And she was ridiculous for feeling this way.
“Well, all the rooms should probably be repainted, but I think your grandma wanted the kitchen worked on first. She mentioned she wanted new appliances, but I think she might want to wait before she makes that purchase,” he explained.
Harper propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist, listening to him. She could listen to him all night, even when he talked about boring stuff like appliances and repainting. Not that she didn’t want to help him, because she definitely did. But he was a total distraction. His deep voice, his gorgeous face, those sexy blue eyes, the way his broad chest was emphasized in that black T-shirt . . .
“So the cabinets are solid, but that oak is just so dark, it looks pretty beat up from years of use. I want to paint them white.” He stared at the array of white samples with a helpless expression. “I thought it would be simple, you know? White is . . . white.”
Hmm, she needed to step in and help him make a decision. She was good at this sort of thing. “Clearly that’s not the case.” She reached over and tapped her finger right in the dead center of about twenty white paint options. “I like this.”
West glanced up. “Why’s that?”
“I like the name. Café au Lait.” She shrugged when he turned to really look at her, his blue eyes meeting hers. “It’s not too bright, not too beige. It’s a perfect, subtle shade of warm white.”
“I like the way you think. Done.” He tore the page out of the pamphlet, then proceeded to tear the actual paint sample itself from the page. “How about the kitchen walls?”
And that became their process. She declared a color as her favorite for a particular room and West agreed, no questions asked. He’d make jokes, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He asked about people they went to school with, and she filled him in on whatever details she knew, which most of the time were a lot. He was a gracious host who kept asking her if she wanted something to drink until she finally agreed to have a bottled water. When he admitted he was hungry and she agreed, he called in a pizza order. They were waiting for it as he showed her the master bathroom, though she didn’t really need a tour of the place.
She had lived here for years, after all.
“The tile has to go,” West said as he flicked on the bathroom light. It was an old rectangular fluorescent unit that hung above the mirror, the light it cast dull and unflattering. If she had her choice, most everything in this room would go. It was all outdated and awful.
Harper stopped just behind him, her upper lip curling as she stared at the hideous brown tile that looked like it had come straight out of the seventies. “I totally agree. Shit brown isn’t what I would call a classic color.”
His gaze met hers in the bathroom mirror, his expression mildly incredulous. “Excuse me, but did Harper Hill just say the word shit?”
“Stop.” She waved a hand. She’d had a bit of a reputation when she was younger as someone who never, ever cursed. Like ever. She’d been such a good girl back in her teenage years and so proud of it too.
Now she wished she would’ve gone a little wilder. At least once, just to prove that she could.
“Seriously. You don’t say bad words, Harper. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you say the word shit and I’ve known you a long time.” His face was serious, but she saw the way his eyes sparkled. He was totally teasing her.
“Well, it’s been years since we’ve spent any time together. I’ve changed a lot, you know,” she pointed out.
His gaze did a slow sweep of her body, lingering on all the spots that made her tingle in anticipation. “I can see that,” he drawled.
In the mirror, her cheeks were pink. Some things never changed—like how she blushed at the drop of a hat. “I curse all the time,” she mumbled.
“For real?” He sounded like he didn’t believe her.
“Absolutely. Shit is my favorite word.” She lifted her chin, trying to look dignified, but really, she was being an idiot.
This was what she’d been reduced to while in West’s presence. She insisted that she loved to say bad words and that shit was her favorite.
Could she be any dumber?
“Shit is a good word, I have to agree.” He moved closer to her, his long fingers trailing along the edge of the ugly countertop. She remembered exactly what it felt like to have those fingers trailing on her skin and she wanted to experience that again. “But I have other favorites.”
“You do?” Her voice went higher and she cleared her throat, mentally reminding herself to keep her, ahem, shit together.
“One in particular.” West turned to face her and all the air lodged in her throat when she saw how dark his eyes had become, how close he was to her now. She should tell him to back off. They were moving too fast. She’d just broken up with her boyfriend, the man she had assumed she was going to marry.
Instead she gripped the edge of the counter with one hand, bracing herself, waiting for something, anything to happen. Hopeful. Always hopeful when it came to West.
“What word is it?” she asked, pleased that her voice didn’t come out shaky. She certainly felt shaky, like a fluttering leaf about to get knocked off a branch during the height of fall.
He smiled and stepped closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well. I’ve always been partial to the word fu—”
The doorbell rang, interrupting him, making her jump in surprise. Frustration rippled across his features and he stepped back, running a hand through his hair before he smiled weakly. “Guess that’s the pizza. I’ll go get it.”
“Do you want some money?” she offered. “I can help . . . ”
The look he sent Harper told her she just affronted his manhood. “Keep your money. It’s a ten-dollar pizza.” He exited the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Come down and join me. We’ll eat at the kitchen table.”
The moment he was headed downstairs she leaned against the counter, resting her hand on her chest, trying her best to calm her racing heart and recover her wits before she went to the kitchen and joined him.
He was definitely being flirty, but why? Was he just a tease? Yes. Yes, she knew that for a fact. So was he leading her along, playing with her because he had nothing better to do? When he’d been younger he’d done that sort of thing all the time with a variety of girls, including at one point, her. He had a bit of a reputation, so if he was trying to uphold it with his return to Wildwood, so far he was doing a great job.
Shaking her head, she stared at her reflection, her gaze stern, a scowl on her face. “Don’t fall for him,” she murmured, wagging her index finger at the mirror. “He’s dangerous to your well-being.”
Truer words were never spoken.
Too bad she wasn’t listening to her own advice.
WEST TIPPED THE delivery kid ten bucks and snatched the pizza box from his hands.
“Thanks, mister!” the teenaged boy said just as West slammed the door in his face.
Yeah, that was a jerk move, but he doubted the kid cared. He just scored an easy ten bucks.
West took the pizza into the kitchen and set the box on the counter before he opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of pale ale. He knew Harper hadn’t been much of a beer drinker when they were younger and maybe she wasn’t one now either. He could change out her drink. He had other options.
All he knew was he needed the beer to loosen up. Just having her close made him incredibly tense. Even doing something as innocent and boring as picking out paint colors. Being with her, listening to her voice, watching her as she nibbled on her lower lip while contemplating paint samples sent a white-hot bolt of lust straight through him. He wanted to touch. Taste. Kiss. Strip.
Fuck.
Breathing deep, he twisted the top off his beer and took a few chugs, then went in search of paper plates and napkins. A little brown paper bag full of Parmesan and red pepper flakes came with the delivery and he pulled out a bottle of ranch dressing from the fridge too, remembering how Har
per used to like dunking her pizza in it.
Funny, he hadn’t remembered that particular detail until this very moment.
“Oh, it smells amazing.” She walked into the kitchen, coming to a stop when she saw the pizza box on the counter. “DeMarco’s? I haven’t had that in forever.” It was a Wildwood staple, having been around since West could remember.
“Seriously?” He flipped open the box, his mouth watering as he gazed at the pizza within. Growing up, he’d loved DeMarco’s pizza. Would occasionally dream about it over the years, which was insane, but that’s how much he missed it once he moved away.
He’d had it twice since he’d returned home. This was his third go-round. If he kept this up he’d be fat as hell and have a permanent case of serious heartburn.
She stared down at the pizza with longing. Actual, real longing etched all over her pretty face. “I try to watch what I eat now,” she admitted, her voice soft. A little sad.
West ran his gaze down the length of her. She looked perfectly fine to him. Too fine. Curves in all the right places, not too skinny, the type of body a man wanted to run his hands all over. “You look great to me.”
Her gaze met his, her eyes wide, lips softly parted. Completely kissable, if he was being honest with himself. He was half tempted to lean in and test it out. See if they’d have that same spark. See if she’d push him away or not.
But he remained rooted to the spot, not moving a muscle, not saying a word.
“Well, thank you. But that’s because I don’t eat DeMarco’s anymore.” She reached for the smallest slice and set it on the paper plate he offered her. “I’ll just have one.”
“Harper, you used to eat this stuff all the time. What gives?” He grabbed three pieces and stacked them on his plate. “And I have ranch out for you if you want to use it.”
“Oh, I can’t do that either. Just extra calories.” She shook her head and started to head for the table. His gaze zeroed in on the sway of her hips, the perfect curve of her ass. A few extra calories wouldn’t hurt that very sexy body of hers. Who was filling her head with such lies?
“Want a beer? Or does that have too many calories too?” he asked.
She sent him an admonishing look from over her shoulder before she settled in at the table. “Just water, thanks.”
Muttering under his breath, he grabbed her another bottle of water and brought everything over to the table, including the ranch dressing and the two beers he was now going to drink himself. He dumped a bunch of ranch on his plate then dunked his slice into it, taking a big bite.
Damn. He hadn’t eaten pizza with ranch in a long time. It was delicious.
The look Harper sent him as he chewed was now filled with pure jealousy. She wanted the ranch dressing, so why wouldn’t she just go for it? “Why are you depriving yourself?”
She nibbled on her tiny slice of pizza, like she was trying to prolong the moment. “If I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it, I’d be huge.”
He snorted. “I doubt that.”
“It’s true. I’ve given up most junk food. I had to,” she said defensively.
“Well, that’s a damn shame. I get eating healthy. I prefer it most of the time. But sometimes, I want a burger basket from the BFD,” he explained.
“Or a huge slice of DeMarco’s pizza covered in ranch?” She raised her brows, nodding toward his plate.
“Exactly.” He set the half-eaten slice on his plate and licked his fingers just to drive her nuts. The way her eyes narrowed, he figured his plan was working. “It’s freaking delicious. You’re missing out.”
She made a face. “You’re mean.”
“You’re the mean one, torturing yourself.”
“Oh my God,” she mumbled, reaching out and grabbing the ranch dressing bottle, twisting off the cap. “You’re also ridiculous.”
“Says the girl who thinks she’s fat.” It pleased him to watch her squeeze a small dollop of dressing on her plate. She delicately dipped the end of her slice in the dressing and then ate it, her eyes going dreamy with pleasure.
His skin went hot. He liked that look. A lot. Even if it was initially caused by pizza and ranch, he’d like to be the one to put that look on her face eventually.
“You should have another piece,” he suggested after she devoured the first one. Before she could say a word he got up, grabbed the pizza box from the kitchen, and brought it back to the table. He flipped open the box, waving a hand. “Go for it.”
She sighed, then pressed her lips together. “Maybe just one more?”
“No judgment here,” he said solemnly.
“I’ll have to work out extra hard tomorrow to make up for this.” She reached for a slice, grabbing a much bigger one this time around.
He could think of a workout that they could indulge in together to burn a bunch of calories. Not that Harper would take him up on the suggestion. Not that she should. She was still recovering from ending her relationship. He was looking for nothing serious. He’d be fling material, nothing more.
Maybe that was exactly what Harper needed . . .
“What do you do to work out?” he asked, genuinely curious. He remembered she’d been on the volleyball team in high school. Her freshman year she’d been a cheerleader and cute as absolute fuck in her uniform. Harper could wear a short skirt like no one else. Even Delilah and she had those long dancer legs. “Still play volleyball?”
Harper made a face. “No. I haven’t played it in years.”
Of course she didn’t. And he never thought about Delilah like that anymore either. Yeah, they’d had a thing when they were kids. A pretty passionate thing, if he was being truthful. As passionate as two teenage kids could be. But it had fizzled out fast. They were better off as friends and had realized it quick, which was awfully grown-up for them. They’d been babies then.
Seeing Delilah now, there was no spark, no interest. More like a pleasant fondness and memories of a time past. He was hopeful that they could continue their friendship. Delilah was good people. She always had been.
Harper Hill was . . . different. Just hearing her name being said by someone else sent a bolt of sensation straight through his veins. Hearing her voice made his heart race. Having her so close, or worse, having her touch him, however briefly, however meaningless it was . . .
He felt weak—weak with wanting her.
Was it because he’d never had a real chance with her? One night of kissing for a few hours hadn’t been nearly enough. More like a sampling of what he wanted more of. Once he had her—if he ever got the chance—would he get over this feeling? Or would that make him want her more?
For all he knew she wasn’t interested in him like that. He couldn’t blame her. He’d treated her like crap by walking away and never acknowledging what happened that night. Of course, he’d left town and never had the chance to talk about it with her, but maybe that had only made it worse.
Hell, he still hadn’t acknowledged what happened between them. Maybe he should. Maybe they should confront their past indiscretion once and for all, get it out of the way so they could forge on. Move forward. All that positive mumbo jumbo he’d never been much of a believer in.
“So what do you do? For exercise?” he finally asked, needing to get back on track and focus on Harper. Not become lost in old memories.
“I run mostly. A few mornings a week,” she said with a little shrug. She set her slice of pizza on the plate and took a drink of her water. “I should probably run more, but . . . ”
“Do you do anything else?”
“Sometimes Delilah gives a torturous exercise class during the summer. I’ve been known to participate in that.” Harper made a little face. “She’s kind of ruthless.”
“This doesn’t surprise me,” he said, though he distinctly remembered Delilah complaining about her dance teacher and how relentless and pushy she used to be. Now Delilah was the relentless, pushy one.
“I should exercise more. I should do a lot of things
that are good for me.” She dropped her gaze to the table, a little sigh escaping her.
“Like what? And says who?” he asked.
Harper lifted her head, her pretty brown eyes meeting his. “This is going to sound incredibly lame,” she started, her lips immediately clamping shut, as if she didn’t want to say the rest.
“Out with it,” West encouraged. “Come on, Harper. We’re friends, right?”
Her gaze never strayed from his and after a few seconds of silence, he wanted to squirm in his chair like a little kid until she finally said, “Is that what we are, Weston? Friends?”
He froze. Here it was, their moment of truth. He could run right over this moment and not acknowledge their past or he could throw it out on the table and see how she reacted. What would she do if he told her he was attracted to her now? Still?
What would he do if she wasn’t interested in him at all?
West frowned. He wasn’t sure. And he didn’t know if he wanted to consider either possibility yet.
“I thought maybe . . . ” Her voice trailed off and she looked away, as if she couldn’t face him. He got it. His heart pounded like a freight train, rattling his ribs as he waited for what she had to say next. “After what happened that last night you were in Wildwood, before you left. Things changed between us, Weston. They changed a lot.”
She was right. Things had totally changed. But he never thought he’d have to see her again. He’d thought that he could just walk away from her and pretend that night had never happened.
But it had. And he suddenly, desperately wanted to talk about it. Own it. Reenact it.
Would she let him? Did she want him to?
Chapter Seven
HARPER’S HEART WAS racing. If West agreed that yeah, they were nothing but friends and that night meant nothing to him, she would bolt, leave this place and never look back because she wouldn’t be able to take his rejection again.
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