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Chapter7
HARPER
What was she doing?
The breath caught in her throat. There was no going back, no hitting stop.
Landon’s question hung in the air.
What do you want to forget?
At this point, whatdidn’tshe want to forget?
The bills. The house. Vance the douche nozzle. The porno contest mix-up. Her dwindling prospects.
Her entire life was a shit show. She longed to cast aside her worries and escape from her responsibilities.
And to do that, she needed a good dose of wild, reckless abandon.
And she clearly wasn’t the only one.
When Landon swooped in like a white knight and sent the handsy drunk packing, palpable anger and clawing irritation had rolled off him in turbulent waves. She knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t happy about the meaty drunk manhandling her, but the fury he’d rolled in with wasn’t completely due to the handsy creep.
Landon Paige had charged in, gunsalreadyblazing.
Not that she needed to be rescued.
Not that she needed any man, especially a musician, to come to her aid.
Still, when she’d looked up and seen him, the tiny kernel of hope she’d locked away in her heart had sparked to life. The dreams of a ridiculous girl who’d once penned notebooks filled with effusive lyrics celebrating love took notice of the man’s gallant response to her precarious situation. Did her stupid heart skip a beat?
Perhaps.
Fine, yes, she’d been rendered breathless, and butterflies had erupted in her belly.
But of course, she couldn’t show it—especially not to the likes of Landon Paige.
And she’d done a good job of holding that sappy girl at bay. She’d fallen back on her take no bullshit persona…until he kissed her.
That kiss.
She could still taste the chocolate and cherry flavors coming together in a burst of deliciously raw desire.
And that kiss was no platonic peck. He’d kissed her like a man drowning in tumultuous waters—like a man searching for a miracle.
He’d revealed the depth of his soul with that kiss and surprised the hell out of her.
When they were with their friends, he played the part of the shallow, cookie-cutter pop star, but that kiss had shattered his plastic heartthrob facade.
This man was hurting.
Could he tell she was hurting, too?
Or was she kidding herself?
Was this simply her foolish schoolgirl side rearing its naïve head? Could it be her inner hopeless romantic trying to escape from the fortress of snark and sass? She’d hid her darkest parts here and locked away the question she’d kept hidden for as long as she could remember.
Who would choose Harper Presley? Who would want the abandoned little girl?
