Page 8 of Tanner

What was his name again?

“Harper?” A deep voice barrels through me.

My eyes widen for a different reason, and April is now giving an evil glare to something … someone behind me.

I turn around and look at the man who had me crying into my pillow every night.

“Aaron.” My mouth is a quivering mess from the mix of hurt and anger.

His hair is combed back in the way I absolutely hate. He looks like a sleaze-ball, but it’s the way he dresses now that he’s been promoted at work. Still, he smells like the cologne I bought him for Christmas, and he’s wearing the tie I once wore with nothing else to help him get over a bad day at work.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

What am I doing here?

Trying to get over you, I want to say. Getting off the futon for the first time in a month.

What am I doing here?

Looking for a “suit” to bring home for a one-night stand, so I can get over your sorry ass.

What am I doing here?

Getting kissed by a man who, for the first time, made me think that maybe, just maybe, there is life after an awful breakup.

“I’m leaving,” I say with a nod and then search around me—for what, I’m not sure. It’s like I have to get my bearings.

“The 4 train,” the guy behind me says. Ryan, I think his name is. I turn around to hear him say, “He’s probably walking toward Lexington.”

April grabs my clutch off the bar and pushes it into my chest.

Right. Okay.

I brush past Aaron and scurry through the crowd and out the door. Outside, I have to decide which direction he could have walked toward Lexington. I choose the nearest corner and cross the street, more hazardously than I usually would. My shoes aren’t meant for walking quickly. I am going to have blisters in the morning.

I see his tall frame ahead of me. His blond hair is pulled back in that man bun, and his hands are buried deep in his pockets. He’s walking down the stairs toward the subway going uptown. I follow him down.

He swipes his subway card in the turnstile and goes through. I start to go through myself, but I realize I don’t have a MetroCard.

Crap.

“Wait!” I call out to him, my belly hitting the metal of the turnstile barrier.

He hears me and slowly turns around. His eyes crinkle at the sight of me standing here … stuck.

“You need to pay to get through,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know that. Hold on. Let me get my card, and then I’ll come through.” I step back to go to the nearby machine to get a pass, but he starts walking away. “Where are you going?”

He turns around again. “The train is coming. I’m going to get on it.”

“No. Wait!” I call out. “I want to talk to you.”

A slow, closed-mouthed smile builds on his lips, and he laughs lightly to himself. “Oh, so now, you want to talk. Sorry, babe, go find a suit who cares.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask in disbelief.

He walks closer, just to the other side of the barrier. “I get it. I’m not your type. You want a meal ticket, a guy in a suit, not a guy like me.”