by Alex Wolf
“I want to know about you. For professional reasons, obviously. I need to know who I’m entrusting with my company’s resources.”
“Nice cover. Not happening.”
The waiter comes over and interrupts, asking what we’ll have.
“Bone-in ribeye, medium rare.”
I look across the table at her. It’s even hot when she orders a steak. “I’ll have the same.”
She really just ordered a twenty-two ounce, eighty-dollar steak. I can’t get enough of her.
She quirks up an eyebrow. “Bet I eat more of it than you.”
I smirk.
“What?”
I shake my head at her. “It’s just… have you ever been on a date with a woman?”
“Yeah.”
I damn near choke when I take a drink of my water. “That was a rhetorical question.”
“Well, I answered it truthfully. In college a couple times.”
I just sit there, still shaking my head. She’s such a fun little mystery. You could take the entire planet earth and go through every woman and you would never find another Harlow Collins. I think that’s what I like about her the most.
“Anyway, I mean this in the best way possible, but you’re very different. It’s refreshing.”
“I will take that as a compliment. And my challenge still stands.”
“Okay, Collins. You’re on. I’m warning you, though. Dexter tried this shit with me once with buffalo wings and I smoked his ass like a blunt. I don’t like to lose.”
“I once challenged Dexter to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich eating contest when I was six and he was thirteen, and he tapped out after two. You’re going to have to come a little harder, Miller.”
“Came pretty hard last time. To be fair, so did you.”
She doesn’t even try to look irritated this time, just holds up her water and smiles. “Walked right into that.”
“Yes. Yes you did.” I grin. “Tell me about your family, I really want to know.”
She shrugs. “It’s just me and my dad. Always has been.”
I don’t want to push her to reveal painful memories or anything. “So you guys still close? He live around here? I’m assuming you grew up around here too.”
“Outside of town a little ways, maybe forty-five minutes, just depends on where you’re trying to go in Chicago. My dad likes land, so we have a few acres. My cousins would all come out during the summer and I’d run around with them, and then I’d come in and spend time in the city. I always liked the city more. All the people. All the things going on. Opportunity everywhere.” She pauses. “And yeah, we’re super close. Family is all you really have, right?”
I wouldn’t know. But I do know what it’s like to make your own family, find people who care about you, a support system. “Sure.”
“Don’t sound very convincing. You from around here?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Family?” She smiles.
I smile back and shake my head. “No.”
“No?”
I shrug. “I mean I don’t know any blood relatives.”
“You’re adopted? You have parents that adopted you?”
“Kind of. So about you—”
She cuts me off. “No, this is two-way communication here if you want to get personal. If you don’t want to discuss business, you receive, but you also give.”
“Okay, I never knew my parents. Not that I can remember. My mom handed me to the state when I was like four or five. So, I was past being the whole cute infant everyone wants and ended up in foster home after foster home. I was a shithead, hellion, got in trouble all the time.”
“That’s how you got into the MMA stuff, isn’t it?”
I nod. “It saved my life. I’d probably be in prison. I walked into a gym one day when I was about nine, running the streets, riding the train around town. I don’t know why I went in there. It was just like a magnet, pulling me in that direction, you know? Just an urge. And I went in and met Bill Perkins.” Fuck, it’s almost hard not to get emotional thinking about it. I always keep this shit to myself. It’s scary to think what my life would be if I hadn’t walked down the street that day, stopped and went inside. “He started training me with some other kids, even though I told him I didn’t have any money. He said I could pay him by doing some chores around the place and not getting in trouble. By going to school and working hard. He said that was better than him getting money from me.”
“Wow.” She leans back, like she’s in deep thought. “So you have family, just not biological family?”
“Yeah, I would say that for sure. I’d do anything for Bill and Pedro.”
“Pedro Mandez? Fuck, I saw you two at the reception and it makes so much sense now. I feel like such an idiot. You train him, don’t you?”
“He was basically me when I found him, only a little older. And I used to train him, but Bill handles most of it now. I’m too busy with Curve, but I stop by and give them shit nonstop.”
“So they’re like your own little family?”
“Yeah. When I’m not at work I’m pretty much at the Team Miller gym.”
“You ever wonder about your mom? I mean, I’m assuming if you were four you had your name already? She’s never tried to reach out and find you or anything? You’re kind of famous.”
I shake my head. Fuck, she just bulldozes her way right into personal conversations, but I can’t say shit because this is who she is. If I want her, I have to accept this and be willing to divulge this information. “I haven’t heard from her.”
“Do you want to hear from her?”
This chick is fucking relentless, but surprisingly, I don’t mind it at all. It’s keeping her in the seat and from slinging water in my face or trying to punch me or talk about Facebook ads and spreadsheets. Talk about a nightmare conversation. “I’m kind of indifferent. If she wants to reach out, I’d talk to her. I’d like to know where I come from, that kind of thing. Bill adopted me, though. He’s my dad as far as I’m concerned, even though he never asks me to call him that.”
“You surprise me, for a professional fighter.”
“How so?”
“You’d think fighters would be very intense, all ragey and shit, but you’re very like calm, collected, think things through. When you’re not being a dick, that is.”
Fuck, she’s smart, very observant. “That’s a common misconception. The art of winning a fight is to be logical, conserve energy, attack where opponents are weak. When you get mad, you burn energy fast. MMA actually taught me to control my temper.”
The waiter walks up with the steaks and places them both in front of us.
Jesus, it really is a big piece of meat. Harlow doesn’t look fazed at all. She cuts into it, takes a moderately sized bite, and nods.
“It’s good.”
I take a bite about twice the size of hers, and damn, it really is amazing. You can’t beat a ribeye. Best steak ever. Filets are for pussies. There’s no way in hell I can eat this whole thing, though. But now if I don’t eat more than her, I’ll look like a little bitch.
“Don’t do it to yourself, Miller. Just wave the white flag.” She doesn’t even look up as she says it, just as confident as can be. I may be in love with her arrogance.
“I’ll be fine.”
We make small talk for a while, nothing major, eating our steaks. I can’t believe this is going this well. I saw it happening all different in my mind. I do believe my chances of getting laid have skyrocketed from five percent to seventy-five at this point. Harlow is like a damn marathon runner with her steak, just slowly one bite after another, like she’s not affected at all.
I glance over and like three-fourths of it is gone. Where the hell is she putting it all?
I get to about half, meaning I’ve eaten about ten ounces, and I can feel it already. If I keep going, I’m going to be miserable for a day, maybe two.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date where I had an eating contest.”
Harlow’s eyes lock with mine. “A date?”
Fuck it, I’m going with honesty. “Yeah, that’s exactly what this is.”
“Whatever. And this isn’t much of a contest either.” She smirks at the half of a steak still on my plate.
“Don’t whatever me, Ms. Red Dress talking about personal shit instead of business. This is a date and I’m crushing it.”
Her fingers tighten a little around the fork. It’s so obvious what’s going on between us, but it’s like if you try to talk about it, or acknowledge it out loud, it sends her running for the hills.
“You’re so not crushing it.”
“I think I am. And I think you’re frustrated that you like being here with me so much. Why can’t you just admit it?” I hold my arms out to the side. “I’m a fun guy, and nice, and I like you.”
Her fork hits the plate and suddenly she’s glaring right at me. “It doesn’t matter how we feel, Cole. It’s irresponsible. I have too much going on in my life to date anyone. Not to mention, you’re best friends with my cousins, who are like brothers to me. I won’t be responsible for tearing those friendships apart.”
“Why would it tear them apart?”
She stares at me like I’m an idiot. “What do you think happens when relationships go south? And they always go south at some point. What happens?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, they see other people. I haven’t been in a relationship in well, ever.”
“Seriously?” Her eyebrows rise. “Regardless, I’m not talking about what happens to you. What happens to the people around you? They all have to choose sides. Whose side do you think they’re going to pick when I hurt you or you hurt me? That’s what you don’t fucking get. I’m not turning you down because I don’t like you. It’s because I do.” She blinks a couple times, like she can’t believe she just said all that out loud.
I don’t think she meant to.
This got heavy all of a sudden. It’s my own fault, though. I pretty much demanded a date with her.
I shrug. “Okay.” Then I motion for the waiter to come over and bring some to-go boxes. I look down and she’s eaten a little more of her steak than mine. “Looks like you win.”
Harlow stares back at me, looking hot as fuck in that red dress and her curled hair, but her demeanor has changed. Like there’s a hint of disappointment there. “Yeah, I win.”
She gets up and heads for the door. Fucking shit, is she embarrassed she said she liked me or whatever? The waiter is taking his sweet-ass time like they do in these types of places and I can’t run out on my bill to follow her.
Goddamn it. What is it with women? Even tough ones like Harlow Collins. Everything is always so hot and cold, all or nothing.
I toss my credit card on the table, so this guy doesn’t think I’m trying to run away and not pay, and I chase after her. It’s fucking dark outside. She shouldn’t be walking to her car all alone out there. Especially on a date, the man is supposed to walk the woman to the car or door. Everyone knows this. I think. That’s what they do in movies and shit.
I chase after her and she’s hauling ass, walking as fast as her black heels allow. Apparently, she couldn’t give up wearing a little black, but she looks fucking amazing.
I run up behind her. “What the fuck?”
She scowls at me. I thought we were having a good time and she’s scowling?
“Why are you out here?”
“Because I want to walk you to your damn car. What’s the big deal?”
Her shoulders rise, like all the hairs just stood up on the back of her neck, like a damn cat ready to attack. “I don’t need big strong Cole Miller to walk me to my car, okay? I’m fine.”
“Yeah, well it’s dark and shit happens in Chicago. You shouldn’t be walking alone out here.”
She wheels around and points a finger at me. “Listen here, fuckface. I’ve been walking to my car by myself for ten years; I don’t need a man to escort me. I can take care of myself.”
Why is she so goddamn stubborn? And why does it turn me on so damn much when she’s like this? There’s something wrong with me.
“Well, you didn’t even say bye. Didn’t say thank you. I’m just curious why you bolted.”
“Because you were being a pussy about the information I was giving you.”
“Maybe I just disagreed with the information you gave me. You’re not always right, you know?”
“Neither are you.”
“Never said I was. But I think your cousins would understand. You’re a grown woman for fuck’s sake.”
She points her finger even closer to my face. “Don’t bring them into this.”
My eyes have to nearly bug out of my head. “You’re the one who brought them up. They’re literally your entire defense right now. Because you want me. You think you can hide it but it’s obvious, Harlow. The best you can come up with is you’re too busy with work, and your cousins wouldn’t approve. Those aren’t the greatest excuses. It would be a lot easier to say you don’t like me, or you’re not attracted to me. But then you’d be lying, and you’re not a good liar, are you?”
She stands there, face turning red, damn near seething. I want to kiss her so fucking bad, but I think she might rip my balls off if I tried. It’s exhilarating. Oh man, it’s like endorphins are blasting through my limbs.
“Fuck off. I can walk the rest of the way by myself.” She takes off.
“Like hell.” I match her stride for stride.
She starts toward a car I’m assuming is hers.
“Get away from me. I don’t need your help. Fuck, you’re annoying.”
“I think you do need my help. And I don’t want to see you taken advantage of because I was derelict in my duties as a proper date.”
“You sound like a fucking moron when you try to speak intelligently. And I’ve kicked men’s asses that were twice your size.”
She starts toward the car, maybe five feet away, and I can’t help myself. Just as she’s two steps away, I wrap her up from behind in a sort of rear-naked choke, but I pin her arms to her sides too. I don’t squeeze nearly as hard as I could, but enough to subdue her.
We’re pressed against the car and she’s so damn mad she trembles against me.
My mouth is right next to her ear. “See, anyone could walk up and do this shit to you.” Fuck it, she needs to know. I’m tired of her walking around talking like she’s invincible. Everyone needs someone to have their back and they need to be smart when it comes to safety. She might be struggling against me, but her ass grinds back into me at the same time, her hips rolling into me like she’s enjoying it. Fuck, it’s almost too much. I want her so damn bad. Why won’t she just give in?
“Let. Me. Go.”
“Promise me you’ll have someone from security walk you to your car every night when you leave work after dark.”
“I will fucking gut you medieval-style like an episode of Game of Thrones if you don’t let me go, Miller.”
I snicker. “I don’t think you understand how this works. You have a world-champion grappler who has you locked in a hold. That means you are in no position to make threats, Collins.”
“I will tell you one thing that’s certain. You will never get another fucking date with me.”
I make sure I exhale across her neck, then I release her and back away a few steps with my hands up in surrender. “Bullshit.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said bullshit.” I smirk again. “I think you liked the way I grabbed you. The same way you liked me manhandling you up in the hotel room.”
She stands there, grinding her jaw, then fumbles for her keys and opens the door. “Fuck you.” She ducks inside, starts the car, and speeds off, leaving me standing there.
It’s so rude. I mean, what if I needed a buddy walker to help me to my car?
I laugh to myself.
Only you could have a date going that well before suddenly she looks like she wants to murder you, says, “Fuck you�
�� and leaves.
I think any rational person realizes what’s going on right now, though. She likes me a lot, and she’s fighting it, but it’s going to happen.
Oh, it’s definitely going to happen. I’m going to see to that.
Chapter Twelve
Harlow Collins
I pace back and forth in my apartment, too pissed off to try to get this dress off right now.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” I say to no one in particular. “Ugh! Asshole.”
With that smirk on his face the whole time he lectured me on safety. If he hadn’t had my arms pinned at my sides, I would’ve pepper sprayed his ass.
No, you wouldn’t.
Shut up, brain. This can’t happen. It just can’t! None of it. The more I think logically, the more I realize the potential fallout if things go wrong.
I walk over and yank a bottle of red out of the cabinet and pour a glass damn near to the brim, still breathing heavily. I can still feel his arms wrapped around me. I fought back, but all I wanted to do was just submit. I wanted to let him have his way with me again, do whatever he wanted.
It’s so out of character for me. Why do I want that so bad?
Why do I want him? It took everything I had not to pull him into my car and shove his face between my legs. How, how, how in the ever-loving hell does he do that to me?
I take a few larger-than-usual gulps of wine and walk back to the bedroom. My blood is pumping nothing but pure, uncut adrenaline. I need a release something awful, but it feels like he wins if I touch myself. I know if I do it, I’ll think about him the whole time, think about that night after the wedding.
Finally, I calm down and take the dress off and hang it back in my closet, then set the heels on my shoe rack.
I need to just go to bed, get a good night’s rest, then wake up refreshed, thinking clearly.
When I walk over to the bed and crawl in, my phone pings with a text.
I check it.
Asshole: when’s the next date?
Is he fucking kidding right now? I need to delete and ignore. Seriously, it’s the best course of action. But, as usual when Cole Miller talks to me, I do the opposite of what is intelligent. I just have to say something back.
