Pretend I'm YoursA Single Dad Romance

by Vivian Wood

  She felt blood rush to her face. With the sounds of the party behind them, she was suddenly nervous. Harper didn’t know what to say. This had never happened before. Then again, she’d never really had to be alone with anyone before. All the men that had ever whistled at her, approached her, told her how beautiful she was, it was always in groups. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly alone with anyone.

  “Hey, I’m just playing with you,” he said. He’d slowed down and walked on the outside of the sidewalk. Even with her long legs and years of paid practice, she couldn’t keep up with his stroll in these wedges. Was that on purpose, his walking on the outside? And if it was … where did he learn old school manners like that?

  “I know!” she said. It was too loud, she could tell. Her voice echoed into the night.

  “So. How’s the tattoo healing?” he asked.

  “Oh. Good,” she said, happy there was something neutral to talk about. “I’m following your directions. Eucerin, gauze, check. Though my sheets are fucked with the ink.”

  “Good girl,” he said, and it made her look down but want him more. He chuckled. “It’s a nice night.”

  She wrinkled her nose and balled up her courage. “This first date banter is awkward,” she said. They both stopped in front of the empty playground.

  “Yeah? First date banter, that’s like … okay, I can remember how to do this. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five,” she said. She waited for him to say how much younger she looked, or that he didn’t believe her. Ask for my I.D., something!

  “Twenty-nine,” he replied. “So, where are you from? What’s your middle name? What do you do? Is that basically it, what we’re supposed to talk about?”

  “That’s the gist.” She put her hands on her hips, well aware of how it pushed out her chest. His eyes flickered a moment, but he didn’t look down. “So? Out with it.”

  “Damn, you get straight to the point. Okay, my middle name is Patrick. My family is Irish, but I was born in the U.S. You already know what I do. Likes, okay. Tattoos. Metal music. Converse, and Mexican food.”

  “Succinct,” she said with a nod. “Dislikes?”

  “People who cut in line because they’re busy or important—or think they are. The color pink. And I absolutely hate brussel sprouts.”

  She laughed. “Wow, you didn’t even hesitate. But, yeah, those kinds of people are assholes. But there’s nothing wrong with the color pink.”

  He shrugged. “You could pull it off. Just not my color. Your turn.”

  “Okay … my middle name is Ella. I like indie pop, and I also like Converse. You know they make those in pink, right? I like sushi a lot.”

  “And dislikes?”

  “Bullies,” she said, though she didn’t know where that came from. “Uhm, neon green. Oh, and I’m allergic to bananas.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone allergic to bananas. You’re missing out.”

  She gave a little shake of her head. One banana can have up to 30 carbs, she thought. But that wasn’t something he’d want to know. It would make her sound insane. Besides, she’d much rather spend those 150 calories elsewhere. When calories are currency and you have to stick to under 1,000 a day, you make them count. “Want to swing?” she asked.

  “Well, that was forward, but okay. I don’t have a girlfriend, though.”

  “No,” she said and blushed. “I mean there.” She pointed to the swingset.

  “I know what you meant.”

  She fell into the familiar black rubber seat. Harper knew that in thirty minutes the bones in her hips and ass would start to hurt from lack of give, but tonight she didn’t care. It was her usual spot, her treat, on those long morning jogs. If nobody was at the playground when she got back, she let herself fly.

  Sean slightly twisted the swing back and forth, side to side, the toe of hit beat-up Converse always in the bark chips. “Is this where you take all the guys?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Hardly. For the most part, I’ve been too busy for men.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since forever.”

  “You mean … nothing? What do you do?”

  I used to get call backs, campaigns and gigs all the time. “Trying to figure out what to do next,” she said.

  “That must be tough, though. The no guy thing. How come I’m an exception?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you didn’t ogle and drool over me when you found out what I do.”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “You have no idea. Once? This guy, he was an assistant for some casting director. He saw me at some club where I was doing a promotion and sent over this ridiculous fruity drink with, like ten umbrellas. He didn’t even have the balls to face me, and wrote on the napkin, ‘Call me, Sweetheart’ with his number.”

  “Smooth,” Sean said. “So you’re saying I should call you sweetheart?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Sweetheart it is.”

  She was grateful for the wind in her face and the steady movement. Maybe he wouldn’t notice how nervous he made her.

  “Hey. Come down,” he said.

  Something about him made her want to obey. It was nice, being told what to do when it wasn’t about the size of her waist or how her upper arms were too big for some insane designer’s sample size.

  Harper slowed to a halt, and looked at him, but he said nothing.

  “Is it hard?” she asked. “The sobriety thing, I mean. Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine—”

  He made a face, but waved his hand. “The sobriety bit’s not so bad.”

  “So … why’d you …”

  “I did something stupid. Got in an accident with my best friend. He was, uh, in ICU for a week. He’s still in a coma.”

  “Holy shit. Is he .. okay, though? Like, is he going to come out?”

  “No idea,” he said with a shrug. “I haven’t gone to see him since I got out of rehab. I went into forced inpatient rehab awhile, lost touch with most everyone. I mean … I wouldn’t even know what to say if I did go see him. What’s the point, anyway? It’s not like he could understand. There’s no way to say how sorry I am. All I can do is try and live my life better.” He shrugged.

  Harper was quiet as she took it all in. She hadn’t realized it had been that serious. People in L.A. were on and off the wagon all the time. “I think he’d understand,” she said finally.

  “What?”

  “Your friend that’s in a coma. Even if he’s in a coma, there’s no telling if he can hear you or not. Maybe he could. Maybe he wants you to visit.”

  He sighed. “Well. I probably just screwed things up with you,” he said. “I sound like a total jackass.”

  She bit her lip, then smiled at him. “Not at all,” she said. “It’s good, you know? To get things out in the open. Fast and early, like a Band-Aid. If you want me to be honest, that kind of transparency makes you even more attractive.”

  He raised a brow. “So, you think I’m attractive?”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze. Kiss me now, she thought. The timing was perfect. The moonlight, the swings, all of it.

  Harper forced her gaze back up and looked at his lips. They were incredibly shaped, the lower lip especially full. She licked hers and thought, for just a moment, to lean in. But she couldn’t.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said, and stood up. Disappointed, she took his hand that he offered to help her up.

  “Hey,” he said, and leaned down close to her hand. “What’s that?” He traced one of the fresher scars across her knuckles.

  “Oh, uh, nothing,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He looked at her, curious. “Boxing class,” she said automatically. It was a lie everyone believed. “Good workout, hell on the hands.”

  “A fighter. That’s hot,” he said.

  She kept her hands hidden as best she could on the walk back, but every time h
ers accidentally brushed his, a spark of electricity shot through her.

  “I take it you don’t want to come back in to this amazing party,” she said. From the sidewalk in front of her house, it was clear it was still raging.

  “Think I’ll pass. I’m up early tomorrow to open the shop.”

  “Okay.” Just as she turned to walk away, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. She couldn’t have stopped him if she wanted to. Not that she wanted to, not in the least. She knew he was built, but was surprised by the incredible strength. The dominance of him.

  In her towering wedges, she was the same height as him. As soon as his lips were on hers, she opened her mouth. Greedy, hungry and obedient for anything he wanted.

  He pulled away just as suddenly. “’Night, sweetheart,” he said, and stalked off into the dark.

  6

  Sean

  On the drive home, he felt unexpectedly light. Sean hadn’t known what to expect, but Harper was more than a pretty face. Scratch that, a goddamned gorgeous face. And body—and everything else. Her easy laugh, and the way it somehow lit up her face even more. How she was simultaneously strong and curvy, an Amazonian goddess, but still lithe and willowy like the runway model she was. The way she had to tuck those long legs tight against the leather-looking swing as she sailed through the night.

  And that kiss. Damn. That’s what he really hadn’t expected. Of course he knew she wanted him to kiss her at the park. There had been plenty of other opportunities throughout the night, too. Until the very end, he thought he could resist.

  Joon-Ki would have been proud if he had, that was for sure. But he just couldn’t resist. What harm could one kiss do, anyway? Sean had just wanted to see, to test it out, check and make sure all of this chemistry wasn’t in his head.

  The feeling of her pillowy lips and the faint hint of peppermint stuck to him. When his head hit the pillow, he had no doubts that he’d dream of her. He willed it, that safe escape into exploration where he couldn’t hurt anybody.

  In the morning, the kiss was still with him. He checked his phone. Shit. Even on days off there was no sleeping in. His body was too attuned to the schedule.

  Harper’s words hung in his head, hidden behind that kiss. I think he’d understand.

  Sean rolled out of bed and pulled on some clean jeans and a black t-shirt from the dresser he’d rescued from the sidewalk. He strapped on the distressed leather watch and raked his fingers through his hair. There was no time to shower, he’d second-guess what he was about to do.

  He’d never been to Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Hospital, but he’d driven by it plenty of times. Since he’d been released from in-patient, he’d held his breath every time he drove by, like it was a graveyard. It’s not a graveyard, he told his superstitions. It’s Ashton. It’s still Ashton.

  As he walked through the sliding glass doors, a sprawling information desk welcomed him. “Can I help you?” asked the portly older man.

  “I’m here to see a patient. Ashton Lee.”

  The man’s thick fingers flew over the keyboard. “Room 2231. Take the elevators over there, bank A.”

  “Thanks.” Sean trudged to the row of oversized sleek elevators. Big enough for a gurneys, he thought. The doctors in their white coats looked like children playing dress up.

  His heart hammered into his chest on the ride up and down the long walk of the sterile hallway. He could hear the beeping and mechanical moans before he even walked in. What are you nervous about? It’s not like you really have to face him.

  Ashton looked like he was in a deep sleep. He looked the same, yet different. A lot of his muscle had gone, as had the California tan. Small and pale on the stiff white sheets, the beds on either side of him had recently been turned over. Did those people get better and leave? Or worse? It was a possibility that death literally surrounded Ashton, flanked him like shadows.

  And it’s my fault. “Hey,” he said. Sean cleared his throat. “Hey, man. Ashton. It’s me. It’s Sean.” Shit, if he can hear you, he knows who it is. But Ashton showed no signs of recognition—or stress, thankfully. His breathing remained slow and steady, and the beeps of the machine were constant.

  “Oh!” A nurse walked in. Brunette with a mane of wild hair she’d tried fruitlessly to tame into a bun. “Sorry, you surprised me. He usually doesn’t have visitors this time of day.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “Excuse me?” She went about her business, checking the machines and adjusting one of the IVs.

  “The other beds here, what happened to those people?”

  “They both died,” she said quietly. It was clear that the whisper wasn’t for her benefit, but for Ashton’s. Clearly she thinks he might be able to hear us.

  “Did—”

  “I can’t tell you any details.” He shifted awkwardly in her way. While she bustled about, he inched towards the door.

  “No, please! Feel free to stay, this will only take a couple more minutes. Visiting hours are on now, you’ll have plenty of time. Don’t mind me.”

  Sean wasn’t sure how genuine she was, but he pulled Neal Stephenson’s Seveneves out of his jacket pocket and sat down in the stiff plastic chair by Ashton’s bed. He snuck glances at Ashton and tried to figure out exactly what the nurse was doing, but her hands moved too fast.

  Was Ashton’s pallor worse than “lost Californian tan?” Had he always been that white under the golden bronze of the sun’s effects? Sean didn’t know. Hell, it’s not like spending weeks in a hospital room is going to do any favors for your looks.

  “All set,” the nurse said with an easy smile as she rushed out of the room and onto the next patient.

  Sean sighed and tried to find a position in the chair that was semi-comfortable. He found himself reading the same paragraph over and over again. There was no way to concentrate. “You’d like this book,” he eventually said to Ashton.

  The only reply was the computer beeps. Still, holding the book in his hand as a shield and the methodic hum of the machines began to loosen him up.

  “Shit, Ashton. I miss you,” he said. He watched his friend for any sign of movement, but there was nothing. “That’s something you probably never thought you’d hear me say,” he said with a small laugh. “Sounds weak, right? But it’s the truth.”

  Unlike Joon-Ki, who was a great AA guide and listener, Ashton—especially now—held no space for judgment. He was there, but he wasn’t. No, he’s there. He’s here.

  “Shit’s been crazy since … well, you know,” he said. He shut the book and put it in his lap. “Whole lot of thinking going on. Non-stop. It’s probably good in a way, right? But it’s driving me fucking insane.”

  Sean stopped talking as he heard squeaking shoes make their way down the hall. A middle-aged woman in a white coat that brushed her thighs walked past. “I feel like a goddamned loser,” he told Ashton. “I mean, besides a clutch of women thinking I’m hot, what the hell else do I have going for me? Nothing.”

  Instantly, an image of Harper flashed through his mind. That kiss, those lips. She was gorgeous, that was for sure. And fun, but not a party girl. But what else do you know about her?

  “There’s this girl …” he began, but didn’t know how to finish.

  What would Harper think of him if she saw him right now? If she saw Ashton? All the carnage he’d caused, and for what?

  “I’m sorry, man,” he said quietly. “Ashton, I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t know what he’d expected. For Ashton to magically sit up and tell him not to worry about it? There wasn’t even a blip on the machines.

  You’re destructive. And you’re dangerous. And nowhere near good enough for someone like Harper … or Ashton.

  He dropped his head into his hands and practiced the steady breathing. Equal count in and out.

  His history, the evidence just an arm’s reach away, was only part of it. If I was just an alcoholic, that would be one thing, he thought.

 
But there was more. With Harper, especially, there was a lot more. The things he wanted to do to her, the things he’d dreamt about last night, they were filthy. Depraved. It wasn’t light bondage, that little fluffy handcuff bullshit people liked to play around with these days. It was tie her up so she had to beg, really, truly bed with rope burns blazing into her wrists.

  God, if she had any idea of the things that got him hard …

  “A new visitor!” Another nurse walked in, this one squeaky clean. She didn’t look older than sixteen. “That’s so nice. How do you know Ashton? Family?”

  The last thing he wanted to do was sit here and admit to a Girl Scout that he’s the one who’d put her patient in this bed. “Gotta go,” he mumbled and shoved the book back into his pocket.

  He didn’t look back at Ashton, or the nurse, as he stormed out of the room. But the machine beeps followed him all the way down the hall. They were everywhere.

  As he waited for the elevator, his phone vibrated with a text. “Just checking in,” Harper had written, followed by a string of emojis he wouldn’t even try to untangle.

  He hovered a thumb over the screen, but finally put it away without replying. It would be better this way, for both of us, he thought.

  Sean felt like shit as he walked to the car. It was his fault, he’d led her on. Hell, he’d invited himself to her party, even though he’d never expected her to say okay. And that whole night, the playground bullshit, it was clear she was into him.

  You didn’t have to kiss her. You should have pulled the plug way before that. He grimaced slightly at the phrase. Better late than never. Cut this shit out before it goes too far.

  She was a gorgeous girl. Young, a model, the whole future ahead of her. She’d forget about him in no time.

  7

  Harper

  She furrowed her brows together when she saw the little checkmark appear in the text box. No ellipses, no nothing. Obviously Sean had seen her text. He just chose to ignore it. She automatically relaxed her face and pressed a palm between her eyebrows. The last thing you need are deeper lines in your face.