Only an asshole would try to take that away from her, and that’s not who I want to be to her. Harlow needs a fucking good guy, even if that means I need to drive her back to Chicago and say goodbye in front of the PHR corporate headquarters, knowing there’s a damn good chance there won’t be a place for me in her life after that.
The life she’d been so desperate to escape for a week. Ten days.
Fuck.
I spend the drive to the coffee shop telling myself it’s not over. That come Monday, she’ll want to continue from where we’re leaving off. That I’ll pick her up from work and she’ll throw her arms around my neck, telling me she missed me even though it’s only been a couple days. That it doesn’t matter that her petty, piece-of-shit father won’t approve of me based on my career choice alone. That even though Harlow has spent her entire life killing herself to impress this guy, she’ll still choose to give us a chance. Because she feels it too. Because this thing between us is different… it’s real.
And then I spend the ride back to the hotel telling myself to get my shit together and act like a fucking man because chances are good none of that is going to happen. Harlow is getting a shot at the one thing she’s always wanted, and I’m not going to get in her way.
No matter how hard it will be.
I get up to the room and, bracing with a supportive face that’s backed with a steely will usually reserved for going after what I want rather than letting it go, let myself in. Stop short, not understanding what I’m seeing.
“Where’s the coffee?” Harlow asks from within the still tangled sheets of our bed. Her hair is still a sexy sleep-mussed mess. She’s still swimming in my T-shirt, our clothes from the night before still scattered around the room.
There aren’t any bags. Just the woman I could feel slipping through my fingers, looking like she isn’t going anywhere.
I rub my hand over the spot in my chest that’s hammering harder than it did before my first NHL game.
“In the truck. With breakfast.” Water. Soda. Some snacks and, in case she wanted to try and sleep on the way back, one of those neck pillow things that people love but would straight-up strangle me. “You’re not packed.”
I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, she might only want to sleep another hour or so. She might—
Jesus, please be what it looks like.
Harlow
“I’m not leaving,” I say quietly, somehow more nervous than I was on the phone with my father. Wade doesn’t move and the anxiety that’s been building since he left ramps higher. What if he doesn’t want—
But then, he’s on me in a blink, pulling me hard against him, crushing me with his kiss. Telling me everything I need to know without words.
I cling to him, emotion choking me.
“Thought I was losing you,” he growls against my mouth, arms banded around my back, holding me so my bare feet dangle above the floor.
“No.”
Not when it feels like, for the first time in my life, I’m not missing what matters. I’m not alone.
“I was going to take you.” He lays me back on the bed, following me down. “Let you go if that’s what you needed.” He whips the shirt off my body and does the same with his clothes. Groans when we’re skin to skin. Then pulls back to meet my eyes. “Fuck, Harlow, it was going to kill me.”
I shake my head, run my fingers over his scruff. “I told him I couldn’t leave and I’d be there Monday.” And then the truth I need him to know. “I couldn’t leave you.”
“Just for this week?”
“What if it’s more than this week?” I ask softly.
His eyes close and then he kisses me again, so long and deep, when he stops, we’re tangled together. “So you’re mine, really mine?”
Mine.
No one has ever wanted me to be theirs. And the way this man does, so openly, so completely… it makes my heart ache so hard I can barely breathe through it.
Hands shaking, I trace the lines of his face. Slip my knee higher up his ribs. Inviting. “I’m yours.”
God, the sound he makes. It’s pure possessive relief.
And then he’s pushing inside me. Thick and long. Slow and gentle.
He fills my body the way he’s filling my heart. Completely. And when it feels like he’s given me all I can take, he says my name with quiet reverence… and gives me that much more.
We move together. Eyes locked. Bodies straining.
It’s beautiful.
It’s making love. My first time. And I never want to stop.
Chapter 22
Wade
She’s mine.
Knowing it—hearing her say it once should have been enough. But I’m like a damn addict, needing more, again, louder. Coaxing, teasing, and working it out of her… On my knees with her hands in my hair, her back against the door to our room, the taste of her coating my tongue. Her breathless cries falling like soft rain over my shoulders.
Against the shower wall, while I give her my cock so slow and good. She says it twice.
On. The. Pull-out.
I give her everything I have. Almost everything.
I want to tell her how hot and sweet she is. I want her to hear how she makes me feel. That nothing has ever been so good. But I don’t dare say a damn word, because if I open my mouth when we’re that close, when I can feel her heart beating against mine… I’m going to tell her something it’s too soon to say.
Something that when she hears it the first time, I want her to believe with her whole heart and never doubt.
Eventually, we make it out to the truck and the abandoned travel smorgasbord.
“You really went all out,” she says with the kind of soft, satisfied smile I’d like to keep on her lips for the next fifty years or so.
But when she tries to reach for the hours-cold coffee in her drink holder, I swat her hand away. “No. This one’s no good.” Fucking tainted with heartbreak, and she’s not getting one sip.
I collect every single thing I bought before dawn including the neck pillow. I even take the charger I’d plugged in for her phone, and I dump the entire lot of it into the trash bin by the lobby door.
When I get back, Harlow’s staring at me like I’m out of my mind. But I just slide into my seat, take her hand in mine, and lean over to kiss her. Quick. Because the sun’s up and my gorgeous Good Girl was already embarrassed by the noise we made earlier.
I should feel guilty, but fuuuck, once I found that spot that made her scream… no way was I giving that up.
“You get fresh coffee and a hot breakfast.”
She’s still playing with my knuckles. Damn, that’s nice. “When are we supposed to be at your mom’s?”
Half an hour ago, but I already texted that we were running late. “After I get you fed.”
Harlow
I keep waiting for the nerves. The uncertainty. The looming sense of dread that always accompanies the slightest hint of resistance to my father’s dictates. But it doesn’t come. Not at eight, when I was supposed to be at work. Not through breakfast. Not once Wade parks me in his high school bedroom and tells me to get some sleep while he and his parents run a few last errands.
It’s like, for the very first time, every single part of me is in agreement on what it wants. Like I know what matters most… and I’m not worried about losing it.
Wade’s bed is comfortable and soft, the blue plaid comforter smells like fresh laundry. I barely remember lying down, but when I open my eyes, the light in the room is different and there’s a weight at the foot of the bed.
For a heartbeat, I think it’s Wade. But no.
I sit up fast. “Kelsey, what are you doing in here?”
She’s sitting with her knees tucked neatly together, eyes rimmed in red, and a tragic smile on her face.
“When you first got here, I didn’t know what to think. Wade never brings girls home. And I didn’t really see—” She takes a breath and holds up her hands with a helpless laugh. �
�I thought, she’s all wrong. It can’t last. I even let myself think maybe you weren’t really together. But I see it now.”
Her being in here while I’m sleeping is beyond inappropriate, and it isn’t even close to the oversteps she’s taken with Wade. But more than ever, I can understand why Kelsey hasn’t been able to get over Wade. If I lost him, I’m not sure I could.
I wouldn’t be like this, but I feel for her.
“I care about him very much.” I love him. It took me by surprise, but there it is. And while I’m sure, the first time I say those words, it will be to him.
A nod, and she pushes up from the bed. Walks to the bookcase filled with trophies and medals. “He deserves someone who will love him. Through thick and thin. I thought it could be me.” A fresh tear slips free. “But he wants it to be you.”
“I’m sorry, Kelsey.” What else is there to say?
“Me too.” And then with a last sad smile, she leaves the room.
I take a minute to absorb what just happened. I hear the front door close and then the sound of an engine turning over. The house is quiet and when I make my way downstairs, there’s a note on the kitchen table.
Kelsey’s getting ready at a friend’s.
When I text Wade, he calls me back within seconds.
“She was sitting on the bed?”
He sounds pissed.
“It was weird, definitely. But, Wade… I think your fake girlfriend plan actually worked.”
“Real girlfriend. You agreed. You’re mine.” His voice drops to a seductive whisper that stirs another needy ache low in my center. How is that even possible? “But I’m happy to leave my parents with the chair rental truck and come back there to remind you, Good Girl.”
“Don’t abandon your parents, please. I want them to like me. But feel free to remind me again once you’re back.”
He growls through the line and I practically float into the living room.
“Wade, I’m serious, though. Maybe this was exactly what you were hoping with Kelsey. Maybe she needed to see you with someone else.”
“Maybe she needed to see me with you.”
My heart warms. “Maybe you should hurry back here. See if we can sneak off for an hour before the rehearsal.”
There’s some rustling from his end, like he might be covering the phone. Then a muffled, “Dad, let’s wrap it up… tell Mom I’ll buy her both.” Then more clearly, “On my way.”
Turns out the hour we were hoping for ends up being more like ten minutes. But they’re ten minutes I put to good use getting Wade to tell me emphatically, repeatedly, and interspersed with a string of unintelligible cursing, that he’s mine.
Who knew a girl could get such a power trip being on her knees?
We make it to the farm for the rehearsal with a few minutes to spare. Janie’s family is fussing over her and Walt in their matching Bride and Groom T-shirts. There are cousins on ladders stringing LED lanterns around the grove that borders the clearing where the tables will be set up. And the Gradys are all smiles and hugs as we walk over to where some relation on one side or the other is coordinating the dry run.
I step off to the side where a smattering of dates hang back, watching as the bridesmaids and groomsmen are paired up and given instructions.
There’s a tiny blond girl with bright blue eyes running around like an adorable terror. And when Wade catches her on her next pass, parking her in the crook of his arm… well, that is some potent stuff.
I don’t notice that Janie’s come up beside me until she pulls me away from the group.
“Janie, this place is amazing,” I say, meaning it completely.
She nods, looking around. But when her eyes cut back to mine, there’s apology in them. “Harlow, when we started planning this, I had no idea Wade was dating someone.” I find Wade across the clearing and immediately know what she’s referring to.
He’s standing a polite distance away from Kelsey, but they are definitely paired up.
Janie bites her lip. “If I’d had any idea how she would behave when he brought someone home, I would never have—”
“Janie, no. Seriously, don’t give it a second thought. Kelsey and I are fine.” Mostly. Fine enough, anyway. “It’s all good. Promise. Now get up there.”
She gives my hand a squeeze. “Pay attention. This could be you guys in not too long.”
The rehearsal goes off without a hiccup, and the dinner after is at a local barbecue place where Janie and Walt had their first date. I catch Bill wiping a tear from the corner of his eye when Walt stands up and gives a speech about why he’s so lucky to be marrying Janie. Grace beams and Wade squeezes my hand, giving me a look that makes me believe anything is possible.
Back at the hotel, I sleep in Wade’s arms and wake up to him peppering kisses across my body.
Saturday is a day of smiles and joyful tears, dancing, and laughter. A day that ends with Wade loving me right on into the next morning and me wondering how this can be my life.
And then our ten days is over.
Chapter 23
Wade
Harlow spends most of the ride back to Chicago handling email from her phone. We have lunch at a dive known for their cinnamon rolls and hold hands across the table, talking about the wedding. We stop at the gas station where we had our first practice run at the physical stuff and end up making out in the truck until someone honks and we remember where we are.
It’s pretty excellent.
But nothing beats that moment when we cross into city limits and Harlow asks me if I’ll stay the night with her. Hell, yes, I will.
I stay that night and the next, and the next after that, Nettie comes over with a bottle of wine and a sleeve of Pringles, which she devours as Harlow gives her the highlights reel of our trip and fake-to-really-real relationship. Or the PG version anyway.
She’s back at work, happy to be doing the job that should have been hers from the start. I ask about her dad, but she hasn’t actually seen him since she’s been back.
My guess, he’s being a prick because she didn’t drop everything to come running the second he called.
Probably a good thing we’re planning to give it some time before I meet him.
For now, my off-season life is getting back to normal.
Harlow left for work an hour ago and I’m getting an early workout in with the guys. “Grady, put a few pounds on the bar. Christ, Piper could lift more than that.” Piper is Boomer’s little sister, and he’s talking shit because I lift a fuck-ton more than he can. Not that that’s ever stopped the guy. “The sport drink guys are gonna yank your endorsement with those girlie arms.”
“Uh-huh.” The sport drink guys flew in to meet with me yesterday and asked how few clothes I’d be willing to wear in their ads. I think I’m okay.
The only thing giving me hives is my Slayers contract. My agent, Pete Greer, says not to sweat it. They’re offering, it’s just a matter of the details. The guy’s been at this a long time, so I believe him, but still. I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when the ink is dry and I’m celebrating with Harlow over a bottle of bubbly.
I move in beside Bowie for squats, and we’re talking about how strange it’s going to be to play next season without Popov and whether anyone’s heard anything more about Baxter when my phone pings with an alert. And then another and another. The guys set their weights down, same as me. My gut goes off because there shouldn’t be anything to report until I sign.
Then it comes. Pete’s ringtone, and I sweep up my phone, heart pounding. This is what I’ve been waiting for. What I’ve been working for.
“Hey, man, my phone’s blowing up. What’s going on?”
Before he answers, the guys’ phones start to ping and vibrate too.
Axe mutters a weighted curse and holds up his phone to show me.
And my world comes crashing down around me.
“Oh fuck.” I need to find Harlow. Now.
Harlow
The workday has ba
rely begun, and I’ve already got two people in my office with two more waiting outside the door.
I don’t know what Junior spent his time on before his accident, but it wasn’t this job. He ordered business cards and stationery—there’s a ton of it. And pens. Fountain pens from Mont Blanc. But the flagged wire transfers that have been moving up the line stopped with him, along with pretty much every other request that’s come through in the past two weeks.
I found a pad with some notes I can barely read, not that it would have mattered since, after about three lines, he started sketching a woman in a bikini with her breasts spilling out of her scanty top.
This is the guy my father chose over me. I’m trying to be sympathetic, but it’s a challenge. Junior’s in rehab in Aspen. I called to check on him Sunday, but he had a massage scheduled so he couldn’t talk to me directly. From what Amber relayed during the brief call, he was bored but fine. And he wanted me to know that I could keep my job because it “sucked.”
Carrie and Tim are still working down their lists when there’s a hard rap on my door and my father’s assistant ducks in.
“Dan, what can I do for you?”
His cheeks are red, thinning hair spiked like he’s sweating. “Harlow, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Philip needs you in his office.”
I blink. “Sure, of course. Let me wrap things up here and—”
He gives a sharp shake of his head. “He said now.”
And now Dan’s not the only one with a red face. I excuse myself, trying to ignore the too-polite smiles and then the wide-eyed exchanges between coworkers as I follow, then follow faster through the corridors.
When I get to Philip’s office, I smooth my hands over my suit and hair. But taking a second to compose myself takes too long, and my father’s voice snaps from beyond his door.
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