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Harley strolls into the kitchen wearing a form-fitted dress that hugs all of her magnificent curves, stopping below her knees. She sweeps her long blonde hair over her shoulder, oblivious to me as she glances down at The Philadelphia Inquirer on the counter. She flips through the pages in silence, most likely looking for a story about us. I expect that to be in today’s newspaper. Only the online venues covered the story so far.
Callie made us look like childhood sweethearts in her column, The Gossip Queen. She added a collage of pictures, starting with Harley and me at the San Diego Comic-Con when we were twelve. She went as Harley Quinn, her namesake, with the long blonde pigtails that had pink streaks in them. She looked exactly like the character, and of course, I went as the Joker. I had to dress as Harley’s counterpart in the comic books.
With her back turned to me, Harley scans each page carefully.
I fix her coffee and slide it in front of her. “We can get today’s paper on the way to the office. The one you’re reading is from the other day.”
She peeks up at me, and then she smiles when she takes the coffee from my hand.
“I’m assuming you still like your coffee with extra cream and two sugars.”
“Yeah,” she says between sips. “This is perfect. Thanks.”
“I made breakfast. I hope you still like your eggs over easy with wheat toast.”
She perks up, her eyes as wide as saucers. “You know me so well.”
“Not much has changed about you over the years.”
“Am I that predictable?”
I bob my head. “You’re a creature of habit.”
“I like my routines. They keep me on track.”
“Take a seat.” I tip my head toward the stools on the other side of the kitchen island.
She glances over at the plates I’m making for us and smiles, a real one for once. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”
“I’m taking this marriage seriously,” I admit.
“Good to know.” She sits behind the bar, digging her elbows into the marble and watches me as I slide a plate in front of her. Harley licks her lips. “Looks good. Thanks, King.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “We’re back to King now?”
She shrugs as I sit next to her. “No, I’m just used to calling you that.”
“We should probably go over how we’re going to act in public together. I think people in the office will find it strange if we call each other by our last names.”
She chews a mouthful of eggs and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Overtly sexual touching is still not okay,” she warns with a nasty look in her eyes. “That would be inappropriate in public whether this relationship was real or not. So, keep your hands to yourself, King.”
I smirk at her challenge. “I’ll save that for when we’re alone.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Grabby Hands.” She sips her coffee, regarding me. “I’m going to give this a try. I thought about what you said last night… and in my office. We used to be best friends. There’s no reason we can’t pretend this is like old times, the two of us playing a role in a game.”
I let out a relieved sigh and shovel more food into my mouth. The eggs are already getting cold. Harley’s almost finished with her breakfast.
She stuffs the last of her toast into her mouth, holding my gaze. When she finishes, she licks her bottom lip to sweep away the crumbs left behind. She doesn’t even realize how sexy that subtle movement is to me. Everything she does turns me on.
“I made a private appointment with the jeweler,” I tell her. “We’re meeting him after work.”
She sips her coffee, laughing into her cup. “I can’t believe you’re following through on the proposal.”
“You’ll get the wedding you want even if it kills me.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she says in a firm tone. “You’re not my Mr. Darcy, and you’re never going to be. We have to keep this friendly. Otherwise, I don’t know how we’ll make this marriage work. When we were younger, you were never this touchy. You never even tried to kiss me.”
“I thought about it.”
All. The. Damn. Time.
Harley pauses as if my confession has ruined her train of thought. A few minutes pass, where she finishes her coffee, unable to look at me.
Way to make this even more weird, Nate.
She bites the inside of her cheek. “You didn’t want to kiss me.”
“Yes, I did,” I challenge.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “How come you never tried back then?”
I roll my shoulders. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. It was too important to me. But if I had known we’d stop talking, I would have at least tried to kiss you. Just once. To say I did it.”
Harley remains silent, stuck in the same position with her fork raised midair.
