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Harper’s eyes darken into deep blue sapphires, but she doesn’t reply. I let go of the hold I have, saddened to break the contact once more. She tries to calm herself, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Then, she turns and starts to head out the door. When she reaches it, she stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Latham?” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I reply, clearing my throat and trying to will my erection into submission.
“Were you really jealous? Of my date?”
Her question catches me off guard, but I won’t lie to her. “Yeah. The thought of him touching you made me want to put my fist through the wall.”
She finally glances over my shoulder and quietly asks, “Why?”
“Because we have unfinished business.” About fourteen years’ worth of it.
Her eyes never leave mine, and after a few very long seconds, she finally nods and walks away. She didn’t argue with me, which is a miracle all in itself, but she didn’t counter my statement. Probably because she knows it’s true. We have something to finish. To settle. A discussion that should have happened years ago, but never did. An apology too.
But not tonight.
I don’t know when the right time is exactly, but I know it’s not when we’re surrounded by her family and friends. Soon, though. Because this damn sexual tension between us isn’t going away as I had hoped. If anything, it’s getting worse. It’s like it has merely been simmering on the back burner for all these years, waiting for that little spark to set it ablaze once more.
And tonight?
Tonight, the match was lit.
* * *
It’s Friday. It’s been a crazy-long workweek filled with long hours and even longer nights. Nights filled with images of the woman next door as she kissed me back last Saturday night at her brother’s house. It’s those images that have me taking longer showers than normal.
Today, I’m dealing with Felicity. She’s already broken the printer, and now I’m trying to clean up a paint mess since she didn’t close a lid completely before placing the gallon in the mixer. If it were anyone else but her, I’d already have fired her ass. Twice. And that’s just today. I’d been on the verge of getting her out of my store just about every day this week.
But my dad won’t let me.
By four, I’m tired, hungry (since I skipped part of my lunch to clean the mixer machine), and irritable. I had to throw on an old hardware store T-shirt, since my polo was trashed by the paint, and apparently, I’m a little behind on my laundry. Just my luck this one smells like it’s been in the back of my drawer for the past decade. I keep myself busy restocking the shelves by the north wall, as far away from Felicity and her endless chatter as possible. She’s set to close with me tonight, which means I’ll be doing just about everything, including counting out the register.
The bell chimes over the door, and I opt to keep plugging away at my restock, instead of running over to help the customer. Felicity will holler if she needs me. The customer approaches the counter, and it’s a voice I immediately recognize. “Hey, Felicity,” Harper says somberly.
“Oh. Hi.”
“I need to buy a few building supplies,” she says politely.
“Building supplies?” Felicity snorts. “You?”
“Yeah, me. Do you see anyone else around?” Harper barks, her annoyance evident.
“I’m just surprised is all. A supermodel who builds?” Felicity laughs.
“I’m not a supermodel,” Harper says softly, and something catches in my throat.
“Oh, that’s right. You didn’t make it in New York,” Felicity retorts. I can practically picture her flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Can I just purchase this stuff on my list?” Harper asks, the sound of a piece of paper rustling barely audible.
“Sure, sure. I can help,” Felicity sasses.
“You are very good at helping. I mean, look how well you helped Joey with his zipper in the bathroom of the bar that one time.”
And that’s my cue.
Felicity is just getting ready to open her mouth, probably to spit off something mean and nasty, when I approach the counter. “I think I can take it from here,” I announce, grabbing the slip of paper from Felicity’s hand. “Why don’t you go finish stocking the stains.” It’s not a question.
Felicity’s eyes narrow as she continues to stare at Harper, who just smiles sweetly back. “Fine,” my employee grumbles, flipping her hair over her shoulder again and stalking off to the wall I just left.
