chest. Rather than stay shut down, the sturdy fucker is…pitter-pattering. What the fuck? Obviously, it’s also on board for more sex with the beautiful but aloof Harper McKinney, so this makes my motives at least partially respectable. Right?
When I’m halfway to her, she turns her head and our eyes meet. I can’t explain what happens every time we see each other for the first time, but it’s like we’re starving for a taste of something we know is bad for us. Tonight, multiply that by a hundred.
I am wearing my lucky Calvin Klein T-shirt. Won a thousand bucks in Vegas wearing this threadbare tee and got out of two speeding tickets while in this fine cotton blend. Yes, it may have helped that the officer was a woman both times, but my smile only goes so far when we’re talking about the law. Ergo, luck.
Exactly what I need right now, given the death-glare Harper’s giving me.
My eyes dip to those luscious lips of hers. I forgot to eat dinner, and devouring that mouth sounds like a good plan. Maybe I should walk up and kiss the hell out of her? That ought to thaw the chill she likes to sling my way.
Unfortunately, I get lip-blocked when she extends her arm straight out, flattens her palm on my chest, and says, “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you, too.”
“Levi?” says a girl next to Harper. I hadn’t noticed her, too preoccupied with the hot-tempered, sexy-mouthed girl with her hand on me.
I look away from Harper. “Trixie?”
“Oh my God!” Trixie effectively knocks Harper’s hand away and presses her body against mine, her arms looping around my neck. “It’s so good to see you!”
“You, too.” I wrap my arms around her waist. Trix and I have known each other since high school. “It’s been a while.”
She rubs a hand over the stubble on my face as she pulls back. “This is new.”
I stroke my jawline. My sisters call it my eight o’clock shadow because it grows for a few days and then stops. It’s weird. I couldn’t grow a beard if I tried.
“It makes you look even sexier,” she adds.
For as long as I’ve known Trixie, she’s also liked me. She’s an awesome girl, but she’s friends with Kayla, which means it’s never gonna happen.
Harper clears her throat, easily pulling my attention back to her.
“How do you two know each other?” Trixie asks.
“We don’t. Not really,” Harper says, but her gorgeous hazel eyes say something else entirely. They tell me she’s thinking about the night we spent together with my cock, fingers, and tongue inside her. I don’t know where the uninhibited, unselfish, unbuttoned girl from that night went, but she’s still in there, somewhere. “We have mutual friends is all.”
That’s not even close to all, but I don’t bring up my sex life with people. My best friends don’t even know I’ve slept with Harper.
“What about you two?” I ask.
“I work as a nanny,” Trixie says, “and Harper gives swim lessons to the little girl I take care of.”
Harper’s bare shoulders relax. While lying in bed the night we spent together, she’d told me about her lessons and that she’d been a competitive swimmer as a teenager, but gave it up at sixteen. Then she’d straddled me, and we stopped talking.
Trixie goes on to talk about her life and ask me about mine. I only hear
half of what she says because I can’t stop thinking about Harper and looking at her in my periphery. She’s pretending to be interested in my conversation with Trixie, but her eyes keep moving around the bar. When one of the guys standing close by starts talking to her, she turns toward him. The two of them flirt, and the guy is definitely into her. I hear him say he’s headed to the small, VIP-only, private space at the front of the building where a DJ is playing, and would she like to join him?
“Love to,” she says.
Let her go, man, half my brain says. The other half says, Don’t let her walk away.
So it’s entirely my fault when she spills the drink in her hand down the front of her dress.
“What the—”
“Sorry,” I say and mean it. I’m sorry I didn’t make a move with a little better finesse.
She glares at me. Getting a reaction from her keeps me motivated.
“I’m going to go clean up. Be right back,” she says to the guy.
“Elliot’s waiting for me at the bar,” I tell Trixie. “I should go.” We say a quick good-bye, and instead of the bar, I walk to the restrooms in search of Harper. I find her standing in line in the hallway.
Once again, she scowls at me.
“Hey. You okay? Sorry again about the spill.”
“Clearly my leave-me-alone look needs some work,” she says in lieu of answering my question.
“Is that what that is? I thought maybe your feet were hurting or something.” I take a slow glance down her body to her silver heels that are surely the Mt. Everest of shoes.
“You find me dripping in vodka amusing?”
I take a step closer so there’s little space between us. “Not at all. I like you wet.”
“That’s what they all say.” The slight blush in her cheeks belies the promiscuous retort. I know Harper’s no angel, but I’d bet my career she’s more selective than she lets on.
“How about I buy you a new drink?”
“How about you leave me alone?” she says. Yet the two people waiting in line ahead of her have moved on, and she’s still standing here.
Lips Close to Mine (Wherever You Go) Page 2