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The thought of Harper stops me from saying yes. She surely visits her brother, which means I’ll have to see her again.
This means, next time, I might do more than place my hand on her leg. I’ll have every intention of holding myself back, of being the man Adam deserves, the best friend he needs.
But once I see Harper, with her wild brown hair, flushed cheeks, and kissable lips…
“Bryson?” Adam says, and there’s no mistaking it this time.
He’s lonely. He needs a friend.
“Of course,” I tell him. “Thank you. That’d be great.”
“Awesome. I’ll get the room made up.”
At a red light, I close my eyes for a moment, telling myself I won’t lose control. I won’t snap the next time I see Harper. I won’t slide my hand up her leg, press down, or kiss her to capture her intoxicating moans.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Harper
“Tiffany made it,” I say, putting the lasagna on the kitchen divider.
Adam smiles at me from the sink as he pours himself a glass of water. He’s keeping up a brave front, maybe for my sake, but I see the tightness at the corners of his eyes and the twitch in his lips. He’s holding back so much.
“Tell her thanks,” he replies, leaning against the counter. “And thanks for coming by.”
“You don’t have to thankme.” I walk around the divider and pull him into a hug. “It’s what I’m here for.”
He pats me on the back. “You’re a good person, sis. But sometimes I wonder where that crazy little girl went, running around with a microphone in her hand, causing mayhem, trying to interview everybody and their dog.”
I laugh. “I’m still her,andsomebody else. It’s called growing up.”
“Do you think you’re grown up at nineteen?” he asks.
His tone becomes oddly serious, just as it did the night Bryson grabbed my leg when Adam called me to check in. I’m not sure why I think about that now. Except that everything, no matter how hard I try, reminds me of that moment.
As the days have passed, I’ve become even more convinced I imagined it, even as the sensation of Bryson’s hand burns into my skin at night. Fueling my obsession, my never-ending thoughts, and my dreams for a future that can never be.
“Yes,” I say firmly.
Adam nods. “It’s a tricky thing, age. I look at some of the young men who join my company, and they might as well be twelve or thirteen, even if they’re around your age. Then I look at you… with your own apartment, pursuing your dreams, working all the hours you can get to support yourself.”
“I learned from the best,” I say, smiling up at him. “After Mom and Dad left… I never wanted to be your problem. I wanted to be self-sufficient.”
“Next you’ll be saying you’ve found a man and you’re getting married,” Adam replies, laughing, but it sounds forced.
“Yeah, right,” I say, voice heavy with sarcasm so he can’t hear the longing there.
I know Bryson hasn’t returned to the West Coast. Adam mentioned it offhandedly a few days ago. He’s here, helping Adam with business, but I haven’t seen him yet.
“You don’t want that?” he asks.
“Why the sudden interest?”
I busy myself with putting the lasagna in the fridge, meaning I don’t have to look into my brother’s searching gaze. If I focus on the small movements, lifting the tray, balancing it, opening the fridge, reducing my life down to those little beats… then maybe my mind won’t fly away to thoughts of Bryson, to the feeling of his firm hand squeezing my thigh, his eyes on me.
“I’m just wondering,” Adam says.
“I want kids. And a husband.” I turn back to him. “I’ve told you that before. A house full of happiness.”
