by S. L. Scott
His eyebrows are raised in shock like this stuff doesn’t happen, and he says, “Your dirty mind may be a complete fucking turn-on, but damn, you get dark.”
“I didn’t come up with this stuff. I listened to a podcast that was that exact thing.”
“You might want to lay off the true crime for a while.”
“You’re probably right. I can’t even look at a banana anymore without thinking a milkman is going to shove it in my tailpipe and kill me with it.”
His brows knit together, and he stares at me like I’m the milkman. “Do milkmen even exist anymore? And are we talking cars or human tailpipes?”
“They exist in the Midwest. Remind me never to go there. As for the tailpipe, you don’t want to know.”
“Yes, Tatum, you’re much safer in New York City,” he replies sarcastically and then has the nerve to laugh it off. He only knows what he hears on the TV. Stereotypes and I’m sure just the bad stuff. My city is my second love. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
But that does beg the question: What is my first love?
That remains to be seen. I’ve been reserving that spot for when it’s revealed to me.
I’m starting to sound like Natalie’s sister-in-law, Juni, or her mother-in-law, Cookie. Even Natalie dabbles in destiny. She claims that’s what brought her and Nick together.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. Snapping out of my thoughts, I didn’t realize I’d been staring at Harrison the entire time.
I bend down and discover my thong tucked into the pocket of his jeans. “Nothing. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
Holding it by the hip band, I teasingly reply, “We might need to discuss this panty problem you have,” and then swing it around the tip of my finger. “If you really want them, you can have them.”
He’s chuckling. “You make it sound so pervy that I can’t even enjoy it now.”
I don’t even know what he’s talking about, but I didn’t mean to out his fetish. “Before I enable this habit, how many pairs have you stolen?”
Resting back, he tucks his hands behind his head, amused. “None. Yours were the only ones, and I know you won’t believe me, but I just tucked them in my pocket so they wouldn’t get dirty on the floor.”
As thoughtful as that is, I cross my arms over my chest and study him with narrowed eyes. It’s not hard to do as the guy is drop-dead gorgeous. I’ll play it up anyway. “Suspicious.”
“I can imagine since you’re into all that stuff.”
“I was going to add, but believable.” I bend down and tuck them back in his pocket. I didn’t actually care if he was stealing them. I just wanted in on one of his dirty little secrets. “Your honesty kind of took the fun out of it.”
“You are so kinky, Devreux. Now get your ass in this bed, and let’s binge-watch a show.”
The covers are lifted for me when I approach. I climb under and snuggle against his side, resting my hand on his abdomen. “Binge-watching a show together is next level, right after hanging out.”
“Is that so?” He bends his neck to the side to look into my eyes. “I’m ready. Are you?”
When his arm tightens around me, holding me so close that I may never want to leave this cocoon, I reply, “So ready.”
At some point . . . I’m guessing three hours into our bingeing, the food arrives. Harrison springs from the bed to answer the door while I starfish on the mattress. It feels much too big and lonely without him in it.
A buzz on the nightstand has me rolling to my stomach and reaching for my phone, but then I pause when I realize it’s his phone. It would be rude and violate his privacy to read his text messages, but the fool doesn’t have a password on it. A fingerprint isn’t even required to unlock it, so what’s a person to do?
I lift on my elbows and spy the name—Natalie Christiansen—on the screen. Why is my best friend texting the guy I’m having intimate relations with?
No time like the present to find out and satisfy my curiosity.
Taking the phone in hand, I swipe to open the message and read: Is everything okay? We didn’t hear from you, and I’m worried.
Why would she be worried?
Maybe because he hasn’t come back from his mission to save me. I type: Having a great time. Tatum is amazing.
I put a smiley face and then erase it, thinking Harrison wouldn’t use that. He probably uses frogs and the death face in his texts.
A return text from her arrives: Really?
Really, Natalie? My fingers fly across the screen: Really. She’s incredible. Great in bed, funny, an excellent cook. I couldn’t dream of meeting a woman so complex and intelligent. I’m so grateful to have her in my life.
My phone buzzes this time, but it’s a call. I snatch it and roll onto my back. “Hello?” I answer as innocently as I can.
“Nice try, but what’d you do with the body?”
“Wow, no faith.”
“Plenty of faith. I absolutely believe you’d get away with murder.”
“I don’t know if I should be proud or insulted.”
She replies, “Proud.” Her laughter echoes, and then she starts to tell Nick what we said.
“Helloooooo, I’m still here, Nat.”
Harrison saunters in, holding two plates on top of a pizza box. A welcome distraction. Setting it down at the end of the mattress, he says, “Dinner is served.” He goes into the bathroom and returns with a towel that he neatly places under the box.
He’s a keeper.
He took care of me, and now he’s taking care of my duvet. God, that’s something Nick would do for Nat. He just keeps surprising me.
“Who are you talking to?” he asks.
“Natalie.”
In my ear, Natalie says, “Ask him to report in.”
“She said to report in.” I laugh because this is so ridiculous.
“Tell her you’re all good and taken care of.” He winks, and I melt a little on the inside.
“He’s taken good care of me, so no need to worry,” I speak into the phone. “Our food’s here, so I’m going to let you go. Oh and no need to worry. Harrison is safe with me here.
“Tatum,” she replies, giggling. “Oh my God. Have the best time tonight.”
We have already. “Thanks. We will. Now go have fun with your hubs, and we’ll talk tomorrow at the office.”
“Every detail, Tate. I mean it.”
“Block off the morning. We have so much to talk about. Good night.”
“Night.”
He hands me a plate with two slices of pepperoni on it and then sits back in bed again. I ask, “She made you promise her details?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s living vicariously these days. The baby adds to her fear of missing out.”
His eyes are directed at the TV screen. He hasn’t started the show, but he’s checked the volume and coloring. “Eh, we should all be so lucky to have what they do and a baby on the way to boot.”
“There will be no booting of the baby on my watch.”
Turning to me, he chews his bite, but I can see questions populating in his eyes. Just as I take a big bite, he asks, “So you’re warming to the idea of being a godparent?”
“I am. I don’t want to think about the tragedy that would place this child in our home, but I’m kind of excited to play such an important role in their life. How do you feel?”
“I feel the same.” His fingertips run along the veins of my forearm. “I like knowing I’m in it with you as well.”
“Yeah, I agree. It’s not so overwhelming when you split the duties.”
When I lean over to give him a kiss, my hip pushes the play button, and the show comes back on. We’ve talked enough about it to know where we stand. I feel good, even better being in the trenches with him. Their child will never lack love or support. I’ll be there for every event and celebration in their life.
We binge, both food and the show, and then fall a
sleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
Pain permeates my muscles, a soreness developed from a great workout or sex with Harrison. It’s the latter, and I’ll take it over and over again. But it sends me to the bathroom, slinking over to the medicine cabinet to search for pain relievers.
Naturally, I have sex with a machine of a man and think there will be no repercussions afterward. Not complaining. My hoo-ha may be exhausted, but I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time.
I’ve been busy, and there’s been a lot of pressure coming from my current clients. The release was needed, and Harrison did a stellar job—three times to be precise. I pop two pain relievers and take a sip of water from the bottle I left on the nightstand before climbing back into bed.
His presence gives me comfort—his body warm and protective. I lie down and focus on him instead of the ache between my legs. My lids grow heavy, and it doesn’t take long until I’m falling asleep again.
Unfortunately, this time, like earlier, I don’t wake up to the smell of bacon or a hot-ass chef cooking me breakfast. I do have the pleasure of watching him shower, though, and that is pornographic.
I open the door to give him a kiss, and he tries to pull me in. “Join me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Mmm. You are so much trouble for me.”
His lopsided grin stirs inner desires. No, I must stay focused. “I wish I could, but I don’t want to get my hair wet because it will take too long to dry. I’ll just take a quick shower after you.”
He soaps his body, spending a little extra time on those incredible abs of his. I’m not sure how many crunches he does to define those, but it’s a session I need to sit in on soon. “You sure?”
“Barely,” I sigh longingly. “But today is the first day of the rest of my life. I have a plan in place that I am ready to put into action, so I need to get to the office.”
“Sounds exciting. Hope to hear more about it when you have time.”
“Really?”
“If it’s something you’re passionate about, why wouldn’t I?”
It might have been in that moment that I see him differently. I see the handsome face and great body, know he could charm a gambler out of all of his money without wagering a bet, and has a sweet side that not many are privy too. But right then, I can feel in my bones that he’s going to be a part, even a major part, of my life for years to come . . . Maybe forever.
An overwhelming emotion surges through me, and I’m quick to say, “Thank you.” I shut the shower door and try to gain control of whatever this is I feel inside. It’s good, light, filled with joy, but a lot . . . too much to figure out when standing in a steamy bathroom with him naked.
So distracting to my goals.
He makes me want to climb into that shower with him and enjoy the pleasure of our bodies connecting for hours. I must resist.
The best way is to start getting ready for the day with my normal routine. Just a little out of order until I can take a shower. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Smother my face in moisturizer and then pin my hair up on top of my head.
When he moves into the bedroom, I hop in the shower. This time, he opens the door. “I need to go. I have a showing this morning and need to get dressed.” He leans in and kisses me. “Can I see you tonight?”
“I want that.”
“I’ll text you later, and we can make plans.”
“Sounds good. Have a great day.” He risks it all and leans in to kiss me again—deeper with intention—getting his face wet just to be there for me. He pulls back, licking his lips as if he’ll taste more of me that way.
That man is smashing down my barriers, and I don’t think I have a say in the matter. My heart is softening to this, whatever this is, and for the first time in my life, I kind of like it.
When he’s gone, and I step out of the shower, I dry off and then pull my clothes out and lay them on the bed. With Harrison still on my mind, I open a drawer and grab my birth control packet from the bin where I keep it. He’s distracting to more than my goals. I enjoy thinking about him and how nice it’s been the past few days.
I return to the bed to get dressed and then retrieve a glass of water to take my pill. Feeling good and ready to tackle the day, I pop a pill from the package. Being too rough, it goes flying across the counter until it bounces to a stop.
It’s while reaching for it that the silver foil packet catches my eyes. I’ve not thought about this in a few days. Sure, it’s a routine I’ve had for years, but something in my gut has me counting the remaining pills.
Thirteen . . . is that right? I take it like clockwork, so I know I’m good to go.
But am I right?
I come in here and pop the pill from the packet. The pills corresponding to the last few days have been popped. So that is correct. The only question is if I took them. Going crazy trying to figure out this mystery, I start ticking through the days to remind myself.
Thursday - I took the pill with a bottle of water prior to meeting Natalie at her house. That was the same day she told me she’s having a baby.
Friday - I took it before I went to the gym and ran into Elijah.
Saturday- I woke up and took it with a Diet Coke I had on my nightstand from the night before.
Sunday - I took the pill before brunch. . . Wait. Did I?
What happened on Sunday? Instead of days, I navigate through the events of that morning.
Harrison cooking breakfast.
The fight we had.
Running late for brunch.
Put the pill in the case in my bag to take when I got there—timing wise, that worked best.
I waited and had a mimosa . . . or a few.
Being stood up.
No, that can’t be right.
Staring down at the pill in my hand, I feel my stomach tense. My gaze rises, and I’m met with a ghost-white reflection. I run to check the bag I was carrying that day. Pulling the pink purse from the shelf, I open the clasp and unzip the pocket to find the tiny pill case.
I remove the case with such precision that I don’t hear a thing until I shake it. The rattle of a pill is as loud as an earthquake to my ears. Damnit.
Now I remember, I didn’t take the pill on Sunday because I was too distracted by Harrison and my mother. I return to the bathroom and pop it in my mouth along with the other to cover for the missed dose, chug some water, and then swallow them down. Relief is felt in fixing that mistake.
With all the troubles I’ve had lately, at least I’m not pregnant.
18
Harrison
“This is one of the most coveted units in the building, and from my research, the apartment is a steal.” I stand back near the kitchen island and let Lara, Kaz’s wife, take it in.
She walks the length of the wall of windows, stops to look out at the view, and then turns to me to ask, “Why are they selling then?”
“Legal troubles. He needs to liquidate fast.”
She turns her attention back to the view of Central Park. “Ah. Hence the steal, but it needs to feel right.”
“There are numerous units available in this price range. You can walk away and find another in the next building. It all depends on what you’re looking for.”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she says, “I like this building because it feels like a family could live here. Kaz and I had modern design in our last home, but my tastes are changing. Instead of white and minimal, I want warm and inviting, kid-friendly.”
I don’t dare ask if she’s pregnant. I made that mistake once at a bar in my early twenties. I was two sheets to the wind and congratulated her. She wasn’t, and I was punched by her boyfriend.
With Lara’s arm lithely placed over her stomach, she strolls the main room and then ends up in the kitchen. “I’m hoping we can start a family soon. The tour and the hours . . . It’s been hard to find the right time.”
“I can imagine.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I made a rule when I started out
in this business that the client in front of me deserves my complete attention. Especially when dealing with multimillion-dollar homes and the potential for hundreds of thousands in commission.
“Do you want kids one day, Harrison?” She’s not crossing any lines with me. I’m an open book, and I’ve known her for a few years. “Someday. Like you and Kaz. The right time. The right place to settle into.”
Her eyebrow arches, and she adds, “The right woman.”
I chuckle. “Definitely with the right woman.” Tatum comes to mind, but that’s jumping ten spaces ahead. I move to the stove. “Top-of-the-line appliances are included and brand new.”
“That’s nice,” she says under a soft laugh that tells me she’s onto my distraction. “Kaz loves when I cook.”
“Eating on the road must get old.”
“For him, the bedroom is most important. He sleeps for weeks after the tour. I’ll need complete blackout curtain or shades, preferably automatic, though that’s something I can have installed after the purchase. I really don’t want a renovation. I do that all day long for my job. I don’t mind minor changes, but I’d rather be able to just move in.” She snaps her fingers as something occurs to her. “We definitely need a tub to ice down his muscles. A rock star’s life is never as glamorous as people assume.”
“It has a freestanding tub. As for the bedroom, if you don’t like this one, I have another place I can show you that might work better.”
She follows me down the hall. “You mean you weren’t going to anyway?”
I wait outside the door to allow her to feel the space when she enters. “Listening to Kaz, this place was about what you wanted.” She’s smiling when she turns back. “But hearing your priorities, it’s about what’s best for him.”
“That’s marriage, if you’re one of the lucky ones.”
We see two other apartments—one she loves and one she thinks he’ll love. I’ll leave that for them to decide. As soon as I drop her off at the hotel where she’s staying, I pull my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket and check my messages in the back of the SUV.
That’s strange . . .
