4. Research dining hall article for Diamondback
5. Watch Paper Towns for movie review article for Diamon——
“I can help you out with number five,” I said, leaning over to whisper into Harlow’s ear.
Startled, she pulled away, looking at me, her eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. “What?”
I nodded toward her list. “I haven’t seen Paper Towns yet. I’m happy to watch it with you. I’ll even bring the popcorn.”
Her mouth opened and shut a few times, searching for an argument. Finally, she said, “I’m writing an article about books going to the big screen and how they change from print to film,” she explained. When I continued to look at her, waiting for more, she continued. “I’ve already watched and read The DUFF, The Scorch Trials, Mocking Jay, and—” Her face blushed a furious shade of red.
“What?” I asked, grinning at her discomfort.
She looked away and shook her head, turning to her list to finish item number five and add item number six.
6. Avoid Trace
And...there it was. I laughed out loud. “That’s rude, Cricket.”
Her head swung around until her gaze met mine. “Why do you call me—”
“Wait!” I interrupted her before she could tell me off or say something that she’d regret later. No matter how rude she might act sometimes, I knew that wasn’t the real Harlow. The real Harlow was funny and sweet and sexy as hell. This new version? It seemed being a married woman didn’t really suit her.
“Now what book-to-movie would you not want me to know about?” I mused. I could almost hear her teeth gnashing together now that I was back on topic. “Insurgent? No, I heard that one didn’t get very good ratings.” I shook my head. “I bet you didn’t even bother to go. Maybe The Martian?” I tapped my chin and stared toward the front of the room as if in deep thought. “No. You’d fall asleep in a movie like that. Perhaps The Longest Ride?” I turned to face her and narrowed my eyes in thought. “No. Although I’d be happy to give you one.” I could see the blush working its way down her neck, just like my mouth longed to do.
“That’s not going to happen,” she promised.
“It already did,” I reminded her, bumping her arm with my elbow like we shared a joke. She opened her mouth for a biting retort, but I was quicker. “I know!” I said, holding up my finger in an “a-ha” pose. “Fifty Shades of Grey. Am I right? I bet you watched that one the night it came out.”
Her answering blush proved I was right.
“My sisters made me go,” she responded defensively, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her chin.
“There’s no judgment here,” I said, motioning between us.
She rolled her eyes and huffed in disbelief, fighting a smile. “Right.”
“I really would like to see Paper Towns with you.” My tone was gentler, and she finally glanced back at me before looking away again.
She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “That’s not necessary. I can watch it on my own. Besides—”
I grabbed her chin and turned her to face me. I could have sworn she was holding her breath. “I know you can watch it on your own, Harlow. I know you’re trying to keep your distance. But would it be so bad to watch a movie together? What do you have against me?”
She swallowed. “You mean aside from the fact that you only speak in sexual innuendos?”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
Her lips puckered up when she said those two words and it took momentous skill not to lean in another twelve inches and kiss her stupid.
“Okay.” I gave her a charming smile. “Aside from the teasing, what do you have against me?” I wanted to say something about having her naked against me, but I figured that wouldn’t help my argument.
For a hot second, I thought the charm just might completely melt her ice, but then she pulled away and looked down at my other hand. “You won’t annul the marriage,” she muttered. “And you insist on wearing that ring.”
I could have given her a dozen arguments as to why I wouldn’t end our marriage and why I continued to keep the ring on, but even to me, they didn’t make sense.
“The ring bothers you that much?” I asked, spinning it around my finger with my thumb.
She nodded.
“I’ll make you a deal.” I spun the ring again, half hoping she wouldn’t agree to what I was about to offer. I’d gotten pretty attached to the damn thing. “I’ll stop wearing the ring if you come to lunch with me on Saturday.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing from my mouth to my ring a few times. “Just lunch?”
Jesus. She must hate the stupid ring if she was so close to saying yes. It should bother me and my male pride that I had to bribe her to go out with me, but I was just happy I wasn’t going to have to battle her to get her to go. Besides, I’d bribed her the first time I met her to get her to have a drink with me. And look how well that night turned out.
“Just lunch,” I promised.
She nodded her head once and pursed her lips, turning fully in her seat again. She took a deep breath. “Okay, what time?”
I grinned. This was way too easy. She wasn’t even asking for details. I wondered how pissed she’d be when she found out she’d be meeting my family. “I’ll pick you up around 11.”
“I can just meet you—”
“I’ll take the ring off right now if you just let me pick you up like a normal date.”
“Deal,” she finally said under her breath.
Reluctantly, I pulled the ring off my finger and slipped it into my pocket. Her eyes followed the path of my hand, and I could have sworn her gaze lingered a little too long on my lap. “Happy?” I asked.
Biting the inside of her lip, she tore her eyes away from me. Then she touched her pen to her paper and added to item number six.
6. Avoid Trace after lunch on Saturday
I grinned. She just made this game way too interesting.
— HARLOW —
9. COUCH CAT & OTHER CRISES
September 24, 2016
MEET THE PARENTS By Harlow Ransom
Everyone knows it’s important to make a good impression the first time you meet the parents of your husband, but Harlow Ransom is showing up with a busted nose and a look that can only be defined as walking disaster. Ideally, one would meet their in-laws before the actual marriage ever took place, but Harlow doesn’t like to do things the easy way. Her new in-laws are still in the dark about the wedded status of their son, and she’d like to keep it that way.
When asked why she is choosing to keep the marriage a secret from her husband’s parents, she responded, “I don’t think it’s necessary to break the news to them right now, especially since the whole marriage thing will be a non-issue pretty soon. Why put them through that sort of emotional turmoil?”
This reporter pointed out to her that if she has no intention of continuing the relationship with Trace, then she could have rectified the marriage issue a long time ago.
“I don’t plan to continue the relationship. It’s not even a REAL relationship. Getting married was an accident. We were drunk.”
Harlow seems like she believes what she’s saying, but if she truly wanted to end the marriage, why has no effort been made to do so? And why is she visiting the in-laws at all if she plans to get the marriage annulled?
Her response? “It’s not like I want to go meet his parents. Trace is forcing me to go to lunch with them. It’s part of a deal I made so he’ll stop wearing the wedding ring.”
One can only hope that Harlow will come to her senses soon and see what’s obvious to the rest of us—she hasn’t ended the marriage because she realizes it might just be the smartest mistake she’s ever made.
=========================
The doorbell rang, and I tugged at my shirt again, like I’d done a dozen times already since Trace rang the buzzer in the lobby to be let up. Why was I so nervous? It was ju
st lunch. I’d already done things with Trace that were infinitely more intimate than a lunch date. Things that included a lot less clothes.
This time, I was sober, though.
My eyes scanned the mirror again, searching for anything out of place. And then I was mad at myself for caring. It shouldn’t matter if everything was just right or not. I didn’t care what Trace thought about how I looked.
Did I?
The inner battle raged on as I stared at myself until the doorbell rang again. Switching off the bathroom light, I ran my hand through my hair as I walked down the hallway and turned toward the front door, completely unaware of Couch Cat lying in the middle of the floor. I tripped over her, earning a terrified feline howl and a vicious swipe of claws across my bare ankle. Trying to avoid her as she scrambled under my legs for safety, I stumbled into the door. Face first.
“Shit!” I yelled, trying to find my footing as my face collided harshly with the wood.
“Harlow? Are you okay?” Trace asked from the other side of the door.
I rubbed my face, feeling a trickle of blood oozing out of my nose. It wouldn’t be right if I wasn’t bleeding, and I was.
“If you don’t answer, I’m going to assume you’re being held against your will and I’m kicking the door down,” he joked.
At least, I thought he was joking.
I tilted my head back and turned the deadbolt before swinging the door open. Trace’s grin fell away when he noticed the blood pouring down my face.
“Christ!” he said, rushing through the door and closing it behind him. “What the hell happened to your face?”
“Nice to see you, too,” I mumbled. So much for all that time spent in front of the mirror. That’s what I got for caring. “I tripped.”
He brushed my hair away from my face and bent down to get a closer look. His whiskey-colored eyes were full of concern as he examined me. “I think it looks worse than it is. Let’s get you cleaned up. Where’s your bathroom?”
I waved him toward the hallway as I tilted my head back. “Down there.”
Trace put his arm around my waist and helped keep me upright as he led me down hall. “If you think this is gonna get you out of our deal, you’re wrong.”
I flipped him the bird and he chuckled, the sound warm and sweet. His hand tightened around me, his fingers brushing along my skin where my shirt had ridden up. My heart pounded around in my chest making me feel like an unbalanced washing machine. Oh my God. Just one little touch and my body was going haywire. How had I survived a night in bed with him without coming completely unraveled?
Once inside the bathroom, he closed the toilet lid and pointed at it, ordering me to sit. I did as I was told and he grabbed the nearest hand towel and held it under my face. “Pinch the soft part of your nose together and lean forward.”
“I thought I was supposed to lean back,” I argued. “That’s what they always do in the movies.”
“They’re not actually bleeding in the movies, Harlow. Unless you want to choke on your blood, lean forward.” He put his hand on the back of my head to adjust me into the right position, and I did as he ordered, ignoring the urge to shiver when his warm hand wrapped around mine to hold my fingers in the right spot. “That’s it. Just hold it for a few minutes until it stops.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have ice in your freezer? I can put some in a towel for you to keep swelling down,” he offered. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern, and it was pretty freaking adorable.
Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Those were exactly the thoughts I didn’t need.
“I...I have one of those gel ice packs in my freezer.”
He tilted his head. “Accident prone?”
Yes. “No.”
Trace grinned, and I felt tingles all the way to my toes. No wonder I ended up with a ring on my finger that night. I had a hard enough time resisting his charm when I was sober. With the nasty combo of a shitload of drinks and the emotional baggage of seeing my mother on my birthday, I never had a chance against him. And now with him being so nice, I was having a harder time remembering all the reasons he was bad for me.
I needed to keep my armor in place. Trace wasn’t part of my plans. He was a mistake that I needed to take a huge eraser to. Every to-do list could be edited. Right?
Unaware of my inner turmoil, Trace left the bathroom. I heard the freezer door open, but it was a few seconds before it shut again. He muttered something, and I assumed he was having trouble finding what he was looking for. When the water at my kitchen sink started running a few moments later, I wondered what the hell was going on. Soon he returned with the ice pack and a kitchen towel, but he had an odd look on his face. Like he was unsure about my sanity.
“Is there something you’d like to confess to me?”
A strange thumping in my chest stole my breath away. “What? No...”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “You have like fifty boxes of Thin Mints in your freezer. Did you pull off some sort of Girl Scout Cookie heist I should know about? Maybe you have one tied up in your closet or something?” he asked, peeking over his shoulder at the closet door.
I rolled my eyes, and he chuckled as he kneeled down in front of me. He pulled my hand away from my face and inspected my nose, which I assumed was a bloody and disgusting mess. I wanted to crawl under the vanity. Although come to think of it, if I was looking for a way to turn him off, a fat lip and bloody nose were sure to do the trick.
Trace lifted the towel he’d brought from the kitchen, and when he touched it to my face, I was surprised to find it was warm and wet. Gently, he cleaned my nose, mouth, and cheeks, wiping away the blood. He was concentrating so hard on what he was doing that I don’t think he realized how close he’d gotten to me. My lips did, though. Only a few inches and I could have a taste of him. A taste my body seemed to remember with perfect clarity. Kiss him, it demanded.
Trace’s hand stilled against my face, and I looked up from his mouth to discover I’d been caught ogling him. His smile was slow and knowing as it spread across his lips. I expected him to call me out and force me to admit what I’d been thinking, but he merely wrapped the ice pack in another towel and placed it gently across my nose and cheeks. “Hold this there for a few minutes. Hopefully, it’ll lower your chances of getting a black eye.”
When I lifted my hands up to replace his, he backed away and lowered himself to the floor in front of me, leaning back against the wall with his forearms draped over his knees. I could just see him over the top of the ice pack.
“How do you know so much about bloody noses?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Snowboarding. Skateboarding. School of hard knocks.” He lifted his chin at me. “How’d you end up doing that anyway? Were you on some sort of doped out sugar high from eating your weight in Thin Mints?”
I groaned. I’d never live this down. I huffed out a breath. “Couch Cat was in my way. I didn’t see her.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Couch Cat? That’s what I thought you said earlier. What’s Couch Cat?”
“An orange ball of fur otherwise known as my lazy ass pet. I think she’s silently plotting my death because she is always underfoot.” I blew out a breath. “That’s not the first time I’ve tripped over her. First time my nose took the brunt of it, though,” I said.
He frowned. “Why do you call her Couch Cat?”
I gave a small laugh. “Because I suck at names.” I wasn’t the creative type. I worked in facts and figures. Things that were true. That’s why I loved journalism. “When I moved into this apartment, I didn’t have much money, so I bought my couch off of Craig’s List from some dude that lived nearby. I thought it was nice of him to drop it off for me. Especially since he only charged me a hundred dollars for the couch. An hour after he left, however, Couch Cat crawled out from underneath the damn thing. I guess she was hiding in the framework or something. I tried calling the guy to come back and g
et his cat, but he never returned any of my messages. Who knows, maybe he put her in there on purpose. Anyway, I didn’t have the heart to take her to the SPCA, so Couch Cat became my roommate.”
“That’s insane.”
I shrugged because no matter how pissed I was at the time that my free delivery turned into a responsibility for another living thing, it was nice to have Couch Cat around. Even when she was acting like a glorified bitch, at least she was company. Not good company, but I could depend on her to come rubbing against my legs when she was hungry. That was something. Living by myself got lonely sometimes and Couch Cat kept the apartment from feeling empty.
As I sat quietly thinking, Trace’s eyes trailed down from my face, lowering until his gaze settled on my ankles, which were right in front of him. He leaned forward, brushing his finger against my skin. I tried not to react, but my skin was a fucking traitor and goosebumps lifted under his touch. “Looks like she got in a nasty scratch.”
I looked down, surprised I’d forgotten about that in the aftermath of my nosebleed. Trace pushed up off the floor and started rifling through my medicine cabinet. I probably should have been outraged, but there was nothing in there worth being embarrassed over. That’s what my nightstand was for. And there was no way I’d be letting him in that drawer. Buzz, and my other sex toys were not secrets I was going to let him in on.
In no time, Trace had gathered my meager selection of medical supplies. He gathered them in his arm and then bent down to tend to my wound. I think we both knew it wasn’t bad enough to merit any special attention, but I let him get on with it. It was nice to have someone pampering me, even if it was because I was a total klutz. And it was easier to stare at him when he was otherwise occupied, so there was that. I shouldn’t tease myself by indulging in the fantastic view that was Trace Stone, but I had the willpower of an LA trophy wife in an Hermés handbag store. Trace Stone was easy on the eyes, and my eyes wanted to gorge themselves like a bear preparing for a long winter. Or more appropriately, a beaver. This beaver needed to hibernate for a long time because clearly, she didn’t make good decisions.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 7