He looked over from where he peeled potatoes, a hand towel slung over his shoulder. I turned the screen so he could read it.
“You should go out,” he said. “I’ll get Collette down.”
“What part about me screams, ‘OMG karaoke!’?” I asked.
He snapped the towel at me. “You could use a night out. It was a rough day.”
“It was rough for you too,” I said, lowering my voice.
George threw a fit with Otis the OT and Harrison had to spend almost an hour talking him down. Harrison shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of nights out. Plus, it’s really unfair of me to do karaoke. I hate to make everybody else look bad.”
“Are all actors so humble?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
I chewed my lip, debating. “I’ll think on it.”
As it turned out, I didn’t have much of a choice. Harrison ended up conspiring with Brooks—I’m sure his call was the only call she wouldn’t balk at—and made plans for me to get out.
So here I sat, in my fanciest jeans and dress top, alone at the local bar, as I waited for Brooks. I nursed a spiked seltzer and hotly debated with myself if I should share with Brooks all the details of my recent adventures with Harrison. She would find my over-the-pants O an absolute delight. I could already hear her claiming to havefelt it. As though she could lay some sort of claim to the death of the crypt keeper.
But it was the other things I wasn’t so sure I wanted to share. It was one thing to laugh off an easy orgasm, but I couldn’t so easily explain the rest. How I seemed to notice everything about him, thought about him constantly. The way his arm muscles flexed as he spun Collette around the room as I pretended to hate it and told them to be careful not to break anything. Or his morning bedhead and sleepy smile when he tried to beat me to make coffee. He never did.
Every time I handed him his cup, he’d ask, “Was I close?”
“This close,” I’d pinch my fingers together when, really, I’d been up for an hour or more writing in the early silence of the house.
“Tomorrow, Iwillmake it first.”
“Sure.” I’d boop his nose and go back to work.
Or the way he almost always fell asleep reading to Collette at night, and I’d find them asleep in the same position, one arm flung over their faces. Or the way he talked to George about William, about the past, constantly reminding the older man of all the beautiful things in his life. Or the pride in his voice when discussing Charlie’s sobriety and Emma’s charitable endeavors. So very many things I noticed about Harrison. I wanted this man. More so than ever. I wanted him like I never wanted another person. And he told me that I could use him for whatever I needed. He made himself available to me.
I imagined him finding me in the hallway, pressing me against the wall, gasping my name into my neck as his hand reached into my pants. I imagined him visiting my room in the middle of the night to slip under my covers and bring me to orgasm with his mouth. I imagined him taking me from behind, one hand curled into my hair, one grasping my hip as he rocked into me, making me come. He’d have to cover my mouth to keep me quiet as he thrust into me slow and steady, bringing me to the brink as he rubbed my c—
Wait. That was three arms. Okay, I really did have a problem with adding extra arms.
“This seat taken?” a rich, familiar voice asked.
My heart jumped, feeling like I’d just manifested Harrison.
“Hank,” I said before I turned to see him standing in his cap and sunglasses. “Nice shades. Inside this bar. At night. Very incognito.”
“They’ll never know.” He took off his glasses and folded them before he slid into the stool next to me and his knees bumped mine. “Maybe too much with the shades.”
“Is everything okay with George and Collette?” I was already reaching for my bag to leave.
He gently settled me with a hand to my shoulder. “Everyone is fine. Brooks pulled a switcharoo. She insisted.”
I took a long pull of my drink, taking a moment to steady myself against the growing excitement of his unexpected company.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” In the months since the Watermelon Wine Festival, Brooks took back her warnings toward Harrison, pointing out that he was still here and that meant something. And after Joey, I didn’t disagree.
He looked sheepish. “I can be fun too.” He waved to the bartender to get their attention.
“Only if you just be you. No Hank,” I said, wanting the man I’d become close friends with, even though it felt silly to think of them as separate people.
He smiled. “Deal.” He looked me up and down, taking his time. “You look gorgeous, Francesca,” he said in his normal voice, and heat spread up my cheeks. He ordered a beer, then nudged me with his elbow. “Is this okay? Instead of Brooks?”
