For my part, it’s because I don’t want the night to end.
For Harper’s…
All I know is that she’s a million miles away again.
I turn into her apartment complex, start circling for a guest spot.
“You can park in mine,” she says. “Since my car is still at your place.”
Excellent.
That gives me an excuse to see her tomorrow.
“Perfect, thanks, Harp-tastic.” Her mouth curves as I pull in and park. Then I turn to her and say, “I’ll get your door.”
Soft hazel eyes on mine.
Fuck, I want to kiss her.
But tonight isn’t about that.
I get out, round the hood, and open her side, helping her out, not necessarily because she needs it, but because I like touching her.
Once she’s on her feet, I snag the bag from the back seat then walk with her up to her door.
She unlocks it, steps inside, and I follow her into the kitchen, setting Nonna’s delicious kindness on the counter so we can unpack it and put it away.
“Oh, my God,” Harper exclaims as I pull out container after container—two slices of lemon cake, containers of fresh minestrone soup, slabs (yes, legit slabs) of lasagna, and enough bread to feed an army.
“She even gave you some of that homemade butter with the herbs you raved over.”
It’s what made Nonna come over in the first place, catching Harp mid-exclamation of how the basil and garlic and salt all complement each other perfectly. Nonna was pleased and they got to talking about cooking and next thing I knew…we had a surrogate grandmother.
Who kicks ass in the leftover department.
“That woman is too much,” Harp lightly grouses as she stashes the containers in the fridge.
“I just hope this means I can bum some leftovers,” I tease.
She finishes tucking away the last container and closes the fridge door. “Or,” she says, her voice husky and wrapping like phantom fingers around my cock and stroking, “we could have it as a midnight snack.”
Thirty-One
Harper
“Or not,” I say quickly, something unpleasant churning in my stomach when my suggestion has him wincing.
“I want to, Harp,” he says, his tone so gentle that my stomach twists and bile begins to burn the back of my throat.
I tell myself not to take it personally. That we’re taking things slow, giving each other time.
But it still stings.
“Really, baby. I’m dying to stay.”
I take a step back and force a smile. “It’s okay,” I say. “I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.” He closes the distance between us and smooths back my hair. “Sex is easy for us. And beyond fucking good,” he rumbles in a way that has my nipples tightening against my bra.
