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“Just going to the bar. Don’t worry about it,” I tell her.
“You can’t drink and drive.”
“I’m having one drink, I promise.”
“Is this a date?”
Oh. GOD. Did she not hear the conversation I had with Monica?
I shake my head vehemently and gesture for her to get away from the door. “No. Not a date. We’re just going to the bar. Okay?”
She exchanges a glance with Liza and then sulks away, back to the couch.
I go to the door, ready to run before she says something else.
And I hardly believe my eyes.
Harrison is wearing a fitted black T-shirt that shows off the tattoos on his arms and charcoal-gray jeans and dark work boots. He’s so ruggedly dressed down that I hardly recognize him, though of course he’s wearing his aviators. He wouldn’t be Harrison without them.
To say he looks hot is an understatement. He looks ridiculously hot. Like, a whole other level of handsome, a whole other league of gorgeousness. For once I’m looking at him not as a bodyguard extraordinaire to the royals but as a man who has turned my ovaries into a ticking time bomb, a man who makes me want to climb him like a jungle gym, turn him into a ride I never want to get off.
Except that I do want to get off.
“Hi,” I say brightly. Too brightly. It’s like he’s hypnotized me with his sex appeal. Sexnotized me.
He doesn’t say anything back for a few moments. It’s long enough to be noticeable, and I wish that damn sun wasn’t still out even though it’s seven at night, otherwise I’d be able to see his eyes. Does he like what he sees? Or does he think it’s all a bit garish?
“Well, shall we go?” I say awkwardly.
“Yes, of course,” he says with a start, shaking his head slightly, as if to snap out of it.
I step outside and close the door, heading over to the Garbage Pail.
“Are you sure you want to drive?” he asks.
I open my door and give him a smile. “You’re sick of my driving already? You did so well the other day.”
He reluctantly walks over to his side. “I thought you might want to have a few drinks.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Get in.”
He grumbles quietly and gets in his side. I take a moment to stare up at the trees above and take in a deep breath, bringing my brain back on track.
He’s doing me a favor, it’s not a date, he doesn’t even want to be here.
I repeat that and get in the car, but my nerves fire up again once I realize how different it feels to have him so close to me when he’s wearing less clothes. Yeah, it’s a T-shirt, but compared to a suit he’s practically naked now. I can clearly see the tattoos on his forearms and his biceps and . . . oh lord, his forearms! His biceps! They’re so huge, the muscles hard-won and rippling and taut, and I can’t even focus. Maybe I shouldn’t drive. He’s more intoxicating than any drink.
And then there’s his scent, like sea salt and lime and something woodsy and sweet, and the heat generating off him, his shoulder so close to mine, and . . .
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I blink. I have to blink. I think I’ve been staring, no, gawking, at him without blinking, like a fucking lunatic.
“Yes,” I manage to say, feeling my cheeks burn. I start the car. “Just lost in thought.”
He nods at that though we’re just past the gates when he says, “Weird seeing me like this?”
“Super weird,” I say, even though weird doesn’t begin to explain it and I’m not about to. I clear my throat. “Thank you for coming, by the way. Monica told me that you didn’t want to, so I appreciate it. But I mean, I don’t want to force you to either.”
“No one is forcing me to do anything,” he says, sounding all grumbly. “It’s taken some consideration, that’s all.”
“She said you need to get out more.”
“She’s the one who needs to get out more. Not me. Luckily, I have complete faith in the team, so I know they’ll be fine.” He pauses, glancing at me quickly. “Me, on the other hand . . .”
“You’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Do you have a curfew? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get you home in time?”
I don’t have to see his eyes to know he’s glaring at me.
“Apparently, thanks to you, I have the day off tomorrow,” he says.
“Well, if I’m driving, then you’re drinking. No excuses.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Frankly I don’t care if he drinks or not. I just want the guy to relax for once. After what Monica said about him being so busy and devoted to his job that he doesn’t even date or seem to have a personal life at all, it’s given me a bit of insight into a man who’s notorious for clamming up.
