We need rules.
First rule, he isn’t allowed to drop in at my place of work and say, “I woke up thinking of you,” and give me a deep, soulful kiss in front of everyone who was going to take my beginners-Vinyasa class.
Rule number two, he isn’t allowed to take my classes and wink at me while everyone is watching us. That panty-melting-heart-stopping smirk is forbidden. That should be rule number three. Rule number four, keep that eight-pack hidden behind a thick layer of clothing and his thick, long appendage should be covered at all times when I’m around. Who goes commando while wearing jeans? Doesn’t that hurt?
I’m just thankful that he didn’t book a Reiki session with me after I got a good glimpse of his perfectly shaped, naked body when he was changing in the locker room. Otherwise, I’d have quit on the spot. I couldn’t stand the torture of touching him for thirty minutes. Harrison Everhart has to stay away from me. He might not realize it, but I need his help blending. Not the animosity of the women who want him.
After my second class of the day, I went to the Reiki room. I’m better at practicing it, except, it’s six o’clock and I’ve been having back-to-back appointments. Everyone wants to take my classes or enjoy the healing power of my hands. According to Jess, the owner, people are starting to use the studio’s app and RSVPing to all the classes I’m teaching for the next two weeks. She wanted me to add one more at five in the morning. As much as I’d love to get paid seventy-five dollars for that hour, I prefer to sleep.
“You’re incredible. I feel so much better,” the lady whose name I can’t remember says as she sits straight up, rotating her neck. “I’m going to recommend you to my friends.”
Please don’t. I can’t take another round of interrogations while trying to heal you. If this continues, I am going to quit.
Just quit, Luna. These women might push you too far and you’ll end up snapping their neck.
“Thank you.” I plaster the friendliest smile I can fake on my lips.
“I hope you don’t mind all my questions, but when I heard that you’re dating Harrison Everhart, I couldn’t contain myself. I knew his mother. She was a sweetheart.”
Here we go again. Wait, what? She was? As in no longer existent or they are no longer friends? Now, I’m intrigued.
Do not engage, Luna.
I press stop to the music and wash my hands.
“How serious are you two?”
“It’s new. We just started dating recently,” I respond the same way I did the last seven times or was it a million?
I lost count after the second person that interrogated me about this phenomenon called Harrison Everhart.
“He’s a catch, isn’t he?”
I’m the catch, lady. Not him. He wishes he could date me in real life. Would he? I wouldn’t know. He’s not my type. My type is . . . do I have a type? I’m sure his type is more like Hazel. Dressed in the latest fashion, high heels and picture-ready face and hair.
“I wouldn’t know. This is brand new for the two of us.” I hand over her purse.
“We thought he was going to marry that Beesley girl.”
That Beesley girl will laugh when I tell her that at least ten people mentioned he was her man.
“Beesley girl?” I yawn, feigning ignorance.
Opening the door, I tilt my head toward the reception area. I turn off the lights and grab my tote bag. She’s my last appointment of the day, thank God. “If you don’t mind paying Jess on your way out, here is my card in case you want to schedule another appointment. My schedule doesn’t allow me to take walk-ins.”
“Oh look, your young man is waiting for you.” She stops right in front of me, looking around, then giving me a coy smile. As if we’re accomplices or best friends. “And he brought you flowers.”
Why is he here?
“Hey,” I say, walking toward him.
“Babe, these are for you,” Harrison greets me, handing me the small, beautiful bouquet of wildflowers. “Ready to go home?”
I reach for the back of his neck with one hand. Stand on my tiptoes and press my lips close to his ear so only he can hear me. “Call me babe again, and you’ll die, baby.”
Harrison grabs me by the waist, pulling me closer to him. “Ever since I met you, you have nothing but loving words and affection for me.”
He grins, looking around and then looking down at me. “This girl is a keeper.”
Leaning closer to me, he grabs my mouth with his, kissing me deeply and soulfully. My toes curl, my heart hammers against my ribcage and my tongue dances along with his. I rise above the earth, dancing through the clouds. The world spins as the magic of the kiss sinks in. His heartbeats are so strong, so loud that I can hear it inside myself. Or is that me?
I push him away; my stomach tightens as I try to rationalize what just happened between us.
We kissed. But it’s not just that; it’s so much more. Suddenly, his beat matched mine, and I was somewhere far away with him. It was only the two of us sharing more than just a kiss. This is beginning to be too much for me. I might be open to everything, but not to someone like him. I feel like he’s sucking me into his life and I’m losing perspective of what matters . . . and I just met him.
“We have dinner with the family, Luna.” His voice is calm, soft. It caresses my insides and my entire body tenses. Why am I reacting this way?
He nods at everyone and says, “Have a good evening, ladies.”
Harrison grabs my hand. I hate, and I love that when he intertwines his fingers with mine, they fit perfectly together. Something about him just feels right. We haven’t known each other for long, and yet, I react to his charm. These fluttering stomach, weak knees, fast heart-beating symptoms shouldn’t exist. Since when do I care for the sexy, playboy kind of guy? Never. I’ve never liked those guys who catch the stares of every female in the room. I used to date quiet, smart, and sensitive men. But that was a long time ago. My last “relationship” was . . . when was it? Was it Tony, before I joined the FBI? I think so. And since then, men aren’t part of my permanent agenda. They occupy too much time that I can’t give them.
So, why am I reacting like a woman full of lust when he’s around? I must have hit my head hard and didn’t realize it until my hormones began to react to his presence. That’s the only explanation I come up with.
“We need rules, Harrison Everhart,” I speak as we step outside the studio.
“Rules?” Harrison glances, shrugs and pulls me toward the left through the sea of people walking toward Madison Square Garden. “You don’t seem like the kind of woman who likes rules. I swore you’d be more like a ‘go with the flow and let go of what is useless.’”
“You don’t know me,” I rebuke his stupid observation.
I follow that philosophy, letting things go. In fact, “go with the flow, be the flow, and create the flow” is my mantra. Outside of work I prefer to live a little less organized and a lot more . . . soulful? Is that even a word? I just like to breathe, trust, and live with an open heart. It’s a balancing act I enjoy performing often. He doesn’t have to know it. In fact, he shouldn’t be analyzing the kind of person that I am.
“We are working together, not . . . getting to know each other.” I huff.
My words make me sound out of character. Knowing people is my favorite part about life. I hate superficial relationships but . . . this man is a heartache waiting to happen. Wait, why am I going from getting to know him to crushing my heart? I stare at our linked hands. Is it the electricity we produce every time we touch that’s making me act like a teenager with a crush?
As we arrive at a crosswalk, he stops and turns to look at me. “It’s one in the same. We are partners in crime. Partner 101, you have to trust your companion, blindly. For that to happen, I have to get to know you.”
“Rules,” I insist. “We need rules.”
He frowns, exhales, and we resume our walk. Is he against rules? He was a Ranger. Aren’t they programmed to follow procedure?
My mind races as I focus on what to do with Harrison Everhart. Ditch the man and do this alone. I can’t. I need him for a few more days, maybe weeks. People responded well to our bogus relationship. They want to know me, be friendly with me. My heart will burst out of my chest if he kisses me the way he did at the studio.
The ongoing fight I have in my head is part confusion and part frustration.
Fifteen
Harrison
I hate to admit it, this get-to-know each other phase isn’t as bad as I recall. Actually, I like it. Scratching my head, I attempt to remember the last time I tried to get to know someone who I was attracted to. The only three women I talk to include Hazel because she’s my best friend. My brothers like to add that she’s a female version of myself. We know each other pretty well. Then, there’s Willow, Hunter’s live-in girlfriend. And Sarah, our housekeeper. She has known me since I was a teenager.
“Why do we need rules?”
“You fluster me,” she responds.
I like her reaction toward me. The cheek biting, eye squeezing, squeaky voice combination she has every time I frustrate her. It’s insane to say that I fucking missed her while I was away. Now that I’m back, I want a lot more from this temporary relationship. Sex is part of the agenda. I just have to approach her from the right angle. No strings attached can be so easy.
It doesn’t make sense as to why we have to set rules. What kind of rules is she talking about? The kind of rules people set before having non-commitment sex is simple. No feelings should be involved. The moment one of the parties starts having feelings for the other, it should be terminated. That calls for an irrevocable termination. Though, I admit that I’m looking forward to having monogamous sex. It’s been a long drought for me. One-night stands at my age don’t excite me. I blame it all on my friend and partner, Anderson Hawkins, and my brother Hunter. They are happy with their women.
Then there’s Hazel who wears her rosy love goggles. She’s always talking about families, and how life changes once you find the one. That one creates some kind of magic that makes you never want to be alone, ever.
I have no idea if there’s such a thing as my one. I might be too old to find a girl to spend the rest of my life with. My parents married in their early twenties. But Hawk found Aspen at my age. Maybe my match is out there. Do I want to find her? I glance at Luna. If finding the one means losing her, then I don’t want to find anyone. At least not for now. I want to spend as much time as I can with her. I’m not sure. For now, I want a woman who I can enjoy having sex with more than once. We can be in my bed, her bed, in a hotel, on a private island, or wherever we please. Without romantic expectations, of course.
I am ready to have steady, monogamous sex with Luna. We can fake the whole happily ever after in front of whoever she wants. While in bed, we can send each other to a state of eternal bliss. I just have to show her that we can work things out, my way.
“Define flustered. Do I excite you?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Or do I frustrate you?”
Either scenario works for me, I like how her eyes brighten, and her nostrils flare simultaneously. I like to think that I get to her and that excites me. There’s nothing frustrating about this woman. Except, her father. We have to discuss that man and her brothers. It’s the big guy who scares the fuck out of me. Tiago has more muscles than me, and he knows my weak points. He can break me like a twig if I don’t tread carefully.
“Frustrating.” She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing exciting about you.”
Her gaze moves toward the floor. She chews her cheek. And I believe I just found out the way to tell when she’s lying. She’s not as hard to read as I thought.
“That’s because you forgot how good we are together.” I wink at her. “In a couple of days, you’d choose me over Disney World. And remember what they say, that’s the happiest place on Earth.”
My groin tightens when her tanned skin flushes every time I get too close or when I say something that embarrasses her.
I pull out my phone to ask my family about dinner. Since I have nothing to do but be with Luna, I was assigned to bring them food.
Harrison: Sushi?
Hazel: It’s not Sunday. You’re ruining Sushi Sunday.
Hunter: Yes to sushi.
Fitz: I can go for sushi, stop designating food for every day of the week. I hate French Friday.
Hazel: You hated the escargot. I promised not to cook them.
Fitz: You shouldn’t cook, period.
Scott: Sushi is fine.
Harrison: Perfect, just text the order. I’m almost there.
The group chat continues buzzing, but I ignore it. The majority agrees on eating that for dinner. Unless Luna doesn’t like it, that’s what we’re having tonight.
“Do you like sushi?” I ask as we get closer to Kurosawa, the Asian bistro close to Hazel’s place. She nods. “Then we can have some Sake and a long chat about your plans during your time in New York City.”
“My plans?” She shoots me a glare and shakes her head. “Rules, we need ground rules. For starters, you aren’t allowed to drop by the yoga studio.”
“I never got a thank you for the flowers. After you, my lady.” I open the door of the restaurant and bow to her.
She smells the flowers I gave her earlier, angles her face toward me, and smiles. “Thank you, they’re pretty.”
“You’re welcome. I’d like to point out that you’re more beautiful.” I kiss the tip of her nose and walk to the counter.
“Did you memorize every page of Cheesy Pick-up Lines for Dummies?” she fires back. “Or was it How to Impress Your Girl for Sixth Graders.”
“I take it you’re not amused by my approach.” Or that my approach is making you uncomfortable because it’s working. I take her hand and kiss it lightly.
“Umm.” She claims her hand, dropping her chin for a few moments.
“What kind of men have you been dating, dear?” I shoot her an inquisitive gaze before paying attention to the guy behind the counter. “Hello, John.”
John’s eyebrows furrow. I point at his name tag, and he smiles while nodding. “Welcome to Kurosawa, will this be for here or to go?”
“To go, please.” I turn to Luna who is staring at the menu board. “Are you ready to order?”
“Can I have a SoHo sushi plate and two amazing rolls, please,” she requests, turning back to me when she’s done.
“Two more SoHo plates. Three orders of lobster rolls, two poke bowls with tuna, one with salmon, and one with shrimp; and five orders of tuna sashimi to go.” I read the order from my phone and then read the last text.
Hunter: Can you bring teriyaki chicken for Willow? She can’t eat raw fish. And hurry, Hazel is going insane.
Harrison: Why?
Hunter: We can’t give the news until everyone is here, including you.
News? What kind of news?
“Can you add an order of teriyaki chicken?”
“Name on the order?”
I scribble it on a paper while handing Luna a cup to distract her. “Do you want water?”
When the total comes up on the screen, I swipe my phone on the scanner.
But she’s busy going through her purse. I stretch my neck trying to see what she has in there other than those sharp chopsticks that almost killed me the day we met. She might have an entire arsenal to kill a gang without breaking a sweat. Fuck. Why do I find that hot?
My new addiction is petite girls who look harmless and can kick my ass.
Or just this one.
“Water?” She finally pays attention to me.
“No. Thank you. I . . . just . . .”
“Next,” John calls the person behind us, he’s done with us.
Luna exhales, dropping her weight on one of her legs. “You don’t have to buy me dinner,” Luna says, holding a rose-pale pink tooled leather wallet. “I can pay for myself.”
All her things are original, handmade, and as cute as her. Plus, disorganized too. That w
allet is full of folded receipts and papers. Does she need to save all that?
“Is that for your daily expenses?” I lightly touch her wallet. “Because there’s an app you can use to scan your receipts and email them as you go.”
“App?” She crooks an eyebrow staring at her wallet. “You’re a strange person, Harrison Everhart. Can you stick to one subject?”
“Probably,” I answer, smiling at her frustrated face.
The subject would be, I pay when you’re with me. It’s not because I’m the man, but because that’s what my mother taught me. But your answer will probably be in the form of physical injury or threatening my man parts.
Yet, I find it adorable when she’s irritated. Why do I find her adorable?
“As I said, I could’ve paid for my own dinner,” she repeats, taking out a twenty-dollar bill and handing it to me.
“You’re welcome,” I say, pushing her hand lightly back to her wallet.
“Huh?”
“That’s what one says when someone buys you dinner,” I explain to her.
“One is talking in third person.” The corner of her lips pull slightly. The smile brightens her face. My heartbeat accelerates as the scowl disappears. “Honestly, I should be the one paying for your dinner.”
“Why?”
She looks at my crotch, her eyes shining. Those eyes remind me of one of Mom’s stained-glass windows. The one she donated to a church in Belize. This woman has angel eyes. “Well, that little incident while you were changing in the Reiki room after yoga class.”
Luna bites her lip, her face flushes.
“Dinner wouldn’t make things even—maybe you should show me yours.” I wink at her. “Just a glimpse, like the one you saw today.”
Her angelical laugh makes my heart beat fast.
“We need rules before things between us become blurry. Blurry isn’t healthy,” she pauses, “or so I’ve heard.”
“Twenty-twenty vision.” I point at my eyes lowering my voice and getting closer to her. “There’s no way things can become blurry, for me. I’m a sniper. I’m trained to detect things that many can’t. I see better than the average guy.”
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