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Uh-oh. Even though Monica seems amiable, I can’t tell if I’m in trouble or not.
“Yeah, I might have mentioned that,” I say uneasily. “Should I not have done that?”
She breaks out into a grin and gives me a friendly tap on the arm. “No, no, I think it’s great. I mean, I really do. That’s why I’m here. Harrison mentioned it in passing, as if he either expected me or wanted me to say no. I just wanted to talk to you first, to make sure the offer was still there and you were serious.”
“Definitely. I thought it would be fun.”
“Good. Then I’ll tell him he has to go.”
I put my hand up. “Wait, wait. I don’t want him to have to go. I thought maybe he wanted to.”
She cocks her head and gives me a wry look. “He doesn’t know what he wants or what’s good for him. Listen, I’m close with Harrison, and there’s a few things you should know. He has never, ever asked for time off. Even when Eddie insists, Harrison is still on in some aspect. He’s never had a vacation. He’s never dated anyone, not in a serious relationship, anyway.”
“I’m not dating him,” I interject. “This isn’t a date.”
“One-night stands, maybe,” she goes on, ignoring me. “I don’t talk to him about that.”
“It’s not a date or a one-night stand,” I repeat, even though the thought of him having a one-night stand with someone else makes my chest feel all flustered.
“Oh, Piper, I know that. He knows that. I’m just saying, he doesn’t go out and doesn’t get to live his life. We’re his life. And I know that’s the way he thinks it has to be because of his job, but it’s not true. One of the reasons we insisted on Harrison coming with us when we moved is because we thought this would be good for him. He had to be at the height of surveillance in England. There were threats everywhere. We knew coming here was the only chance for all of us to breathe.”
“I take it he’s like family to you.”
“He is. And if I’m being his meddling substitute mother right now, I don’t care. Just tell me when you want him to come by.”
“Monica, Duchess, with all due respect, I don’t want Harrison to come if he’s going to be miserable.”
“If you haven’t noticed, he’s always miserable. At least he’ll be out of our hair. Don’t we deserve a break too?”
What can I say to that?
“So what time?” she presses.
“Uh, I guess in a half hour? An hour?”
“He’ll be here in a half hour.”
And with that she gives me a quick wave and then leaves.
I give myself exactly three seconds to mouth what the fuck to myself, and then I’m hurrying back inside the house.
“What did she want? Why didn’t she come in?” my mother asked.
“Can’t talk, gotta get ready,” I tell her as I run straight to the bathroom. I run the shower and hop in, the old pipes groaning loudly as the hot water kicks on. If this is actually happening, there is no way I’m showing up to the Blowhole looking less than a one-hundred-percent fine-ass bitch. If I’m showing up to the bar and Joey with Harrison at my side, I’m going all out.
At the very least, I need good hair for once, so I spend what feels like forever blow-drying it straight, then quickly put on some makeup, a little heavier on the eyes this time, with shining highlighter you’d be able to see across a bar. Then I’m scrambling in my towel across the living room, over to my bedroom, and quickly riffling through my clothes. I slip on skinny jeans and am just pulling a slinky black tank top over my head when there’s a knock at the door.
I’ve been rushing so fast, I haven’t even had time to feel anxious, but now it’s hitting me like a freight train. I know I have no reason to feel nervous, but my body is just full-blown butterflies at this point.
It’s not a date. He’s doing this as a favor. He doesn’t even want to go.
I take in a deep breath even though it does nothing to calm my racing heart, and I head over to the door.
Of course my mother beats me to it.
“Hello?” she says as she opens the door. “Mr. Cole. You seem different. My goodness. Your tattoos. Look at them all. Why would you do that to yourself?”
Oh god.
I can’t see Harrison from where I’m standing, only hear him. “Is Piper here?” he asks, his voice as cool and calm as ever, even with my mother running her mouth off about his tattoos (she hates tattoos so much, it’s a wonder that I never got one out of spite).
My mom frowns. “Yes, she’s here.” Then she turns and looks over at me standing outside my bedroom, and her eyes narrow as she looks me up and down. “You’re all dressed up. Where are you going? What’s happening?”
