9. Harrison

It’s a two-hour drive to Jacksonville, and sure we could have come down the morning of the reading, but with how nervous he gets, I figured getting a good night’s sleep would go a long way. I didn’t expect Gordon to rush upstairs and go ask him then and there. I just wanted him to know the reason I was suggesting it. Besides, Arlo is the one that has to agree, not his brother. I get that he can be a little clumsy, but Gordon has to stop treating him like a child that has to be managed. I’m sure he can look after himself. I mean, at least could, when he wasn’t in a cast.

Overhearing him calling me sexy, well that just made the call totally worth the lecture Gordon gave me about keeping my hands to myself.

I text Arlo.

HARRISON: I booked us a hotel online, and I’ll be at your place to pick you up Thursday at four.

ARLO: Thanks. Did you want to stop for dinner on the way or just grab a bite when we get there? I guess we could get room service.

HARRISON: Whatever you like is cool with me. Have you started on your next book yet? Any new sketches to share with me?????

The three dots appear and then disappear, and I stare at the phone longer than I probably should waiting for his reply. Just when I think it’s not coming, the dots are back, and then his text comes through.

ARLO: I’ve started on a few, but nothing I can share yet. See you Thursday.

HARRISON: ***Thumbs Up Emoji***

***

I reach for Arlo’s bag, but he shakes his head and carries it to the truck himself, so I open the door for him and then make my way round to the driver”s side.

“Ready?” he asks, climbing in and putting on his seat belt. He’s holding a notebook and pencil in his hands.

“Did you bring some sketches?” I ask, and he laughs.

“This is for my notes.”

“Notes on what?”

“You’re teaching me to flirt, remember.”

“You’re going to take notes?”

“Sure, how else will I be able to study and make sure I know it all?”

I try my best to contain my smile, start the engine, and pull out of the drive.

“Okay, well we have two hours to Jacksonville, let‘s see how much of that notebook we can fill.”

“Ready,” he says, flipping open to the first lined page and writing a number one. “Go.”

“Okay, first rule of flirting, you aren”t trying to be someone else, so just be yourself.”

“That can’t be a rule. I’ve been myself for years and it’s gotten me a total of zero dates and one ex-boyfriend who was using me to get a commission.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He shakes his head.

“Nope, he was my agent for a while. He set up the first meeting with this publishing house, and then once he had his commission check, he ghosted me. So being myself, not really working out for me.”

“Just because the last guy was a dick doesn”t mean there was anything wrong with you. It’s still number one. Write it down,” I say, nodding toward his notepad.

“Alright, but trust me, geeky redheads with no charisma aren”t exactly guy bait.”

“Trust me, pretending to be someone else won’t help you in the long run. If you got a guy pretending to be someone else, you’d then have to continue to pretend the entire time you are with them. Nope, too hard, and totally not worth the effort it takes to play the part. The goal of flirting is to highlight who you are to the people who want to see you. Not the dicks who don’t get you.”

He nods and writes it down, but I can tell he doesn”t believe me. He doesn’t see that he is amazing, and sweet and kind and creative and that is what will attract the right guy.

I want the same thing. To attract the right guy for me. A guy who will want to get to know me, not just fuck my brains out.

“Alright, what’s rule two?” Arlo asks with a smile that lights up his whole face.

“Smile easily and often.”

“Smile?”

“Yep.” His smile grows wider, reaching his eyes, and they do that sparkle thing they do that instantly has my lips mirror his expression. “Just like that is perfect. See? I can’t help but smile back. So yeah, look at the guy and smile.”

He turns his attention to the notepaper.

“Okay. Umm, what else?”

I try to think of what else I can tell him about flirting. I could go through some of my cheesy pickup lines that have worked in the past, but I don’t think that he would really want to be going up to a guy and telling him how good his outfit would look on his floor in the morning light. Nope, not telling him that one. But what else do I do to flirt besides offering up sex through innuendo? “Oh, touching,” I say, and he drops his pencil.

“What?” he asks, leaning forward to try to find it on the floor.

“You can touch the guy. Like a light touch on the arm, or hand brush, or when sitting opposite them or beside them, your foot or knee can softly touch under a table or something.”

“Really, I can just go up and touch someone?”

I laugh. “You don’t go up and grope them, but if you’re at the bar and his hand is on his glass, when you put your glass down you can do it just close enough that the back of your hand brushes lightly against his. If he’s into you, he’ll leave his hand where it is or start up a conversation. If he’s not, he’ll move his hand or walk away.”

“I think I’d be more likely to spill my drink all over him, and then he’ll take a swing at me for ruining his pants or shoes or something.”

What the fuck? I look over at him. “Tell me that never actually happened?”

“Sort of. Not the getting punched part, but the drink on a guy’s lap and shoes, maybe once or twice, or seven times.”

His cheeks flame, and he moves his attention back to the page and jots it down, and I turn my attention back to the road.

“Well, if a guy spilled his drink on me, I’d just tell him, that’s one way to get me out of my pants in a hurry, and offer to buy him a new one.”

“That there, that kind of flirting, I need to know that,” he says, and I see him scribbling the line down in the notebook out of the corner of my eye.

“You don’t need cheesy pickup lines.”

“But I want them. Knowing what to say to make light of an awkward as fuck situation like that is exactly what I need. What else have you got?”

This is not what I wanted, but if he thinks it will help, I guess I can give him a couple of lines. Just a few more tame ones maybe.

“What other awkward situations have you got?”

He sits a little straighter, pencil at the ready.

“There was a time that I tripped over a guy”s foot, and he grabbed me just before I fell over.”

“You could have said, wow, the saleswoman was right, this cologne really does help you catch a handsome stranger.”

“That would have been so much better than what I said.”

“What did you say?”

“I think it was something like thanks, my floor nearly smashed the face.”

I laugh. “That’s not terrible.”

He raises his brows and tilts his head slightly to the side. The warm hue of the setting sun shines across the freckles on his skin making him look like he’s covered in a soft glittery glow.

“It was humiliating. Okay, what was it again, saleswoman, cologne, handsome, stranger, yep got it. Okay, give me more. What about if you see a guy at a bar you think is hot, how would you strike up a conversation? What line would you use, or lines, if you have a few options, that would be good?”

“Umm, I guess one I used to use a lot if I was making an introduction was, Hi, my name’s Harrison, but you can call me Harry, as long as you promise to call me.”

He giggles, and my face grows warm.

“That works?”

“I didn’t say it worked, but it broke the ice, and I guess that’s what any of those lines are trying to do.”

I glance over and see he’s written the line out word for word, except put his own name in place of mine and called himself AJ for short.

“Okay, next?”

I go through as many of the pickup lines that I can think of the whole way to Jacksonville, and we have a good laugh, and he writes each one down in his little notebook to review later like homework. I pull the truck up to the front of the hotel, and we climb out, grab our bags, and I pass the keys off to the valet, letting them know I’d need the truck at eight thirty in the morning tomorrow before heading inside.

“Booking for Roe and James,” I say to the woman at the concierge desk.

“No problem, Mr Roe. We’ve been expecting you. I’ll just grab your keys. Was it a nice drive?”

“It was good, thanks,” I say as she passes over a single black cardboard sleeve.

“Wonderful. Both cards are inside. Oh, lovely, we’ve upgraded you to a suite. You’re on the eleventh floor, room eleven nineteen.”

“And Mr James?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The room for Mr James. I booked for two people.”

“Yes, you did, you booked one room for two people.”

“Nooooo. I booked two rooms for two people.”

“I’m sorry but that’s not what it shows in the system.”

“We need two rooms. Can you just book us another one? He can have the suite, I’m happy with a standard room.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Roe, but we’re completely full.”

“What’s wrong?” Arlo asks, joining me at the desk.

“There’s only one room,” I say, my chest going tight.

“One room but two beds, right?”

I look at the woman behind the desk, her light blue eyeliner highlighting the blue in her eyes, and her bright red lips turn down into a frown.

“I’m afraid not. There is a couch,” she says, and Arlo picks up the keycard sleeve from the counter.

“I can sleep on the couch. You can have the bed. It’s fine,” Arlo says, and I spin toward him.

“You’re taking the bed. You’re the one with a big day tomorrow. The whole idea of coming here tonight was so you would have a good night’s sleep before the reading, you get the bed.”

“It is a king size, maybe you could share?” the woman says, and my cheeks are immediately on fire.

“We’ll sort it out. Thanks,” I say, grabbing my and Arlo’s bags and heading for the elevator. I press the up button over and over but the light only flashes and won’t stay on.

“I think you need the card,” Arlo says, tapping the room key over a black pad below the buttons and then hitting up. It illuminates and stays that way until the elevator chimes and the doors open.

“I’m sorry,” I say as they close, and he laughs.

“It’s one way to get me alone in a hotel room,” he replies with a chuckle.

Oh god, he doesn’t think I did this on purpose, does he? I stare at him, my mouth going dry.

“How was that for a line?” he asks, stepping out of the elevator onto the eleventh floor and turning to smile at me, chest out, proud, happy, and too fucking adorable.

“Umm, perfect. But you know, I—”

“I know. Now come on. Let’s check out this suite and order room service. I’m starving.”