When I slid into the driver’s seat, however, I realized Harry stood a good five feet away from the passenger door. Leaning over to roll down the window, damn manual controls, I shot him a quizzical expression. “You coming, man? If you don’t want to, I can call you a cab. No worries. I get I probably made a shitty first impression. I’m not usually such a dick when I first meet people.”
He smiled, a tentative twitch of the lips, and I realized it was the only time I’d seen the kid express any kind of happiness all afternoon.
“When was the last time you washed this thing?” Harry’s brown eyes fixed not on my face but on my car. Okay, yes my Explorer was filthy, caked with mud and dust from driving out to the hiking trail last weekend. But the inside was perfectly clean.
“Just get in,” I growled. He laughed as he tugged the door open.
With the windows rolled down and John Prine playing on the undeniably crappy stereo, the drive was nice. Harry seemed relaxed, looking out at the trees flicking by outside the window and tapping his fingers on his knees in time with the music. As I drove, I tried to think of a reasonable way to apologize without making excuses for my shit behavior. Telling him I was exhausted by our president’s choice to pull out of climate deals and drastically shrink federal protected land was no help. And delving into a tirade about our nation’s reliance on fossil fuels was even worse. The last thing I needed to do was mansplain any more than I already had. Plus, Harry clearly knew his shit. So, I kept my mouth shut and tried to keep my eyes on the road and away from Harry’s sharp jaw and straight eyebrows.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of my mouth as I eased my truck to a halt along the curb in front of my favorite pizza place. “I know I was a di—, um, jerk during the meeting. Clearly you care. So yeah. Thanks for taking on our case or whatever.” I was so damn inarticulate I wanted to punch myself in the face.
Harry smiled softly and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. I know these things can get heated. I’ve dealt with way worse tantrums.”
Trying not to argue with his choice of the word tantrum, I rubbed the back of my neck and cut the ignition. Harry followed me into the restaurant without another word, and silence reigned between us as the host led us to our outdoor table. Things got real awkward real fast as we sat across from each other, surrounded by cozy couples and boisterous families enjoying giant slices of pizza and the pleasant evening air. Weren’t lawyers supposed to be all slick and confident? Because this kid seemed anything but.
The quiet was slowly killing me. After draining my water glass and reading over the menu a few dozen times, I had to say something. “So what happens next?” I asked, working to keep the usual gruff edge out of my voice.
“What?” The kid’s brown eyes snapped up from the table to meet mine. Sitting so close to him, I noticed a small gold hoop in one of his ears. Cute. I shook my head. In no way was it appropriate for me to think our attorney was cute, even if he was adorable as fuck.
I cleared my throat. “With the case. I know you said you’ll be doing that intervention thing in the next few weeks. But then what?”
Harry perked up and started enthusiastically describing the future hearing and the likelihood the judges would rule in favor of the DEC and our coalition. Rapid-fire, he rattled off so many case names and legislative code numbers and so much legal jargon I found myself simultaneously overwhelmed and wildly impressed. This kid really knew his shit. It was kind of a turn-on, to be honest.
“What?” Harry’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and he fixed me with a quizzical expression. “Does something sound incorrect? Because I can certainly make any changes the coalition sees fit.”
“No,” I said quickly. “That’s all great.” Thankfully I was saved from saying anything too stupid by our perky waitress’s detailed descriptions of specialty pizzas and the half-price wine of the week. While I ordered some awesome-sounding pie with smoked mozzarella and roasted tomatoes, Harry stuck to an arugula salad. No wonder the kid was so damn skinny.
“I thought you said you liked pizza.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a big appetite.”
“Well, if you want, help yourself to some of mine. The crust here is fuc—, um, really good.”
Again the heavy blanket of awkward silence draped over us. He seemed nervous. Maybe he was one of those people who only liked talking about work. I could do work talk. Probably the less legalese the better, but I could try.
“So, uh, have you done environmental law for a long time?” Nope, I lied. I was goddamn terrible at work talk.
I tried to ignore the flutter of inky lashes against defined cheekbones as Harry blinked rapidly. “Yes. Well, sort of. When I was in law school, I was really active with the center for environmental law and policy. We worked on a number of initiatives with the school of forestry, so I learned a lot. I mean, I studied environmental science as an undergrad, but I knew next to nothing about the policy side until law school. And then when I graduated, which by the way was four years ago…” He shot me a meaningful look and held it until I put my hands up in apology. “I got a job with the New York City Law Department’s environmental division. I just started with EcoJustice in May actually…so this will be my first case with them.” The slight lift of his chin as he shared this information tipped me off that Harry was expecting me to make a crack about him being a rookie. I kept my mouth shut.
“What about you?” Harry asked, cocking his head in a way that seemed almost flirtatious, but definitely wasn’t. “What did Sheila mean about the direct-approach thing? Do I have to worry about some known eco-terrorist being a part of the group opposing the pipeline?”
I must have grimaced despite my efforts to keep my face open and neutral because Harry’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. When he spoke, his voice carried the same confident, businesslike edge it had in the conference room. “Look, if you have a past of engaging in anything illegal, I would like for you to disclose this to me. These gas companies won’t mess around when it comes to doing whatever they can to discredit our case. So, if there’s anything I need to know—”
Something about this kid was undoubtedly fucking with my good judgment because I cut him off by reaching across the table and touching the tiny hoop in his ear. As expected, he jolted back like I’d electrocuted him. For a long moment we stared at each other, his lips slightly parted, whether he was pissed off or turned on, I couldn’t tell. But our energetic waitress saved the day yet again by delivering our food and warmly asking if she could get us anything else. Harry shook his head like he was in a daze. Grinning, I leaned back and attacked my pizza with gusto.
3
Harry
Everything spun around the axis of Max’s touch. For a tremulous moment I’d actually been worried I was going to faint. The combination of exhaustion, anxiety, and the slick wash of heat that rolled over me when Max skimmed my ear was all too much. I’d already been entirely thrown off by his breezy mention of an ex-boyfriend and his friendly invitation to dinner. Was this some kind of weird power move? Was he fucking with me? But Max had been nothing but casual and kind until the one-two punch of an implication that he likely engaged in illegal monkeywrenching and the brush of his deliciously callused fingers over my skin.
“I like it,” I heard him say as my swirling thoughts settled. Max was pointing to his own earlobe.
“Huh?” I was sweaty again, despite the fact that the evening was pleasantly cool.
“Your earring. It’s nice.”
“Oh, um, thanks. My sister, Marietta, made it for me. She designs jewelry. Well, I mean, she’s a bartender too, but she wants to make jewelry full-time.” And, wonderful, I was starting to nervously ramble.
“That’s cool.” Max seemed totally comfortable, returning to his pizza to polish off the penultimate slice. Clearly, he was a voracious eater. “I kind of had you pegged for an only child. I usually have a good radar for ’em, since I’m an only myself.”
Was he using “only child” as some kind of weird euphemism for gay? Part of me wished our waitress would come back, so I could order a vodka soda to take the edge off. My nerves were fried and my brain was overheating.
“No,” I managed to say. “I grew up with four brothers and a sister. Big Irish family.” I needed to snap back into professional mode. “Look, Max. You should tell me if you have a criminal record. Any violation could be an issue. I’m not billing you for this time, obviously, but I can assure you anything you disclose to me will remain entirely confidential.”
Max’s plush lips pressed together, and two small lines appeared between his knit brows. “I don’t have an arrest record or anything. But I did lose my job as a park ranger for some…questionable stuff.”
At my vacant expression, Max continued. “Okay, so I may have destroyed some logging equipment because I disagreed with my office’s permission to allow timber harvesting in a wetland. And I may have kept a blog about my feelings on the matter. But again, no arrest, no charges, and I took the blog down. Plus, it was anonymous.”
I groaned and pushed my salad away, appetite officially gone. All I wanted to do was get back on the train, connect to the crappy Amtrak Wi-Fi and Google the hell out of this guy to make sure he was telling the truth about the limited extent of his illegal environmental activism. And not, I convinced myself, because I wanted to maybe click on the image tab and stalk pictures of his ruggedly handsome face and jacked frame. Nope.
Glancing at Max, I realized he was staring at me intently across the table, and my face burned with the fear that I’d been thinking aloud. I was going to get myself disbarred for being a class-A creep. I needed to act like a professional adult and not like a desperate teenager with a crush.
“Well, if that’s all, I suppose we have nothing to be terribly concerned about. But please, no more destroying property or social media activism for the time being, okay? Just let this make its way through the court.”
“You gonna eat that?” Max jabbed a thick finger at my mostly full plate. I hated wasting food. I’d box it up to pick at later or see if Ella wanted it when she dragged herself through the door after hours pounding courtroom floors in her sensible low heels.
I shook my head, and he glowered at me.
“Here, eat this.” He pushed his last slice of pizza in my direction. “It’s good. I promise. And you look like you could use a meal.”
Great. Now the guy was pitying me. Clearly I was projecting the image of a consummate legal professional. I bet Ruth Bader Ginsberg also got herself stranded in parking lots and had colleagues cajoling her to eat.
When Max parked outside of the station, we still had about twenty minutes to spare before my train departed. I’d insisted he could just drop me off, but he’d grumbled something about not wanting to leave me alone and was adamant about waiting with me. The parking lot was mostly empty aside from a few cheerful families and hipster-looking teens. I didn’t understand why Max apparently wanted to hang out with me in his stuffy car. But there we sat, him totally at ease, chatting away about leading guided hikes through Big Indian Wilderness and how he ended up working with the Catskill Collective. Meanwhile I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
I was hyperaware of Max’s every movement. My heartbeat felt irregular. The whole situation reminded me so sharply and suddenly of my first ever kiss with a boy, that I found myself blushing. Tom MacMillan, the redneck jock I’d lusted after for all of high school, had driven me home after we’d stayed late at school to finish a physics project. When he’d parked at the end of my street instead of my driveway, I’d been confused and a little jumpy. Then that weird hot silence stretched between us. Just like now. I had no clue what to say, as if my nervous energy all lodged in my throat and robbed me of my ability to speak.
“Are you okay? You’re breathing kind of fast.” Max shattered the tense quiet. He shifted his weight toward me, and his fresh air and clean sweat smell pulled me to him. I needed to get the hell out of this car and dust off my legal ethics textbook.
“I’m fine.” My voice was brittle. “Um, I should probably head to the platform. Thanks again for dinner and the ride. I really appreciate it.”
“Harry.” It was the first time he’d called me by my name. In his low, rough voice the name I’d never really liked transformed into a caress that made the muscles in my thighs clench tight. “I’m going to ask you something, and I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable. Whatever you say, I’m not going to act like a dick to you next time we see each other, okay?”
I nodded frantically, still unable to speak. What the hell was he going to ask?
“So I’m gay.” He spoke low, careful, like he was talking to a wounded animal. “And I’m kind of thinking you might be too?” Our eyes connected and something elemental in me relaxed. This was safe. I was okay.
“Yes,” I said simply, because there was nothing to hide. Being out in my professional life was deeply important to me. Still, there was power in the admission.
“Okay.” Max’s gaze grew heated as he glanced down at my mouth. “So I really want to kiss you. Would that be cool with you?”
The last shred of professionalism gone, I bobbed my head. Then Max closed the tiny space between us, and his mouth claimed mine. Desire took control of my body, and I fisted my hands into the worn fabric of his shirt, pulling him as close as possible despite the awkward console separating us. Every cell of my being vibrated on the word please. He grinned against my lips before tracing the seam of my mouth with his tongue. Max’s hand, big and warm, landed on my shoulder, a soothing anchor. As my fingers spread out over his muscular chest it was clear he was holding the sheer power of his body back. I shivered and gasped into his mouth as heavy need engulfed me, leaching the tension from my bones.
But somewhere deep in the recesses of my consciousness, a rational thought reared its ugly head. Max was my client. What I was doing was beyond unethical. I yanked myself back sharply, fingers flying to my lips.
“I can’t,” I whispered. Without a second glance at Max, I slipped out of the car and into the blue evening.
Ella was curled on the couch with her laptop when I poured myself into our apartment, flushed and irritable from my train ride and the events of the day. As small and shabby as the space was, I loved coming home. I loved the thrift-store furniture and mismatched art and the smell of the vanilla candles Ella insisted on burning.
“Wine?” my roommate asked immediately, gesturing to a bottle of pinot noir resting on the coffee table next to her ratty briefcase and two of the truly horrendous lime-green wine glasses she’d contributed to our collection of dishware.
“Fuck yes.” I collapsed onto the couch as I loosened my tie and toed off my shoes. “How was your day?” Ella and I had been roommates since our third year of law school and had settled into the soothing routine of venting to each other about the trials and tribulations of our daily lives. I was grateful that we’d both gotten jobs in Manhattan that allowed us to keep sharing a space and mutually talking each other off the ledge.
“Ugh. These immigration proposals are tearing people apart. My clients are terrified. Mrs. Ramirez was weeping in my office today. And I had nothing to tell her. Everything feels so chaotic. It’s like I’m beating my head against the wall. Plus, my dad is scared to death.” Ella’s dad, an undocumented immigrant from China, ran a truly fantastic bakery in Seattle in addition to being fiercely supportive of three daughters. But since the election, Ella’s entire family had been on edge.
I tipped a little more wine into Ella’s glass and toasted her grimly. She was so dedicated to her work that it took an actual physical toll. If I thought I kept ungodly hours, Ella’s were worse. Usually when my alarm jarred me out of sleep at five in the morning, I awoke to the faint kitchen light and the steady clicking of Ella drafting emails to other immigration attorneys.
“But how was the meeting? I bet you crushed it, right?” Ella slammed her laptop shut and tucked a lock of long
, dark hair behind her ear. Her smile was enough to make my shoulders drop.
“The meeting was good. Honestly, the coalition is fantastic. I think the data the leader of the Indigenous Youth Group brought about the potential income loss the pipeline could cause for the Cayuga Nation will really strengthen our case.”
Ella looked at me for a long moment before taking a huge gulp of wine. “You’re acting weird.”
As much as I wanted to unload on my best friend, I also was sickeningly embarrassed by my behavior. I didn’t think I could admit how pathetic and unprofessionally I’d acted tonight. Besides, there was nothing to say. In all likelihood, I wouldn’t see Max again. I’d file the motion, wait for the trial date, and communicate mainly with Sheila and Roger.
“Nah, I’m just tired.” I stared at the collection of paintings dotting the wall opposite me, colorful portraits done by Judy, Ella’s wildly talented artist girlfriend.
“You look tired,” Ella joked. We both hated when people said that to us. “But seriously, what’s up? You look like you’re about to have a panic attack, and you know the only way out of that is talking about it.”
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, but it was half-hearted.
“Stop. It’s something. And you know you feel better when we process things together.”
I rolled my eyes at her before flopping back against the mess of garish embroidered throw pillows with a dramatic sigh. “So I met a guy…”
Ella’s whole demeanor transformed as she clapped her hands and sat up tall. “Say more.”
Quickly I detailed the meeting and Max’s aggressive stance. As I told Ella about the ride and dinner, her outraged expression shifted to an almost impish grin. She wrapped her arms around her knees, squeezing tight. When I told her about the kiss, she actually squealed. Then she lunged for her laptop, and I knew what she was about to do. Because really what fun was a budding romance without some good, old-fashioned social-media stalking?
Rogue Passion (The Rogue Series Book 5) Page 7
