Sexton Brothers Box Set

by Lauren Runow

  “You forgot about the chase down to the subway.”

  “Yes, and the secret club.”

  “The body paint,” he drawls, and my thighs clench.

  Tanner turns his stool, so he’s facing me head-on. He guides his knee in between mine, parting my legs and settling his on each side of my right thigh. His hand rises to the side of my face as he pushes away a stray hair. “What are you doing here, sweet Harper?”

  I let out a shaky breath. “Having a drink after work. What’s up with the pen and napkin? You use that to write down the numbers of all the women you pick up in here?”

  His eyes search mine, looking for my lie. “You know, I’ve been coming here for a while, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen a gorgeous blonde sitting at the bar, talking to Paul no less.”

  “He’s nice.”

  “He is,” he states. “I was just hoping you’d say you came in here, looking for me, and not to hear dirty jokes from an old man.”

  I bite my lip. “If you want me to admit I came in here, hoping to see you, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not desperate.”

  His eyes twinkle. “Why don’t you finish your drink, and we’ll get out of here?”

  “Are we in a rush?”

  “No hurry at all. We have all night.”

  The way he says all sends chills from my knees to my neck. I down my drink in two full gulps. “Where to, Mr. Sexton?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  He reaches for my phone that was sitting on the bar and swipes the screen on. His thumbs glide over the screen. He pulls his own phone out of his back pocket. The screen on it is illuminated with my number.

  “You’re calling yourself from my phone?”

  “Just in case you decide to leave me again.”

  “You could have just asked me for my number. I’d have given it to you.”

  He stands from his seat as he puts his phone back in his pocket. “You also could have left me your number instead of sneaking out on me.” He gives me a pointed glare. “By the way, Harper, not cool. We’ll talk more about that later.”

  He finishes his drink and slides the glass down the bar. He leaves a fifty-dollar bill, puts his leather jacket back on, and nods toward the door.

  I put my jacket on as I walk ahead, and he follows with his hand on the small of my back. The other night, I had stilettos on, and with those extra four inches, Tanner was still taller, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he is currently towering over me.

  When we step outside, he stops. “Your turn, Harper Doyle.”

  “My turn for what?”

  “I showed you mine; now, you show me yours,” he says, straight-faced. I think it’s a sexual reference. He further clarifies, “Where do you go when you want to forget the world?”

  I bite the side of my mouth, thrown off by being put on the spot. I don’t have a sexy little speakeasy or a kick-ass art studio to bring him to. For me, it’s more of an internal thing—not one place, but many places.

  “I owe you a subway ride.” I turn away from him and take a deep breath as I head toward the stairwell leading below ground.

  He’s right behind me, and together, we board the B train, which will take us right to Bryant Park.

  To my surprise, Tanner sits across from me. We don’t talk for the long trip to Midtown but rather stare at each other. For a guy from the West Coast, he looks like he was born and raised in Manhattan.

  He has a cool elegance to him—a swagger of someone who knows the city inside and out. Sure, he has that blond-haired, blue-eyed surfer thing going for him, but it’s overshadowed by the hairstyle, five o’clock shadow, relaxed attire, and the mere sexiness of a man who is comfortable in his own skin.

  As the train is about to approach 42nd Street–Bryant Park, I rise, and Tanner does so as well. He leans over me as the train comes to a halt and steadies me when I almost lose my footing from the jolt. We walk out, side by side.

  As we head toward the southeast exit, Tanner asks, “The library?”

  I smash my lips and nod. “Yeah.”

  He slightly tilts his head as his eyes narrow in wonder. I turn away from him, so I don’t trip but am compelled as to why he’s looking at me like this.

  I ignore the look he’s giving me as we walk past the lion statues, up the marble stairs, and into the New York landmark.

  I guide him through the main entrance and into the main lobby with thirty-seven-foot ceilings and marble on all sides. We walk up the grand staircase and gaze at the bold murals of biblical scenes. The building hosts a museum and various rooms for anything from map reading to periodical viewings.

  I escort him past those rooms and into my favorite space—the Rose Main Reading Room.

  Tanner’s eyes open wide to the intricate details lining the ceiling of the room that was restored a few years ago. We feast on the incredible architecture, murals, and grand chandeliers. I breathe in the smell of the thousands of books that line the open shelves.

  My fingers graze the spines of each book as we pass through. We take turns, looking through books, each selecting one. I choose a biography on Jackson Pollock. He has an analysis on the complete works of Harper Lee.

  There’s an open table in the back. We have a seat in the comfortable chairs and gaze out into the massive room. We open our books, reading quietly to ourselves.

  Every few pages, I glance over at him and see his eyes on mine.

  He smirks. I blush.

  “This is your place.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “When I’m here, I don’t feel so alone.” I lean back in my seat and look up at the gold filigree on the ceiling. “To think about all the people who have entered these halls and sat underneath this amazing piece of art with hundreds of rosettes makes me feel like I’m a big part of the puzzle we call life.”

  Someone shushes me, and I place my hand on my mouth with a smile.

  Tanner ignores the person and gives me an appreciative look. “I didn’t take you as a woman who appreciated art as much as you do.”

  He has no idea just how appreciative of art I am. The graffiti door comes to mind, and I desperately want to ask if it was him. I don’t know why I don’t just come out and ask. It’s silly, I know.

  “Back in the day, people cared about art. They wanted to make everything pretty—ceilings, walls, or doors of run-down buildings. It’s a lost art—those who can take something abandoned and make it beautiful once again. Don’t you agree?”

  I took my shot, and it feels like I’ve fallen short. When his vision jumps to mine, I think he’ll say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls the cord on the brass lamp on the wood table, and someone nearby gives him an evil glare. We stifle our laughs as we get up and continue to walk through the room with our books in hand.

  We walk into another area where there aren’t as many people studying and navigate through the stacks. We’re in the back corner of the geology section when we take a seat on the floor.

  “Do you come here for the art or the books?” he asks.

  “Books are my escape. I’ve lived a thousand lives inside the pages of these books.” I stretch out my legs and let my head fall back against the bookcase behind me. “My mom used to bring me to our local library every Sunday. We’d each grab a book and read for an hour or so and then go for breakfast. I’d get chocolate pancakes, and she’d get eggs Benedict. Since I moved to the city, I try to come here as often as I can. I don’t check out any books. I’m a Kindle girl now. I just … I like to sit and think. Sometimes, I bring my work here.”

  “That’s a beautiful memory of you and your mom.” There’s melancholy in his voice.

  I let out a sigh. “It is, isn’t it?”

  A sad expression crosses his face. “Has she passed?”

  My eyes mildly tear up. I don’t usually talk about my mom’s condition. “She has advanced Alzheimer’s.”

  He places a hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  I try to brush
the sentiment away and look down. “Nothing to be sorry about. That’s life, right? You can have a heart attack or cancer. My mom just happened to get Alzheimer’s at a very young age.” I play with the hem of my shirt. “I was six years old when she brought me to the library for the first time. To Kill a Mockingbird. That was the first book we took out. It was my mother’s favorite book.”

  “Yes, you told me you were named after Harper Lee,” he says with an air of amazement.

  “You’re the first person to think that’s cool.”

  “It’s fucking baller,” he says a little too loudly, and I hit him in the chest to be quiet.

  “Anyway, she read it to me, and we did that every week until I was old enough to read on my own. As the years went on, our tradition became so routine; it was hard for her to mess up when she started forgetting things. Some days, she would need to lie down and ask me to read to her. It took a long time for me to realize she hadn’t been instilling her passion for literature into me because she wanted something to share with me. She had known she wasn’t going to be around long enough to teach me life’s greatest lessons. She gave me an outlet for the pain. I haven’t had a conversation with my mother—as my actual mother and not a shell of the woman she once was—in over five years.” I blow out through my mouth to tame my emotions. “You asked if she had passed. The answer is no, but, in many ways, it feels like she has.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Home. My father takes care of her. He is a saint. He loves a woman who doesn’t even know who he is and cares for her as if they were newlyweds. It’s hard for me to go home and see her, but I try to make it back as much as possible to help him out.”

  Tanner’s hand reaches forward and swipes at a rogue tear that fell down my cheek. “You’re a good daughter.”

  I shake my head. “Enough about me. What about you? I bet you have a kick-ass mom who has a regular membership to a Napa winery and curates a museum and every other awesome thing you can do in San Francisco.”

  His face is turned down in a frown.

  My stomach turns. “Please don’t tell me you lost your mom.”

  He nods, and I instantly reach out to touch his arm.

  “Oh, Tanner, I’m so sorry. Here I am, bitching about my life when … when did she pass?”

  He looks up in thought. “Eight years ago.”

  “May I ask how?”

  He takes a deep breath in, exhaling slowly. “Car accident. She drove off the side of a cliff.”

  “Tanner,” I say breathlessly.

  He purses his lips and nods slowly. “A deer jumped in front of her. She was alone, so …” He stops, slightly shaking his head, as if trying to rid the feelings that must have come rushing back. He nods to himself, sitting back in his chair and taking a deep breath while looking around. “Holding on to the memories is sometimes the best way to heal.”

  We glance at each other, letting the heavy feeling subside for a few breaths.

  “Didn’t you say you were moving back to San Francisco to work for your family business?”

  “Nice to know you were paying attention when we first met.”

  “I remember everything you told me. You’re too interesting not to remember.”

  My honesty is rewarded with a perfect Tanner smile.

  “When are you moving back?” I ask.

  “In a few weeks. I’ll be home in time for Christmas.”

  My heart sags a little at the idea that Tanner will be gone in a few short weeks. I put on a fake smile. “At least you’ll be with family.” He rolls his eyes, and I laugh lightly. “You don’t seem too excited.”

  “It’s a complicated story.”

  “I’d like to hear it.”

  He seems surprised by my admission.

  He tilts his head to the side, thinking. “My family business is all-consuming. My brothers wanted me to live my life first. Actually, it was Austin’s idea. He didn’t want me to get sucked into the business life until I was ready. I guess he wanted me to see what else was out there before I dedicated my life to them.”

  “Dedicate your life? You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

  He nods. “Pretty much. Bryce lives and breathes that place. I hope, once I get there, he’ll be able to relinquish some responsibilities and finally have a life.” He runs his thumb along his lips. “My mom started the company before I was born. My entire life, our family values have been based on the hard work and perseverance of her. She was told a woman would never be able to succeed in the magazine business. They said she’d get swallowed by the big dogs. They were right. She had doors slammed in her face. One of my first memories is of her cursing out a guy in the bank. I don’t remember the details, but Austin told me she was turned down for a loan. That didn’t stop her. She sold our house, downsized, and took that money to invest in herself.”

  “I think I’m in love with your mother.”

  He laughs. “She always said everything was for her boys.”

  “I get it. My dad is a mechanic. He owns his own shop in Queens, and if he asked me to run it tomorrow, I’d be pretty tempted.”

  “You know about cars?” His brows rise.

  I raise a shoulder. “I know a thing or two.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to see you under the hood of a car. Austin is a huge car enthusiast. If he finds out I’m seeing a girl whose family owns an auto body shop, he’ll try to steal you for himself.”

  I bite my lip. “I’d like to meet this Austin.”

  “Hell no,” he says. “You’re all mine.”

  I briefly turn away to hide my reaction. “So, what about your dad? Is he still in the picture?”

  He shakes his head, dropping it while rubbing his eyes with one hand. “That’s a totally different story. He’s, um … hmm … how to explain good ole Dad.”

  “That bad?”

  He barks out a laugh. “Well, he married Austin’s high school fling—”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yep. There’s more to that story, but I’ll save the crazy details for maybe our third date.” He winks, sending chills down my spine. “So, even though he still acts like he’s part of the company, I hear from Bryce that he’s never actually there.”

  “And you guys are okay with this?”

  He quickly brings his shoulders up and down. “Bryce and Austin are at odds with it. I’m kind of indifferent. It’s funny how all us brothers look at our upbringing differently. Bryce is eight years older than me, and being the oldest, he’s always been the more cynical one, always feeling like he got the short end of the stick, especially with our dad. Austin is the crazy one. I remember my mom always saying, if she had her second kid first, she wouldn’t have had her second kid.”

  I laugh.

  “I guess it’s true. Austin was a handful. Still is. But Dad understood his kind of crazy, so they did a lot of things together.”

  “They still had you, so he couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “I was a surprise. The best surprise, I might add.” He puts his hand to his chest. “I can do no wrong; you know this.” He has a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  The grin that covers his face makes my heart beat faster.

  “Our mom treated us as fair as she could with our age gaps. I spent a lot of time just tagging along when I was younger. I have my own memories, too. Sometimes, that’s all we get, you know?”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “Then, let’s read, completely relive your memory while we’re here.”

  I curl up next to him and open my book, and we read for the next hour.

  I glance at my phone and look at the time. “The library is about to close. We should get out of here before we turn into a Ben Stiller movie.”

  “You mean the one about the museum?”

  “Maybe. Oh, that makes me think of the time Ross rented out the planetarium for Rachel, so he could show her the stars.”

  Tanner rises first and
then gives me a hand to lift me up. “Are these friends of yours?”

  I laugh. “Yes, they’re Friends,” I joke.

  He’s looking at me like I have ten heads.

  I brush him off. “Anyway, I guess we should get out of here.”

  “Lead the way.”

  9

  TANNER

  I’ve never read with a girl. When I think about it, I don’t even know if the girls I dated before even read. Reading and art have always been my things. They’re a way for me to escape, clear my mind, and regroup.

  To my surprise, she read the biography of Jackson Pollock. It was the sexiest thing a woman had ever done. I’ve always been a fan of his, whereas many people look at his pieces as simply slinging paint with no technique at all. For her to get inside his head and teach me things I hadn’t even known about him was astonishing to me. Just the fact that she cared to learn more about him made me even fonder of her.

  We step down the stairs toward Fifth Avenue, and I notice she’s gnawing at the inside of her cheek. I’m starting to realize this is what she does when she’s conflicted.

  When we get to the sidewalk, she’s pulling on the edge of her coat sleeve as she looks at her phone again. I’m pretty sure the time hasn’t changed that much since five minutes ago. She’s nervous, and it’s fucking adorable.

  “Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?” I ask.

  “I have to get up early to teach tomorrow, but …” She hesitates and then blurts out, “I don’t want the night to end.”

  A genuine smile graces my lips. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “Do you, um … will you walk me home?”

  “Show me the way.”

  Being with Harper is amazingly comfortable as we head toward the east side of town.

  “Tell me more about your art,” she asks. “Would you ever want things hanging in a gallery or in more subdued places?”

  “Subdued places?” I question.

  “You know, not where people would normally find art. I mean, like on the side of a building or something.”

  I try to hide my grin. I know she saw the door I’d painted near her school. She hinted at it earlier, but I let it go. When I’d created it, I’d wanted her to see it. Now that I know she has, I have a better understanding as to why she was in the bar today.