Chapter 6

When I get home, I rush through the shower and do a quick clean-up of the house, not that it was messy before, but I don't want to make a bad impression on Harlow.

Harlow: Be there in fifteen minutes.

Me: The door is unlocked, so just come in when you get here.

I dig through my cabinets, hoping I have something I can quickly pull together to make an acceptable meal for tonight. I should have picked something up in town, but that would have defeated the whole "let me make you dinner" thing. Then again, I guess not having something ready will have the same result. Finally, I find a box of spaghetti noodles and a jar of sauce. I quickly put a pot of water on the stove before heading back to the sink and filling a pitcher with water. I add some powdered lemonade to the water in the pitcher and stir it up before putting it in the fridge. Hopefully, Harlow likes lemonade because I don't have much else to drink.

The water starts to boil, and I add the noodles just as I hear a gentle knock on the door before Harlow's soft hello drifts through the house.

"Back here," I yell, hoping she'll follow my voice and make her way to the kitchen.

"Hey." She sounds so quiet and unsure. I look up and smile. She looks so fucking beautiful. She changed into a pair of skin-tight jeans and a tank that dips down in the front, giving just a peek at the skin I want to touch and taste again.

"I hope spaghetti is okay." I stir the noodles to keep my hands busy so I don't reach out and try to touch her hair that is down and hanging over her shoulders. Her brown eyes are so bright, and she looks happy and more relaxed than when I left her at the studio.

"What happened to the super fancy and complicated meal?" Her eyes are sparkling with restrained laughter.

"Spaghetti is very complicated. You have to make sure the noodles are cooked to perfection, otherwise they're too hard or too mushy."

My chest tightens at the sound of her laughter. This version of Harlow is so much better than the stressed and hurt version I remember from the rehearsal dinner and wedding weekend that followed.

"Can I get you a drink? I have some lemonade, water, and probably a couple of beers in the fridge." I put the spoon down and lean against the counter.

"Lemonade would be great, thanks. You didn't have to do this, Hendrix." Her eyes meet mine, and I don't want to turn away. I don't want to break the connection, but I do grabbing a glass and filling it with lemonade for her.

I drain the noodles before placing them back on the stove and adding the sauce to save time and dishes to wash later.

I grab a couple of plates out of the cabinet and scoop us each up some spaghetti and put the plates out at the bar for us to eat. I watch Harlow out of the corner of my eye, both of us eating and not really saying anything.

"Okay, this is a little ridiculous. We can have bathroom sex at a rehearsal dinner and again in your room, but we can't find dinner conversation?"

I drop my fork on my plate and groan at the truth of her statement and not at all at the memory of her lips on mine. Okay that's a lie, maybe a little—a lot—from thinking about her lips on mine.

"First, don't mention the bathroom incident if you want me to be a gentleman, second, you're absolutely right."

I watch her eyes darken and her breathing become heavier. I cannot think about the fact that she's referring to what happened last week. My pants grow uncomfortably tight. I reposition myself on the barstool, hoping to find some comfort without letting her know that she is seriously turning me on just from the look on her face.

"I think you know how I feel about gentlemen and proper behavior."

"Are you settling in alright?" I ask, changing the subject, hoping to find an easy and safe topic.

"I am. I'm just ready to get the studio open and start paying my own bills again. I hate that I've had to resort to living with my dad. It's like being in high school again. I feel like I'm going to get grounded for being out too late."

I chuckle. "Truth. I lived with him for a short time while I was looking for a place last year."

"You have a great place here, a lot of privacy."

"I wanted to be far enough away from town that I didn't feel like I was living in a fishbowl. There is also a really great lake at the back of the property that my dad and I spend a lot of time at when my parents come to town.

"Am I allowed to ask how you're doing with the breakup? I know it has to be hard on you, moving back and giving up everything you worked for there. I know we're just having fun together, but I also care about you and want to know how you're really doing."

"I'm doing better every day, I no longer miss him and I am definitely over him. I think a lot of it now is wondering how I could have been so blind to what was really going on."

"How'd you find out?" When I lift my gaze up to her, she isn't looking at me, her eyes are focused on the window above the sink. "You don't have to answer. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. I was at the grocery store, picking up his favorite ice cream because it was his birthday. A woman started a conversation with me. She told me it was her husband's favorite flavor too. She knew who I was. She started talking about him, and the more she said about him, the more I felt sick to my stomach. I mean, she was telling me why it was his favorite ice cream and how it reminded him of his childhood. By the time she was done talking, I thought I was going to lose my lunch right there in the freezer section. I handed her the ice cream and told her I wished her husband the happiest of birthdays and practically ran out of the store."

My chest tightens, an uncomfortable feeling settling over me, one that I'm not used to.

"Want me to go beat the shit out of him? I'm sure it would be more for me than you at this point, but I'd be happy to do it." The pain in my chest loosens a bit when Harlow laughs, my words hitting the intended goal.

"As sweet and slightly barbaric as that offer is, I think I'll pass."

"You sure?" I stand up, pushing my sleeves up like I'm looking for a fight.

The sound of her laughter hits me straight in the gut, and I want nothing more than to swallow that sound, enticing other sounds from her mouth.

"If I let you, or anyone for that matter, go after him for what he did, then I'm letting him win. Giving him the satisfaction of knowing what he did caused enough pain for me to change my life is like telling him he has all this power over me. I refuse to give him any more of me than he's already taken."

Harlow walks around, cleaning up her dishes before grabbing her purse off the counter. "I think it's probably best if I go. I don't think either of us are really in a good place right now to start something between us."

I nod, but I want to tell her she's wrong, that we are exactly where we should be, and that maybe starting something is what we need. That spending time with her at the rehearsal dinner and here tonight has made me smile more than I can remember doing in a long time.

"I understand not wanting to start something," I lie, "but we can still hang out, be friends, even maybe the kind of friends where clothing is optional."

Harlow groans, and I can't help but chuckle. She couldn't have thought I would let our night together go like it was nothing. That's the problem, it should have been nothing but a night between two people who had a little too much to drink, but I can't shake her.

"A gentleman wouldn't bring that up again."

"A gentleman wouldn't have licked champagne off your tits either, would he?" Her eyes widen, and I would bet anything it's more from the desire written on her face than from the shock of the words.

I want nothing more than to lay her out on the bar and devour her like my life depends on it. Rather than doing what I want, I go with the sensible answer. I give her my most innocent smile as I walk past her, heading toward the door. I'm not surprised when I hear the sound of her footsteps following me.