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Linc
“Are you sure I should be going to this thing?” Harlow asks for what feels like the millionth time. “I’m not exactly family.”
I smile at her obvious nerves. Reaching over the console, I take her hand in mine and shift to face her.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure. Besides, Ella wants you here. She’ll be heartbroken if you’re not.”
I feel a little guilty using Ella this way, but it’s true that she wants Harlow to be here tonight. She’s been going on about her art presentation for the last two weeks and she practically begged Harlow to come and see her work.
Every year, her school has a gallery night where they showcase the best art submissions for each grade and Ella’s drawing was chosen as one of the finalists. She’s always loved to draw, paint and color and I’ve always encouraged her interest in art, even if I don’t know where that talent came from. I’ve always believed she was talented, but I didn’t know if that was due to fatherly bias. Having her art teacher agree with my assessment has made Ella’s year, I think.
When she brought home the letter from her art teacher, I was so proud that I wanted to frame it and hang it on the wall. But Ella had argued against it. I didn’t display the letter, but I did tuck it into a box for one of those days when she’s doubting herself. Now, it’s gallery night and Harlow and I are sitting in my truck in the school’s parking lot while I try to convince her that she doesn’t have any reason to be nervous.
“It’s just an elementary school art night,” I say. “There will be a bunch of kids and their parents.”
She gives me a skeptical look. “You mean half our graduating class and their kids? Not to mention some of the same teachers I had when I went to this school?”
I shrug. “So, it’s just like a trip to Walmart.”
That makes her smile. Rolling her eyes, she says, “Fine. But I’m doing this for Ella. I don’t want her to wonder why I’m not here.”
“Good,” I say. “She’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
Harlow points a finger at me. “And no PDA in the school, mister.”
“I don’t think you can get detention for holding hands if you don’t attend the school anymore,” I say.
“But you can become gossip for the bored housewives of Peach Tree,” she argues. “No, thank you.”
I sigh. “Fine. You win. I’ll do my best to keep my hands to myself.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “And try not to look at me with those fuck me eyes.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, dropping my gaze to her lips.
She shakes her head. “Oh, no you don’t. That’s what I mean. Stop looking at me like you’re picturing me naked.”
I laugh as I reach for the door handle. “I’m always picturing you naked,” I mutter.
I don’t hear her response as she climbs out of the truck, but I can guess it’s something along the lines of, ‘I know.’
It’s been almost a month since our first date, and I haven’t gone a single day without seeing her in some way. She comes to dinner at my place most nights. Sometimes I convince her to stay the night after. If she can’t make it for dinner, I make an excuse to stop by her salon during the day to drop off flowers or her favorite latte from Piper’s shop. The truth is, I can’t get enough of her. I don’t know why I waited so long to act on my attraction, but I’m glad I finally did. Part of me worries I’m falling too hard, too fast. I’m letting Ella get too attached to a woman when it might not work out between us. But I can’t help myself.
We haven’t jumped into talk of feelings yet, but I know I’ve never felt anything like this for another woman. I know she makes me happy and the idea of not being with her is so abhorrent I refuse to picture it. Is that love? I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care. I’m just happy to be with her. I’ve also had the best sex of my life in the last month. Just thinking about it can make me instantly hard. Harlow wasn't wrong when she admonished me not to give her ‘fuck me eyes’, as she calls them. I know I’m guilty of doing it without even realizing it. How can I help it when I know what it’s like to be with her that way?
I’ve never had another woman welcome my dominant side in the bedroom. In the past, they’ve all been caught by surprise when I told them how I like to take charge during sex. Most of them were shocked by my dirty talk, saying that they thought they were getting a quiet, sweet family man. I don’t know why I can’t be both of those things. Apparently, the contradiction was too much for them.
But Harlow loves that side of me just as much as she loves the quiet, reserved side of me that everyone else sees. I don’t have to hold anything back with her. She loves it when I’m rough with her and when I tell her all the filthy things I want to do to her. She loves it when I’m in control and command her to do wicked things. I’ve never felt that sort of freedom in a relationship. It’s just another thing about her that convinces me I don’t want to be without her. I glance over at her as we walk toward the school.
“Stop that,” she mutters without looking at me.
“Stop what?”
“Thinking dirty thoughts about me.”
I grin. “I’d have to be dead.”
I’m not sure how I manage to follow Harlow’s rules of no PDA and no lingering gazes; but somehow, I behave myself for two whole hours. We walk through the school gymnasium which has been turned into something that’s meant to mimic a real art gallery. The kids are all standing near their displayed art, waiting to answer questions and receive compliments. Ella had worn her favorite dress for the occasion and asked Harlow to style her hair.
