“Who’s Lindsey?”
“His girlfriend,” Harlow said bitterly.
And I had to wonder if she was bitter because Lindsey went home, or if it was because she was Flex’s girlfriend.
***
Harlow was quiet on the metro ride home, her knee bouncing as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger. She didn’t say a word as we found my truck in the parking lot and she buckled herself into the passenger seat.
“Where to?” I asked, shoving the key into the ignition.
Harlow had been staring out the window, but her gaze swung around to meet mine. She was confused. “Flex’s?” she said, her voice lifting at the end, so her answer came out as a question.
“I know, but where does he live?”
“Oh.” She shook her head and then blinked her eyes wide open as if she was trying to see clearly. “He lives in my building. You can drop me off there.”
In her building? Jealousy flared in my chest like the worst case of heartburn, making me feel like an asshole. Again.
We made good time from the metro station to the apartment complex, and I parked my truck so that I could walk her upstairs. When we reached Flex’s door, she turned to face me. The smile she was wearing didn’t seem to fit well.
“Thanks for today. I really had a good time.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as if considering what to say next. “I didn’t want it to end,” she finally admitted. Her smile curved into one that was a little more real. “So, obviously, no dessert tonight, but maybe I can still get a goodnight kiss?” Her face tilted up, offering her lips to me.
I caught her chin between my thumb and forefinger and held her gaze as I slowly leaned down to kiss her. Her eyes drifted shut when my lips pressed along hers. All the pent up stress in her body seemed to leave on a breathy exhale, and when I wrapped my arms around her, she melted into me like warm, liquid sugar. And it took all the control I had not to devour her right in the hallway.
“I’ll come in and hang out with you,” I offered. “When he starts feeling better, we can sneak away for a little dessert. Buzz is not invited this time.”
Harlow made a cute groaning noise and then rested her forehead on my chest. “I can’t ask you to stay.”
“You didn’t. I offered.”
She looked up at me and scrunched her nose before sighing. “It’s probably not a good idea. I’ll see you tomorrow night, though. Right? To study?”
Her rejection was a surprise, but I schooled my features so she didn’t know that it bothered me. “Sure. You gonna be okay?”
Harlow nodded. “Usually Flex just needs someone to baby him. But I can’t say no. What if this time is the time that something bad actually happens, you know? I’d never forgive myself.”
“I get it.” My hand traveled up her arm to settle on the side of her neck. “Call me if you need anything.”
She leaned into my hand, and I rubbed my thumb along her jaw. “Thanks again for today. It was the best date ever.”
“You mean second best date. Don’t forget about our date on your birthday.”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “My birthday was hot, but today was better.” She pushed up on her toes to give me one last kiss before stepping out of my embrace. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.
I dipped my head in acknowledgment and gave her my best impression of Wesley the Farm Boy. “As you wish.”
She smiled and turned toward the door. As she inserted a key from her own keyring to unlock it, I felt a flush of irritation that she not only had free access to another guy’s apartment, but that she’d never even seen mine. I knew I had no right to be jealous that she’d chosen to cut our date short to help out Flex, but the bitterness came all the same.
She waved once and gave me a small smile before disappearing behind the door. I was left envious of her sick friend and starving for more time with her.
Fuck me. I wasn’t used to this. The green-eyed monster was a hungry beast.
— HARLOW —
17. THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR
October 9, 2016
FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS OR SOMETHING MORE? By Harlow Ransom
If Harlow Ransom truly wanted to annul her marriage, as she has sworn time and again, why has she agreed to date Trace Stone until Thanksgiving?
“It’s just a means to an end. Whether we end the marriage now or in a few weeks, it doesn’t really matter. As long as no one finds out we were actually married, it’s not a big deal.”
When asked how she could date someone she doesn’t want to have a relationship with, Harlow responded, “We’re not dating. We’re just hanging out. As friends. Friends with benefits,” she added, embarrassed. “There’s nothing wrong with casual kissing.”
This reporter pointed out that things are no longer as innocent or simple as Harlow would like to believe. At some point, Ms. Ransom will have to admit she cares for Trace Stone, and that not everything in her life will be something she can just put on one of her lists. She might like to think they’re just friends with benefits, but things have moved past physical and are about to crash land into emotional.
Harlow laughed. “My emotions have been on lockdown for a long time. I know what I want out of life, and it’s not a husband.”
If that’s true, why hasn’t she just hocked the wedding ring to pay for the annulment herself?
=========================
I shut the front door and then leaned against it, finally releasing my breath. It took all my strength to send Trace away. What I really wanted was to hang out with him for the rest of the night and find out exactly what kind of dessert he would have served up. But my best friend needed my help. Flex had been there for me when I first moved to Maryland and knew exactly zero people. He was there to take me home with him on the holidays when I didn’t get to see my family. He never left me alone when I needed a friend, and I wouldn’t abandon him either. I owed it to Flex to help him out, even if I completely disagreed with the reason he needed me.
Despite Trace’s offer to help, the last thing I wanted was for him to see me playing nurse. Holding the puke bucket for my sweet but gullible friend wasn’t exactly sexy. I was awkward enough on my own.
I locked the door behind me and then stalked down the hallway, passing the empty rooms of Flex’s roommates before entering his bedroom in the back.
“This is the last time I’m doing this,” I threatened, tossing my purse on his desk. I put my hands on my hips and glared at my friend who was sprawled across the bed face-down, his head hanging over the edge with a small trash can underneath.
“Me too,” he groaned. He lifted his head to look at me briefly before allowing it to fall down to the mattress again. “How am I still barfing? There’s nothing left. I think I’m throwing up body parts I still need.”
“Serves you right for treating your body like a garbage dump.” My words were meant to scold, but when he started retching into the trashcan, I went into his bathroom and got a cold, wet washcloth.
I came back just as he finished. He rolled over onto his back, and I sat down on the bed next to him, draping the washcloth across his eyes and forehead.
“You’re too good to me,” he muttered miserably.
I smoothed back his wild hair even though it sprang right back up into disarray. “Where’s the paperwork they gave you?”
He motioned toward his desk, and I rooted around across the top until I found a large white envelope. I opened the flap and pulled out the papers to read. It was pages and pages of medical and legal jargon. I flipped through them haphazardly trying to make sense of it.
“Okay, I give up. What was it you were testing?” I asked.
“A painkiller,” Flex said. “Something for HIV and cancer patients.” He clutched his middle and rolled over to retch again. It was clear he’d already gotten rid of everything in his stomach because all he was producing were gut-wrenching sounds that made me want to toss my cookies, too.
/>
“How long has this been going on?” I asked, looking for the sheet that was usually included to record his symptoms.
“Two hours,” he moaned, taking the wet washcloth to wipe his mouth.
“We should take you back in.”
“I was fine when I left. I don’t think this has anything to do with the testing.” Guilt was heavy in his gaze. “I grabbed lunch at Chickpizz on the way home.”
“That hole in the wall? You know that place has failed numerous health inspections. No wonder you’re sick.” I threw my hands in the air. “First you let a bunch of whackjobs put only God knows what in your body, and then you eat food even a billy goat wouldn’t touch.”
“How do I make this go away?” he groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I have to be better by morning. I’m supposed to go back tomorrow for the final dose in the trial.”
I gave him an unamused laugh. “Like hell you are. You’re not putting any more of that poison in your body. I forbid it.”
“But if I don’t finish the test, I only get a third of the money. I’m already two-thirds of the way done,” he moaned.
I slammed the papers down on the top of his desk. “Are you serious right now?” My eyes flicked over to him, and I swear the heat of my words almost set the room on fire.
“They said everything was flushed out of my system before I left. This is just the Chickpizz’s revenge,” he muttered.
“Even if that’s true, doing these experiments might permanently ruin something or even kill you. Please promise me you won’t do this anymore.” My voice broke.
He lifted his eyes, and when he saw the tears streaking down my face, his expression fell. “Don’t cry.” He lifted his hand as if to comfort me but when I didn’t step closer to him, he let it drop back to the mattress. “I won’t. I promise.” Flex frowned, but all I felt was relief.
“Thank you.” I blinked away the tears and ran my thumb under my eyes as I scanned the sheet of possible side effects to see if there was a reason I might need to take him in to be examined. “Are you having any other symptoms?” I asked. “Trouble breathing, convulsions, a rash?”
His head shook infinitesimally. I assumed it was because any movement caused his already upset stomach to be more upset. “No. Just the nausea.”
Once again, I felt relief wash over me. “Okay. I guess it could just be from Chickpizz. Although throwing up sucks ass, it’s not something I think we need to take you to the ER for.”
“Thank God for that,” Flex said. “Your driving is even worse than your sports knowledge.”
“Just for that, I’m adding ‘smack Flex upside the head’ to my list of things to do once you get better.” I walked over to his nightstand and grabbed the remote before sitting on the bed next to him and shoving his legs to his side. “In the meantime, if I have to sit here for the next few hours listening to you puke yourself insides out, I’m going to watch a movie.”
Flex groaned. “No. Not a chick flick.”
I turned the television on and searched his cable selections for the sappiest, girliest movie I could find. “You should have thought about that before you ruined my date.”
Flex lifted his head. “You were on a date?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Even though I had no right to be offended, I was. His surprise made me feel like my status as a crazy old cat lady was a foregone conclusion. Which was really unfair because if I was being honest, I didn’t particularly like Couch Cat.
“With who?”
I paused for a moment, and I wasn’t sure why. Just because I admitted to my friend that I was on a date, that didn’t mean I was making any lifelong promises. I liked Trace. I enjoyed spending time with him. There was nothing wrong with that. And I knew that Flex would understand that, but I wasn’t sure that my brain did.
“Trace.” I had to force his name past my lips. Which was ridiculous because I’d spent all day with him in a very public place. Not to mention how intimate I’d been with him last night in my bedroom.
“Trace Stone? The Trace Stone?” Flex sounded happy despite the fact that his face was mere feet from a puke bucket.
“You’re so weird,” I told him.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist Blaze pizza and a strawberry smoothie.” He sounded way too pleased with himself.
“I knew you sold me out.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
Flex doubled over for a moment clutching his stomach, closing his eyes. When the nausea passed without another round of retching, he spoke again. “Why are you making him work so hard? It’s Trace Stone.”
“If you like him so much, why don’t you date him?” I scoffed.
“Trust me, if I had a vagina, I would offer it up first chance I got.”
I cringed. “Ugh. Move over. I think I need the bucket.”
Flex managed to laugh. “I’m serious. That guy could have any girl he wants, and for some reason, he wants you.”
I elbowed him in the bicep. “What do you mean for some reason? You’re supposed to be my friend and tell me lies about how wonderful I am.”
He fluffed up a pillow and shoved it under his head. “Look, I love you, you know I do. But you have to admit that you don’t have the best track record with guys.”
I folded my arms over my chest and bit the inside of my lip. “You know why.”
Flex flung his arm across his eyes and took a few deep breaths, his body going taut with what I assumed was another biting stomach pain. When it was gone, he turned his face to the side so he could see me. “You’re not your mom, Harley. Don’t punish yourself for her mistakes.”
“I’m not—”
“I don’t want to argue. I’m going to take a nap.” He turned his face to the other side.
I could take a hint. “Good. I hope you don’t mind if I watch The Notebook then.”
He groaned in protest which sounded a lot like, “Noooooo.”
My grin was semi-evil as I turned the volume up so he’d be able to hear every single word. “Sometimes the most important lessons are the hardest ones,” I told him. “Think about this movie the next time you even think about putting crap in your body.”
Sappy, romantic music filled the room, and I settled in to enjoy a good movie and Flex’s suffering.
— HARLOW —
18. PIE A LA MODE
October 10, 2016
COUCH CAT STRIKES AGAIN by Harlow Ransom
There is a supervillain on the loose, and her name is Couch Cat. She entered Harlow Ransom’s life like an ancient Greek, using a Craig’s List couch as her own Trojan Horse. Since then, Couch Cat has turned an otherwise intelligent woman into a scatterbrained slave. This insidious villain could open the gates of hell any time she wishes and destroy Harlow with just a thought, but instead, she chooses to keep the human around for her personal amusement. When Harlow steps out of line, Couch Cat is there to remind her exactly who’s boss and punishes her accordingly.
Although this force of evil is dangerous, authorities have confirmed that Couch Cat poses no risk to anyone but Ms. Ransom herself. When asked if she would consider having Couch Cat removed so that she could return to a life of relative safety, Harlow cast a worried glance around her small apartment before answering. “You’ve got it all wrong. Couch Cat wouldn’t hurt me.”
This reporter pointed out half a dozen incidents involving Couch Cat that resulted in injury to Harlow.
“Oh those?” she said, glancing nervously around again. “Those were just accidents.”
Denial doesn’t make the danger any less real. One can only hope Ms. Ransom will figure that out before it’s too late.
=========================
Oh my God. I forgot to make a list.
I dropped my bag next to the coffee table and looked around my apartment like I’d never seen it before.
Today was Monday, the first day of the week, and I hadn’t made a list. I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t made a list at some point during my morning
to remind me of all the things I had to do the rest of the day.
My dad was the one who’d gotten me obsessed with lists. After my mom left and Marlow and Willow were sent to live with their fathers on the other side of the country, I couldn’t function. I misbehaved at school, I lashed out at anyone and everyone, and I refused to come out of my room most of the time. My life spiraled out of my control, and I felt helpless.
And so my dad taught me how to write a list. How to make a plan.
“Pick goals,” he’d said. “And write them down. Make them real. That way you know what you’re working toward. You know what you want. You can take control of your life.”
In the aftermath of my mother’s disappearing act, I found comfort in my lists. There was a huge sense of satisfaction in being able to cross things off and soon I was putting even the smallest of tasks on there just so I had a chance to draw a line through them.
It wasn’t until I realized that all those stories in my head could actually become something big for my master list that I found my true calling. Journalism. It was something I could invest my time in. Something that could be mine if I just worked hard enough for it. I’d never have to worry about it leaving me for something better.
I knew that most people thought my lists were ridiculous, but it was because of them that I’d finally found my focus.
Was I losing it now?
My gaze stopped as it found one of my throw pillows in the middle of the floor—eviscerated.
Shit. Clearly, I’d also forgotten to feed Couch Cat before I left for classes.
As I took in the carnage of her violent attack on my living room decor, I had to suppress a shudder wondering if we were now even, or if the pillow was merely a warning and she’d get true revenge on me later while I slept.
I was totally locking my bedroom door tonight.
Picking up the remains of the pillow, I warily made my way into the kitchen to throw it away and get Couch Cat some food.
What was going on with me? My excessively organized mind was on strike, and my routine was shot to shit. The only thing I’d been able to concentrate on all day was seeing Trace again. After the way we’d left things yesterday, I was anxious to see him. Eager even.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 18