by Max Monroe
The nosy bastard was determined to figure out where I lived, but I wasn’t ready to cave on it.
Oh, but you can let him inside your vagina all the time?
My brain really needed to shut the fuck up for a little bit.
While I mindlessly watched a rerun of The Office, doing my best to fall into a Nutella coma, my phone buzzed with an email. It was a notification for the latest Celebrity News articles that had just gone live. I scrolled through the new headlines but stopped abruptly on the third one from the top.
DATING NEWS: Dr. ER might be off the market, ladies.
What the what?
As I clicked on the article’s link and scanned through another columnist’s words, I was mostly wondering why in the hell I didn’t get this exclusive.
I mean, I was having the sex with him, not Kimmie Marie from fucking Celebrity News.
But as I continued to read the article itself, something else took high priority in my mind.
Kimmie prattled on about Scott attending an event called Benefit for Bab(i)es, and apparently, when he was asked about his ongoing status of never bringing a date to events, he’d answered, “Not tonight, but maybe soon.”
Not tonight, but maybe soon?
What in the ever-loving fuck was that supposed to mean?
Was he talking about me?
Outside on the sidewalk, the sun beating down on my heavy shoulders, I stared down at the text message exchange I’d had with Harlow earlier that morning.
Me: Can I see you?
Harlow: Are you in need of the sex?
My lungs still burned as I thought of how she’d react when I fully explained what I really wanted. But then, in text message wasn’t the time for it.
No, this is a conversation for in person.
Me: I always need the sex.
Harlow: LOL At least you’re honest. My day is jam-packed, though. Breakfast at my mom’s right now, and then we’re apparently also eating lunch later in the city. I’ll be as big as a whale by the end of the day.
Me: Ooh. What restaurant? Let me eat through you.
Harlow: LOL Hot House. I’ll be free later this afternoon. I’ll meet you somewhere, and you can eat through me, all right.
Me: Hot damn. How about your apartment?
Harlow: I’m ignoring you now.
She hadn’t said anything then, and really, I think that was the starting point of my current semi-psychotic break. Realistically, she was probably just at lunch with her mom and practicing a little-known habit of actually paying attention to the person you were dining with rather than your phone.
But, yeah. All of this…all of these emotions—something I was horrifically unfamiliar with—were eating at me, and she’d been seemingly doing the dip on me when it came to her apartment since the day I’d met her.
And now, here I was, outside of Hot House, intentionally following Harlow.
Frustrated with what my life had come to, I leaned back against the warm bricks of the restaurant and sighed. I was crazy. I was fucking losing it. The apartment thing was just a running joke, and I was blowing it out of proportion.
Of course, just as I settled on going back to being sane, the door opened and, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand and digging in her monstrous bag for her sunglasses with the other, Harlow stepped out.
Quickly, I ducked around the corner of the building.
I cringed.
Oh Jesus, Scott. Time to reevaluate some things here.
Following a woman was fucking ridiculous, creepy, and highly illegal. Granted, she knew me and liked me, but yeah… Holy hell, now I’m just rationalizing. That’s what crazy people do.
“Thanks for lunch, Mom.” I heard her mom murmur something back before Jean-Pierre’s French accent took over.
“It is always a pleasure, Harlow.” His voice was genuine, heartfelt even, and I immediately liked him, sight unseen.
“Same. Thanks for listening, guys. Really. I know I unloaded a lot of stuff on you.”
Stuff about me?
My ears perked up, and just like that, I forgot all about how crazy I was acting.
“Anytime,” her mom answered sweetly before any and all sound faded away. I peeked around the corner to see them gone, Jean-Pierre and Harlow’s mom crossing the street to the other side while Harlow neared the end of the block on this side.
I jumped into action, walking her direction quickly but casually and paying attention when she turned at the corner.
With her out of sight, I quickened my step to try to close some of the distance and then spotted the top of her head in the crowd up ahead as soon as I made it to the end of the block.
She only went about a block and a half before turning and jogging up the stairs of a brownstone style apartment building and inserting her key into the lock.
Honestly, I couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or not that the trip to her apartment had been so short. After all, I’d successfully completed my mission. But on the other hand, if I’d had more time, I might have circled around to the conclusion that this wasn’t a good idea again.
The jig was up now, though, and I had to do something about it before I lost my nerve. With just one side of her hair pulled back and pinned, I could see the side of her face as she concentrated on what she was doing, and a rush of emotion hit me all at once.
This was it. She was it. I’d finally found a woman worth chasing.
Literally, my mind mocked mercilessly.
Breaking into a jog, I weaved my way through the people scattered on the sidewalk and bounded up the stairs behind her two at a time.
Her eyes widened, and her face grew longer before my eyes as her mouth did the same.
“Scott?”
“Hey, Low,” I greeted casually. Far, far more casually than I felt, my heart beating so violently I thought it might jump straight out of my chest and land on the stoop in front of me.
“What are you doing here?”
I swallowed the thickness in my throat and concentrated on getting inside first. “I’m sorry to surprise you like this, but…can we talk? It’s important.”
Her face serious—seriously worried—she turned back to the lock and finished the job, pushing the door open and holding it for me. “Of course. Come in.”
We walked in silence up two flights of stairs to what I presumed was her door. As she inserted another key into that lock and turned it, I immediately felt sick.
She pushed it open, and as soon as the light of the hall sliced into the small entry of her apartment, my admission poured unchecked from my lips.
“I followed you.”
Her eyebrows pulled together as she stepped inside and I followed her, almost as if she hadn’t heard me.
Strengthening my resolve to make sure it was all out in the open—every fucking last bit of it—I repeated myself. “I said, I followed you. Here. To your apartment.”
“You fucking followed me? From where? How? I don’t understand.”
“Yes. From the restaurant. You told me where you were. Not understanding is definitely reasonable, and I’m sorry,” I rattled off, addressing each of her questions as well as I could.
“But this was a conversation I needed to have in person.” She didn’t know what conversation I was talking about, but flustered, I rushed past that detail. “And you’ve been cagey about where you live for no reason, Harlow.”
She glared and took three rapid steps to the end of the hall that led into her living room, but I kept on. “I know what I did today isn’t healthy. I know it’s fucking ridiculous, okay? But I put my dick in you on the regular! How can you not trust me enough to know where you live?”
“Whoops. Excuse us.” Mystified, we both swiveled our heads immediately to the couch.
“Dad?” Harlow screamed just as I caught sight of my mom’s bare breasts.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” I cried.
“What are you doing here?” she shouted toward them—our parents, our fucking n
aked parents.
What was happening?
And more than that, it appeared everyone else knew where she lived to the point of using her place for conjugal fucking visits.
“I guess other people know where you live,” I muttered softly, but she heard me. Oh, the death rays burning from her eyes were proof of that. Meanwhile, Bill was covering himself and my mother with a blanket.
“Scott,” Harlow snapped. “Not now. Jesus Christ, one thing at a time, okay?”
And she was right, obviously. The naked parents on the couch took precedence, so I did my best to shut the fuck up.
“Dad,” Harlow said again, gritting her teeth in search of patience. “What are you doing here? Naked? On my fucking couch?”
I reached out and squeezed her shoulder in support, but she shook it off.
I guessed that was fair too.
“We’re supposed to meet your mother and Jean-Pierre soon. A stroll through Central Park.”
“And?” Harlow put a demanding hand to her hip. “This situation definitely warrants an and, followed up by an actual explanation.”
“And I got nervous,” my mom piped up. I leaned over Harlow’s shoulder to glare at her, but she pressed on, unfazed. “I know how important they are to your father, and well, I’d like to make a good impression.”
Harlow sighed. “Still not seeing how this brings us here. With you guys naked in my apartment.”
My mom shrugged. “Orgasms tend to calm me.”
Oh Jesus Christ.
“Your apartment was close,” Bill finished. “When we got here and it was empty, we figured we’d be quick.”
“Good Lord, no more details, please,” Harlow requested with her gaze firmly placed on the wall. “And I’m really regretting giving you that spare key, Dad.”
I stepped in to assist. “Look, guys, we’ll give you a minute to get dressed, but it’s safe to say this isn’t exactly appropriate.”
Bill had the good grace to wince. My mother’s stubbornness kicked in. “I don’t know, son. Looks like this might be an example of the stalking pot calling the kettle inappropriate.”
Count on Nicole fucking Shepard to call me on my shit.
“Gee, thanks, Mom.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that Linda wasn’t always up in my shit, but even in the midst of her naked hijinks, that seemed like a low blow.
“Scott,” Harlow interjected. “Let’s go outside and talk.”
I nodded, looking back at our parents one more time and allowing myself a little smile as I shook my head. I mean, Jesus. That deserved at least a little amusement.
I followed Harlow in silence, and we went back out her door, down the stairs, and outside, taking a seat on the stairs of the stoop.
She waited patiently while I worked up the nerve to explain myself.
It was completely unlike her and made me even more nervous.
“I’m sorry I stalked you.”
“Yeah, that was a tad over the top,” she replied immediately.
“I know,” I admitted. “I talked myself out of it a couple of times, but then, yeah, it just happened anyway. I don’t know how, but I can’t change it now.”
“Tell it to the cops,” she teased. Or…God. I hoped she was teasing.
“Harlow—”
“What the hell, Scott?”
“I know,” I said on a sigh. “But I guess I was feeling insecure.”
“You? Dr. Erotic? Insecure?”
“See, that’s the thing. I’m not just that guy. And, yeah, I guess sometimes, Scott Shepard isn’t immune to getting insecure.”
She scoffed and I nodded.
“I know, it surprised me too. I’m normally so awesome,” I divulged, and she bit her lip just a tiny bit as she studied my face like a map, trying to get a read on me—and perhaps trying not to laugh at my obvious joke.
“And you were constantly dodging me about your apartment. I should know where you live, Low.”
“Why?”
My eyebrows pulled together. “Why what?”
“Why should you know where I live? We’re not in a relationship. We haven’t made any promises to one another.”
I took a deep breath in and blew it out while she watched. “Well…I guess that’s the thing. There’s something about you,” I admitted with a shrug. “Something that makes it so I can’t stop thinking about you, and you and me together, and that maybe…I don’t know…maybe I want a relationship.”
“So it was me you were talking about last night.”
I felt my eyes pinch together. “Last night?”
“To the paparazzi. Not tonight, but maybe soon, I think you said.”
“That comment was nothing. Jesus. Someone printed that?”
“Yep. Someone other than me, by the way. Which I considered castrating you for. But, given the circumstances, I guess that’s the least of my problems.”
“Problems?”
“We’re not relationship people, Scott!”
Irritation crawled up my throat. “That’s not true. You were in a relationship with Brent,” I argued.
“Yeah. In college. And I told you that it didn’t end well. I don’t want to go there again!”
Instantly, I recognized talking about this shit wasn’t going to get me much of anywhere. If I wanted more from Harlow—and I did—I was going to have to make it happen with actions. Good thing I’m an action man.
“All right. Calm down,” I soothed. “I shouldn’t have bombarded you with this. Let’s start simple, okay?”
She looked skeptical, but she nodded her agreement. “Okay.”
“You like me, right?”
“Scott…”
“It’s an easy question. Do you like me or not?”
“Of course, I like you! I let you stick your dick in me on the regular, as you so eloquently put it.”
I chuckled and winced at the same time. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
She rolled her eyes. “So, yes. I like you.”
“Then let’s start there.”
“I thought we already started!” she whined.
I laughed again. “Well, in a sense, yes. But this time, I mean with an open mind. Can you do that?”
She shook her head in the negative, but it wasn’t because her answer was no. She was just scared. I’d have to figure out how to change that.
“Are we sleeping with other people while we keep an open mind and like each other?” she asked and scrutinized my face for a reaction.
Resolutely, and with nothing to hide, I held her gaze. “No,” I admitted honestly. The truth was, I hadn’t had sex with anyone but her since this whole crazy thing started. And more than that, I didn’t want to.
She stayed quiet for a brief moment, and then, surprisingly, said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I said okay, fuckface. Move on,” she demanded, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.
She wanted to move on.
So, move on I did. Lips to hers in an instant, I pushed my tongue until the tip met hers and kissed her with enough certainty for both of us.
She broke away a few seconds in. “I just have one more question.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly, unsure what else she wanted from my bloody, mangled heart.
“Where the fuck did your beard go?”
I guess she misses it.
Tomorrow’s plan: start growing it back.
The sound of my phone ringing too loudly startled me awake. My eyes caught sight of the barely risen sun peeking through my bedroom window, and I groaned. It couldn’t have been past eight in the morning, and that left me wondering who in the hell was calling me at this god-awful hour.
I reached out from under my cozy comforter, and the cool air hit my skin, urging goose bumps onto my arms. I snagged my phone off the nightstand and slid my entire body, including my head, back under the warm cocoon of blankets. Even though the ringing had stopped, I tapped the home button and my phone came to life.
The numbers 7:45 glowed bright and blinding while a notification sat in the center of the screen.
3 missed calls Scott.
What the hell?
Before I had the time to send an angry message of Stop fucking calling me, he sent a text message, making my phone ping loudly.
“Shit!” I yelled, bobbling it a little before getting it back under control.
Scott: Rise and shine, Harlow. Get ready. I’m taking you somewhere special today.
Me: Are you on drugs? Do you have any idea what time it is?
Scott: Lol. No drugs. Just coffee.
Me: I’m not going anywhere right now. It’s fucking Saturday morning and it’s not even 8.
Scott: I’m on my way to your apartment.
He was on his way to my apartment? Was he joking with me right now?
Hell no. I didn’t care how persistent he was. I wasn’t going anywhere but back to dreamland.
Me: I fucking knew it was a bad idea for you to have my address.
Two days of him having the information, and he was already using it for outright evil purposes.
Scott: Get dressed, Harlow. I’ve got a surprise for you.
A surprise? Even though it was too goddamn early, I was intrigued. I really fucking liked surprises.
Me: Does it include breakfast and coffee?
Scott: Yep. I just added it to the already awesome list of things I’m doing with Harlow today.
Ugh. There’s a list of awesome? It shouldn’t have been sounding better by the second, but goddammit, it was.
Me: I kind of hate you right now.
Scott: No, you don’t. And stop texting me. Get your cute ass out of bed. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
Me: Thirty minutes?! Fucking hell.
Scott: Less texting and more dressing.