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“C’mon, Harlow. I want to see you again. Don’t you want to see me again?” he asks in a tone I can’t deny. Damn him.
Mom's advice hits me again. I need to face this head on. I can't put it off any longer
. Ripping the band-aid off, I sigh. “Fine. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be over there.” I hang up the phone after that.
This night could go one of two ways. Either I grow up and tell him how I'm feeling, or I hide it and take the cowards way out. I know the first option might not go very well, and that scares the hell out of me. Confrontation isn't my best skill, but keeping these feelings inside doesn't sound any better. It's hard to think about anything other than the conflict going on in my mind, and I know the mature thing to do is talk to Liam and put everything out on the table.
I finish with my shower and dry off. Instead of grabbing my pajamas, I pull on a pair of jeans and a simple T-shirt. I blow dry my hair just enough so it’s not soaking wet and hurry down to catch a cab. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
10
Liam
It feels silly how excited I am to see Harlow again. From the sound of her voice over the phone, she didn’t seem entirely enthused to be coming over, but still, she’s on her way, and I can’t sit still. I quickly stuff all of my dirty laundry in a suitcase and toss it in the closet, then make my way to tidy up the bed and make the room look even more presentable.
By the time I hear a knock at the door, there’s not a spot of dirt left in sight. I straighten up and answer the door, leaning against it in an exaggeratedly sexy pose. Harlow’s eyebrows go up, and she smiles reluctantly.
“Good evening, Ms. Knight,” I say, gesturing into my hotel room.
“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs. She steps inside, and I close the door behind her.
“I have a feeling you like it, though,” I retort.
For a moment, she tries to put on a serious face and deny these allegations, but she can’t hold the expression long before she’s grinning. “Maybe just a little.”
I close the gap between us and step toward her, my hands around her hips. “Thank you for coming to see me,” I say. Slowly, I lean in and press my lips to hers. She doesn’t return the kiss. “What’s wrong?”
Harlow shrugs out of my grip and puts her jacket on one of the chairs near the corner of the room. She smells amazing, fresh from the shower, and I want to bury my nose in her damp hair.
Finally, Harlow says, “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been thinking a lot these last couple days. Well actually, months.” When she crosses the room and grabs a bottle of booze from the mini fridge, I don’t stop her. From the sound of it, she’s had a hard, long day, and alcohol is a good way to unwind. It’s not like she’s breaking my bank by taking anything from the fridge, either.
“Mind handing me one?” I ask. She tosses a bottle my way, and after popping the cap, I clink my glass against hers. “I think I know what you need,” I say, stepping closer again.
Harlow gives me a look, but like before; she can't hold the sternness of it for too long. As I approach her, her expression softs. I guide her to the bed and take a seat beside her. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“You just let me get your mind off things, okay?”
I dip my head and begin dotting kisses along her neck, working my way down toward her breasts. She doesn't argue when I lift her top and kiss the edge of her bra. Instead, she moans softly, her head falling back. I ease her bra off her shoulders and watch as her breasts are revealed, as beautiful as I remember them being in the hallway.
“Mm,” she murmurs, holding onto the back of my head as I began to flick my tongue over the sensitive nipple hardening before my eyes. I bring it into my mouth and suck, encouraging her. She tastes fresh, so clean that I can’t help but want to make her dirty again.
I move down to the floor and slowly begin to part her legs when she suddenly closes them and pulls her bra back up and shirt down. The mood instantly changes, and I look up to see if I did something to upset her or turn her off. Rather than meeting my eye, she looks across the room at nothing in particular.
“Harlow, what’s going on? You said you had a lot on your mind. Talk to me.”
She bites at her bottom lip but doesn’t say anything.
“Is it work? Is Kristen breathing down your neck again?”
A head shake. That’s not the answer.
“Something with your family, then? I know you said your mom can get on your nerves a lot of the time.”
Another shake.
“Talk to me, Harlow. Is it…is it us?” I hate the idea that our relationship is bothering her, but it’s a valid question. When I see Harlow nod slowly, I feel my stomach begin to sink to my feet. “What about us?”
Finally, she says, “I don’t think this is such a good idea. I think we made a mistake.”
