“No problem. I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to see you fumble all over your lines on national TV.”
I laugh and say sarcastically, “You’re such a good friend.”
“See you tomorrow,” she singsongs. I set the broom in the storeroom and come back wielding the dustpan, then I crouch down behind the counter, sweeping the debris into it. “Ooh, Rose, heads up, there’s a silver fox sniffing at your door.”
I poke my head above the counter and find Dermot standing on the street in the darkening afternoon, his tailored midnight blue suit fitting him like a glove.
“You’re like hot dick bait.” Izzy grins, and my eyes grow wide because I’m sure he can hear her on the other side of the glass. Izzy pulls back the door, the bell dingles, and Dermot nods and steps aside to allow her to exit the store. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carter.”
“Izzy,” he says in greeting as he steps across my threshold. I smooth down the skin-tight emerald green bandage dress that I still haven’t taken off after shooting. The way his eyes roll over my body makes me wish I’d taken a moment to change. I’ll admit, there’s another part of me that thinks it might be a good idea just to take it off right here. Bad brain. Very bad brain.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi yourself. We haven’t seen you in a while.” I give him a wistful smile, because I can’t help it. My body always seems to be on high alert in his presence, and now is no different. My heart thrums wildly in my chest, and I’m finding it a little hard to breathe, though the dress could be at fault for that.
Dermot closes the shop door behind him and makes his way over to the counter where I pretend to be very busy straightening things. “I came to see you about that actually.”
I glance up, wondering what that means exactly. “Oh?”
“I came earlier in the day, but it seems there was a camera crew clogging your shop. I couldn’t even get near the door.”
“Oh, I, er … We’re being featured on a reality TV show. It’s a ‘help I’m a hopeless bride who can’t plan my own wedding’ type of thing.” I wave it away as if this sort of thing happens to me all the time. “It’ll air next season.”
“You’re not the hopeless bride, are you?”
“Me?” I squawk, “No, I’ve had my wedding planned since I was five years old.”
Uh-oh.
Dermot raises a brow. He looks a little frightened. “Congratulations on the show. That’s extraordinary news.”
“Well, let’s just say it’s been a day.” I plaster on a smile, but I feel the weight of the last twenty-four hours slam into me, and I’m suddenly bone-tired. “But you didn’t come here for this. What can I help you with?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
He holds up his hands as if to ward away any reservations I might have. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman this time. No stumbling and crushing you against my giant erection.”
I burst out laughing, I can’t help it—the seriousness with which he said that has me giggling like a schoolgirl. And I am not a girl who giggles. “Oh come on now, your giant erection wasn’t completely to blame. My vagina is a ninja that likely tripped your penis on purpose.”
Did I just say that? Jesus, you have sex one time in three years and suddenly you’re Amy fucking Schumer? Get a grip, Rose.
“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll tell my cock to be ready for a stealth attack.” He grins, but his eyes are all melty chocolate and sinful promises. And there he goes again, being completely inappropriate and sexy-as-all fuck while doing it.
I laugh, nervously. “Well, at any rate, I’m sure your wife wouldn’t be too thrilled with the idea of your penis and my vagina getting together to dine out alone … again.”
“Ex-wife.”
My mouth forms a little O as the shock registers with my brain. “I’m so sorry, I … I didn’t know you’d separated.”
“We filed for divorce the second we returned home.”
I swallow hard, hoping this had nothing to do with me. “But I’ve been delivering lilies to her for the three weeks you’ve been back. You didn’t cancel the delivery, so I didn’t know. Oh my god, I feel terrible.”
“You’ve been delivering flowers to the house.” He nods.
“But the cards?”
“Yes, I suppose you could stop sending those, unless of course you’d like to write me love notes.” He smiles wryly, and my eyes grow wide. “Let’s shake it up a little from now on. I find lilies so dreary.”
“Dermot, you don’t have to keep ordering flowers from me. You’ve been one of my most valued customers, and I’m grateful to you, but I’d understand if you’d like to cancel that order.”
“Now why would I do that?”
I don’t have an answer for him. Perhaps he wants to enjoy the scent of fresh flowers in his home—there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, I have several corporate types, all single businessmen as far as I can tell, who ordered arrangements every week for that very reason. You don’t have to be a female to appreciate the beauty of nature. Look at Harley—he makes a decent living out of creating some of the most exquisite gardens in the city. “Well, all right then.”
“All right you’ll have dinner with me?”
“Oh.” I pause, unsure of how to proceed. “I meant, all right I’ll shake it up a little this week. What’s your favorite?”
“Peonies.”
I gasp, because most men don’t even know how to pronounce that flower let alone have the ability to differentiate between them. My eyes light up, causing me to smile like an insane person, and Dermot smiles too, but it’s not a stupid toothy grin. It’s just soft enough to have the corners of his eyes crinkling, and just intense enough to have the heat from his gaze set something low in my belly burning. I quickly lose the grin and nod. “Well then, I’m sure I can come up with something perfect for you.”
“I have no doubt,” he whispers. “Perhaps you could deliver them to the house yourself this time, around eight o’clock?”
“You’re relentless.”
“I am,” he agrees. “Especially when it comes to things I want.”
I swear I flush from my neck to my knees. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t do that to Harley. Even though that jerkoff up and left three seconds after he came inside me last night, even though his silence has made me feel like a dirty whore who just made the biggest mistake of her life, I need to talk to him. And regardless of the outcome, it wouldn’t be right for me to accept Dermot’s offer because my heart belongs to someone else, and that’s hardly fair. While I’m sure the silver fox isn’t after anything more than a nice meal and possibly a roll around in the hay—1000-thread count of course—falling into bed isn’t only unfair to him, it’s unfair to me. I fall fast and hard, I always have, and I think I’m long past the days of empty sex just for the sake of a few short hours of feeling good. As tempting as this man is, I can’t have dinner with him.
“I don’t date my clients, Mr. Carter.”
“I could always stop buying flowers here,” he says. “Though I may have a hard time giving up the coffee.”
I laugh, because Izzy really is that good. “You’re sweet, but no. Thank you, though.”
He doesn’t look happy, but I think he knows there’s no point in trying to persuade me so he accepts this graciously enough. “I think you’re making a mistake, Rose. There’s chemistry here. It would be a shame not to explore that.”
Maybe he’s right, but I won’t budge on this. I think he sees that stubbornness inside of me, because his lips twitch. He leans in, and to my complete surprise his hand grasps the nape of my neck and he pulls me to him, whispering in my ear, “Such a willful girl. What I wouldn’t give to see you restrained and writhing beneath me.”
My breath catches in my throat. Dermot kisses my cheek and releases me. There’s a brief moment of pause where our eyes meet as he pulls away, and I know he has my numb
er. I know he sees that desire in my eyes because he grins and takes a step back.
“Enjoy your weekend, Miss Perry,” he says, as he shows himself out. I’m still standing at the counter gawping at his figure as he stalks around the sidewalk and jumps into a gleaming gunmetal gray Maserati.
It isn’t until I see the car speed off that I exhale and slump down onto the floor of my shop, taking deep, heavy breaths as if I were delivering a baby and trying desperately to ignore the lonely cries of my vagina as that giant erection drives away. Instead, I grab my phone from the counter and stride towards the door, locking it up for the night. I pull down the blinds and traipse upstairs where I open a bottle of wine and stare at the blackened screen. Three missed calls from my mother, one from my dad’s phone, which is likely just my mother calling from his phone in the event of me avoiding her number, but no calls from Harley.
I guzzle down a whole glass of Pinot Noir and dial his number before I can talk myself out of it. It goes straight to voicemail, and I listen to his gruff recording and sigh as I think about that voice and all the pretty things it said against my ear last night. “Harley, it’s me, Rose. Of course you know who I am—I’m sure I didn’t need to explain that part. I mean, I’m sure you didn’t forget in the time it took you to come inside me and then flee my apartment last night. Or maybe you did.” Oh boy. I really hadn’t meant to say any of that. “Anyway, I’m um … I’m not mad. Just call me back, okay?”
I end the call and take my wine glass over to my couch, plonking myself down on it. I turn on my TV, ready to watch my favorite show, only I find that leaves a sour taste in my mouth after the last twenty-four hours, so I settle instead for the Discovery channel and I drink … far too much.
A bottle of wine later, my phone glares up at me from the coffee table, and I find myself reaching for it. I call again. It goes straight to voicemail.
“You know what? I lied. I am mad. I’m really, really fucking mad. You slept with me last night, and then what? You just vanished off the face of the earth? Who does that to their best friend? You’re a shitty friend, Harley, and a shittier boyfriend,” I snap, and then think on that for a beat. “Wait, no, you weren’t a shitty boyfriend—you were actually pretty good at that, but still. You kinda suck at not being able to stop sleeping with me. And I’m sure most women would take that as a compliment, but you know how I feel about you.”
I’m surprised to find my eyes are leaking again, I wasn’t even aware of it, which means I’m either really drunk, or … yep, I’m going to go with drunk. I sniff. “Damn it, Harley, you’re gonna break my heart all over again, aren’t you?”
“Beep! Your message has been recorded,” a robotic voice says in my ear, but I’m still angry, and I’m not done, so I dial again, wait for the beep, and say, “Oh yeah, fuck you.”
I hang up and throw my cell onto the couch, abandoning my wine for the pint of Ben & Jerry’s in my freezer. I dive into the ice cream as if it held my salvation, and I change the channel. Say Yes to the Dress is on. I’ve seen this episode, but I watch it anyway and find myself tearing up again when they pin the veil into a woman’s hair and the family gathered in the viewing room bursts into tears. I shovel spoonful after spoonful of ice cream in my mouth as great, fat tears trail over my cheeks, and I sob like a woman who just missed out on a great sale on Valentino shoes at Nordestrom.
I hate men. I hate sex. I hate these squishy feelings I have on the inside. I … oh shit, I’m gonna hurl.
I throw the tub of ice cream and run towards the bathroom. I. Don’t. Make. It. And I think it’s safe to say that this is the last time I eat Ben & Jerry’s. Chock chunk monkey fudge does not look the same coming up as it does going down, especially not when it’s been drowned with an entire bottle of wine.
Chapter Nineteen
Rose
Age eighteen
I step through the doors and spot him, standing in his football jersey with his hair tied back, flowers in one hand, a Wendy Darling sign in the other, and a big, stupid grin on his face. I smile like a woman possessed and walk toward him, but there’s a group of people taking dolly steps in front of me as they figure out where to go, and when my harried steps on their heels don’t get them moving fast enough, I push past with a half mumbled apology and shriek as I leap into the air. Harley has no choice but to catch me, dropping the things in his hands in order to grab my ass. I pepper his face and neck with kisses and then when I reach his lips, he groans as I drive my tongue into his mouth. His lips are finally, finally on mine.
We garner a lot of really awkward looks from people, and a few even clap at the scene we’re making in the Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport. I slide down his big body, my feet barely touching the floor because I feel as if I’m still soaring above the clouds.
I smile up at him. “Hey Tiger. Nice jersey.”
“Hey.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” I agree. He gathers me up in another embrace so tightly I can barely breathe, but I don’t care because I’ve missed his arms around me like this. I’ve missed that spicy scent of his aftershave and green grass that always accompanies him off the field no matter how many showers he takes after practice. His hair is damp, and I’m betting he’s just come from the field. I press my nose to his jersey, breathing him in. “Purple’s really your color.”
“Don’t be hating on the jersey,” he says, hooking his arm around my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get your bags.”
I smile over at him. And heft the small duffle bag at his chest. “Actually, this is all I brought with me.” He frowns, clearly not comprehending. “I wasn’t sure I’d be wearing clothes for much of the time that I’m here.”
He hefts the bag onto his shoulder and pulls me in close to whisper in my ear as we walk, “If it wouldn’t get us arrested, I’d push you up against that wall over there and fuck you right here in front of everyone.”
My cheeks flush, and my vagina does cartwheels in the very expensive panties I put on this morning just for our reunion. I keep up with his great, loping stride as best I can and then we exit the airport, jump into his truck and speed down Route 110.
It takes just fourteen minutes to get from the airport to the LSU campus, but I swear to god, Harley runs every red light between here and there and gets us home in eight.
We park in front of a huge red-brick frat house with a well-lit, immaculate lawn. On that pristine lawn sits two guys in loungers; they’re drinking from beer hats and wearing ridiculous oversized clown glasses. The house itself is gorgeous, at least from the outside, and you’d never know it was home to twenty guys.
Harley climbs out of the truck and runs around to the passenger side before I can open it, and then he pulls me from the cab and pushes me up against the vehicle, kissing me hard. A cheer goes up from the guys on the lawn. I glance at them over Harley’s shoulder, and then I gasp as he picks me up and I feel how hard he is beneath his jeans. I wrap my legs around him, and he strides up the walk with his hands on my ass and his lips crushed to mine.
“Dude,” someone says. “Get a room.”
“I plan on it.” Harley grins at me, and all I can think is yes, yes, yes, god yes. It’s been far too long, and I’m not sure I even remember what sex feels like.
“I wouldn’t leave your car there, man,” Clown Glasses says. “The parking police are gonna have your ass for it.”
“Don’t care.”
“You’re gonna get towed,” the guy shouts as Harley climbs the porch and stops just outside the front door.
“You wanna give me a hand here?” Harley whispers, chuckling as I cover his face and neck with kisses. “Mine are kind of full.”
I reach the door handle behind me, and then we’re inside, banging into furniture, and walls, doors, and I’m pretty sure that was even a person that we ran into on our way up the stairs. I don’t care. I don’t care how it makes me look to Harley’s frat brothers; I don’t care how much
they hear or that they were yelling shit from the front yard—all I care about is him. All I want is him.
We enter a room on the second floor. I don’t know if it’s small or large or if it’s a damn supply closet because his lips smash into mine and I close my eyes as his fingers knead my ass. I groan and writhe against him, breaking our fervent kisses to remove my shirt and whisper, “I need you inside me, now.”
“Fuck, baby,” he says, trailing his lips over my neck and breasts, devouring me as if he’s been starving this whole time we’ve been apart. “I plan on burying myself so deep you’ll walk funny this entire weekend.”
“Um … hi,” a voice says, and my eyes shoot open to find a tall, sort of nerdy-looking kid standing not three feet away. His cheeks are as flushed as what I’m betting mine are right now. “You must be Rose.”
“Oh my god,” I say, covering my chest. I deliberately didn’t wear a bra because though my boobs are big, they’re still perky, and I know it drives Harley nuts when I go out with just a T-shirt on.
“Out!” Harley commands, and the guy slips past with a nervous look on his face, as if he’s afraid that at any moment Harley might rip his head off with his bare hands. I can’t say I blame the poor kid. My man is kind of terrifying when he gets going.
“Nice to meet you,” I call after the door snicks closed quietly behind him, and then I’m launched across the room and onto what looks like a hastily made bed. I shriek as Harley’s big body cages me in, and he presses his hips to mine.
He slips a hand between us and unfastens the button on my jeans, unzipping me and slipping his thick fingers into my panties. His brows knit together, and he tilts his head questioningly as he pulls away. His hands come out of my pants, and he leans back on his ankles as he removes my Keds and tosses them across the room, then he yanks the denim down my legs, exposing my very scant black panties. He takes me in, appraising my body from head to toe. “Goddamn it, Rose. Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?”
Harley & Rose Page 14