I blink several times, unable to grasp what I’m seeing. Someone has strung up paper lanterns and twinkle lights, and a hundred mason jars filled with candles illuminate the path to the front door. I am speechless. I literally have no words. Harley’s presence is at my back now and I turn to look at him, wondering why he’s not as awed as I am at the sight, but he’s wearing one of his Pan smiles, so I know this is all him.
“What is this?” I glance down at his hands. He’s holding a clear garment bag, and tucked safely inside is my prom dress. “Why is my dress here?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Well, yeah but, what does that have to do with my prom dress? Are we burning it? Because I gotta say I wouldn’t be sad, but my mom might kill us both.”
“We’re not burning your dress. You’re going to go put it on.”
“Why?” I turn back to the garden, unable to take my eyes off the beauty of it for very long.
“You had a shitty prom,” he says, brushing the wisps of hair that have fallen free of my braid from off my shoulder. He presses a kiss to my neck, and a shiver runs through me from head to toe. “I thought maybe we could make it better.”
“But … you went back to Riley …”
“Yeah, to break up with her.”
I turn my head and stare at him in disbelief. “On prom night?”
He grimaces. “I’m kind of a sucky boyfriend, huh?”
“Kinda.” I can’t pretend this news doesn’t thrill me though. In fact, I’m practically beaming because maybe now he can be my sucky boyfriend, only without the suck. “Then where were you last night?”
“With Kordell, devising a plan.”
“So you’ve been here all day?”
His arms wrap around my waist, and I inhale and hold my breath, afraid to let it go for the fear that I’m dreaming or that I’ve lost my mind or that I’m not really here and am in fact completely freaking crazy. His lips brush my ear and my head swims. Nope, definitely here, and definitely not crazy. “Well, some of us didn’t lie around in bed all day pouting.”
“I wasn’t pouting.”
“Yes you were,” he whispers, and bites down on my earlobe. My arms automatically slip around the back of his neck. “I didn’t do all of this, though. The moms helped.”
“They know we’re here?” My whole body tremors as he kisses that sweet spot beneath my ear, and my breath comes a little faster. “Oh man, my dad is going to kill you.”
“You don’t think I’d leave all those candles burning, do you? I texted them before I climbed in your window. We passed them two streets back, but you were doing that thing you do where you pretend you’re Chris Cornell while belting out ‘Black Hole Sun.’” The arm around my waist snakes up under the hem of my T-shirt, but he doesn’t take it too far, and for that I’m grateful because he went to a lot of effort to create this night for me, and though I want to just lead him inside and let him touch me everywhere, I’m nervous and frightened as a colt, and I may need a little time to ease into the newness of his hands and mouth on my body. “And your dad thinks you’re staying at a girlfriend’s house, so at the risk of keeping all of my appendages, I’d like it to stay that way.”
I turn in his arms. His eyes are lit up like torches from the candles and twinkle lights, and I can’t help but smile sheepishly with the way he looks at me. I lower my gaze to his chest and my hands that are splayed against it over his thundering heartbeat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll go to prom with me.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Yes. I’ll go to prom with you.”
With one arm, he pulls me in and kisses my lips. Just like last night, it doesn’t take long for me to get carried away, and I grip the back of his neck as if it were a lifeline. Harley groans and pulls away. “God, I want you so fucking much,” he says, cupping my face with his hand. And I can feel just how true that statement is. It scares me. He thrusts the dress towards me and inhales a deep breath. “Here, put this on before I ruin everything.”
In a daze, I take it from him, and he places his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face the cottage. The front door is closed but through the window I can see a fire slowly burning in the stone fireplace and more candles lining the kitchen counter and dining table.
I find my way in the near dark to one of the bedrooms and slip on my dress. The bodice is tight with a zipper in the back that I can’t reach, so I hurry back outside with my hair in its loose braid and my feet bare against the cool stone path. Harley fastens my zipper with agonizingly slow movements, and I know it’s just so he can touch the bare skin of my back. It’s the same reason I don’t tell him to hurry up, because the anticipation is beautiful and torturous.
I twirl slowly for him, feeling a little self-conscious in the dress with my ratty hair and bare feet, but it’s clear Harley doesn’t see these imperfections because he pulls me close and whispers, “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
And so is prom. Under a sky bursting with stars, we dance slowly to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore nearby, and later, as he leads me inside and we curl up on a soft blanket by the fireplace, I let him lead me somewhere else I’ve never been. And even though it hurts like hell, it is magic, and it is fireworks, and when I close my eyes a supernova sets the whole world alight.
Chapter Eleven
Rose
“Ah shit,” Harley says glancing down at his phone after it dings. He drops it all the time when he’s landscaping in the city and mercifully, the heavy-duty case acts like a tank, so aside from a few scratches, it works fine despite him throwing it at the wall yesterday. We haven’t talked about last night. I didn’t ask him what caused him to go AWOL, and he didn’t ask where I was or why I’d stumbled in blind drunk, but maybe he was too distracted to notice. Instead, we’d woken and had breakfast at one of the restaurants downstairs and then we’d lain around on the beach for several hours drinking daiquiris—virgin, thank you very much, because neither one of us were willing to face alcohol today. I am going to have to go on the ultimate cleansing diet after this vacation because my liver is not a happy camper right now.
“What’s the matter?” I dry my freshly washed hair vigorously with the towel. Today is our last day on the island, and as much as I’ll miss the view and the scent of briny ocean and baking hot sand, my hair won’t miss it.
“I forgot about the couples massage I booked.” Harley stares at his phone, avoiding my gaze.
“Oh,” I say quietly. “That.”
Like I could forget him asking me if I thought a romantic couples massage was a good idea. Okay, so I actually had forgotten, but I blame too much sand, sun, and Blue Hawaiis. We had been hanging out at his apartment back in SF and he’d asked me about it. With tears pricking my eyes and bile burning like acid in the pit of my stomach, I told him to spare no expense and book the couples massage. What did I care? I’d be two thousand and three hundred miles away in SF, making love to a bottle of Bombay Sapphire and getting my freak on with my Lelo Olga, who’d oddly earned the nickname George Clooney, because I have a thing for silver foxes.
“We could go,” he says.
I glare at him. “To a couples massage?”
Harley shrugs. Apparently this isn’t a big deal for him. “Why not?”
“Because of all the romantic, honeymoony-type things, I’m pretty sure that would constitute as an activity we should avoid.”
“It’s just a massage,” he argues. “It’s not like they’re going to leave the room so we can fuck.”
“Right.” Oh god, but the way he says fuck still makes my insides turn liquid and melty. “I’m pretty sure that only happens in pornos anyway.”
Harley raises a brow and smirks at me. “And here I thought the only thing you watched was My Wedding Affair. Do me a favor and call me next time you’re sitting down to watch porn. I’ll bring the popcorn.”
I roll my eyes, but the thought of Harley watching porn with me on my couch is in
sanely hot. “Anyway, it’s still a bad idea.”
“No, it’s a brilliant idea. Let’s do it.”
“What? No. No, it’s not; it’s a terrible idea.”
Harley glances up at me through thick, dark lashes and a serious expression. “Please, Rose? For me?”
***
I’m going to kill him. I follow that manipulative bastard into the day spa with my arms folded across my chest. We’re greeted by a sweet Hawaiian woman who confirms Harley’s reservation and proceeds to lei us before leading us toward a private room as she explains how they have the very best honeymoon treatment on the island. Once again, he doesn’t bother to correct the woman when she calls me his bride.
It isn’t that I don’t like it, or that I don’t want to be on the receiving end of a Hawaiian Honeymoon couples massage with Harley by my side—it’s just that I don’t want it like this. I don’t want to play pretend. I want the dress, the cake, the one hundred and fifty-two guests, and an entire room full of flowers. I want the whole damn thing, and I want that with him. Hell, I’d throw all of my years of planning out the window just to have his ring on my finger, but I have none of that—just the pathetic inclination to meet my best friend’s every wild whim, and the inability to say no to him. Oh, and let’s not forget the mad crush I’ve had since I was five years old.
As we approach a door at the end of the hall, Harley pries open my hand, threads his fingers with mine, and whispers, “You ready?”
“No,” I deadpan. I’m pulled inside the room anyway to excited murmurs of welcomes and congratulations from our masseuses. I glare at Harley, but he just winks at me and kisses the back of my hand before I can snatch it away. Well, at least he’s not wallowing anymore.
The women introduce themselves as Margaretta and Kailani, and they tell us to remove our clothing once they leave the room but Harley, ever the asshole, decides to just drop trou right there in front of everyone, much to the amusement and chagrin of the women. I might have had the sense to make fun of him or be embarrassed too, if I wasn’t busy staring at his junk for the second time in a week. I swear to god it’s like attempting not to look at a solar eclipse—you know it’s there, this wondrous sight that doesn’t really come around all that much, and because of this, you look, even though you’re fully aware you might lose an eye. That’s what Harley’s penis is, a solar eclipse, and judging by the way it grows under my stare, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if I did lose an eye. But ... but ... it’s just so pretty.
“Rose.”
“Huh?”
“You’re staring, love.”
“Oh,” I nod and snap out of my stupor, noticing for the first time that Harley and I are alone in the room. I frown as I step off Cloud Nine and take a seat in the waiting room of Reality. “Where did everyone go?”
“Seriously? My dick still has the power to render you speechless?” he asks.
“Well, only because you’re hard right now,” I protest, taking a step back from him until my ass meets the table.
He moves forward again until there’s the barest hint of space between us without him touching me. “I’m hard because you’re staring at it.”
I swallow, wet my lips, and try not to reach out and stroke the pretty with my fingertips. “Shut up, asshole. It’s been a really long time.”
“How long?” he asks, but his tone has gone from teasing to serious.
There’s a knock at the door, saving me from answering that question. Harley grabs a towel from off the table and wraps it around his waist, then he leans into me and pulls my body flush with his. I let out a squeak. I can’t bring myself to meet the woman’s face as she pokes her head inside the door and asks if we’re ready for her because my best friend is standing in front of me with a raging hard-on, and I’m beet red and trying like hell not to beg him to bend me over and fuck me on the massage table the second she leaves.
“You’re not ready,” Margaretta says a little disapprovingly.
Harley shakes his head, turning his gaze back to mine when he says, “My wife’s a little shy about her body.”
I frown. “No I’m not.”
“Why?” the woman says. “You’re so pretty and skinny.”
“She’s beautiful, right?” Harley asks the woman, but he looks at me as he says it, and he brushes my thick sandy blonde hair off my shoulder.
I am far from skinny, but I’m okay with that, and this isn’t so much an issue with my body as it is an issue with undressing in front of Harley. I’ve never been nervous about him seeing me in the past, but this is different. I am older now; gravity isn’t as kind as it once was, and things have filled out a little since my teens and early twenties. I’m not ashamed of my body; I’m just not sure I want Harley’s eyes roaming over me while I’m undressing. It’s dangerous ground, and he might have been flirting with danger this entire trip, but I see that for what it is. He needs to feel something other than alone. I want him, but I want more from him than a quickie on vacation.
“Now, hurry, hurry, get undressed,” Margaretta urges and closes the door again. I’m left standing in Harley’s embrace, his naked body pressed tightly to mine and his lips pressed against my temple. I allow myself to lean into him for just a fraction of a second. For a beat, it’s as if we’re back in time and nothing has changed. His other arm wraps tightly around my shoulders, and he squeezes me so hard I can’t breathe, and then he moves away, giving me his back as he climbs onto the table and rests his head on his hands. I turn around to remove my clothes. I fold them and set them on the chair. And then wrap the towel around my body. I can’t look at him as I climb up onto my own massage bed. because everything is too raw, too familiar, and too much like the last time we stood hip to hip in his childhood bedroom in SF, embracing one another.
Another soft knock sounds at the door and Kailani and Margaretta enter. They explain the treatments we’ll both be receiving: Hawaiian Lomi Lomi massages, body scrubs, and a paraffin wax treatment for relieving pain and aiding with softening the skin. It all sounds like heaven, but I quickly learn that heaven is not as it was advertised in the brochure because I feel as if I’m being beaten to a bloody pulp. Margaretta does not muck around, and after thirty minutes of scrubbing my body with what feels like sandpaper, tenderizing my muscles with her elbows and knees and slapping some hot wax on my back, rolling me in a plastic film like a burrito and leaving me to cook, I think I pass out from the pain.
***
I wake to feather-light touches on my shoulder and blink in confusion. Harley stands beside me wrapped only in a towel, his body glistening with oil, his fingertips tracing circles over my slick flesh. “Hey,” he says. “You’ve been out for twenty minutes.”
I groan and attempt to push up on my elbows, but my body aches all over. “I have?”
He continues his ministrations, gliding his fingers across my shoulder and down my spine all the way to the small of my back. Pushing the towel aside, he grabs a handful of my ass and squeezes. Shivers follow in his wake. I’m paralyzed by his touch, desperate for more, and terrified of it all at once. A thrill runs through me, but I shove it down. No, no, no. This is not allowed to happen now. Not seven days after his fiancée left him at the altar. Not when the heartbreak is still fresh, and I see the despair every morning I roll over and meet his gaze. I will not be his rebound girl.
“Harley,” I whisper, as he lowers his head and presses a kiss into the soft crease where my ass meets my thigh. His tongue darts out and trails across my slick flesh, and I moan and throw my head back.
I won’t let him do this to me again. I won’t … oh god, that feels good.
I swallow hard, and my whole body stiffens with anticipation as his tongue grazes the soft flesh of my outer labia. And then everything comes to a screaming halt as the image of him standing at that altar, waiting for a woman who wasn’t me smashes its way into my mind. His eyes had met mine across the packed church when Alecia’s head bridesmaid had whispered in his ear that his fiancée
was no longer coming. He’d taken a deep breath, turned back to the gathered guests and said, as nonchalantly as someone might tell you they had a salad for lunch, “Sorry to bring you all out here today, but it appears my bride is nowhere to be found.”
The room had been filled with stunned gasps and murmurs, and with one more glance in my direction, Harley had walked back down the aisle and left. I’d found him at the hotel suite thirty minutes later with the champagne he’d confiscated from the hotel ballroom.
Now, deft hands that know every inch of my body grip my hips and pull me closer, but I struggle out of his grasp and slide off the table. Of course, I don’t account for the fact that I’m covered head-to-toe in oil and completely naked, so I go down hard on the parquetry floor.
“Ow, shit!”
Harley peers at me over the table, and I want so badly to go to him and have him finish what he started with those hands and lips and tongue. I also want to just melt right into the floor. “Rose, what the hell are you doing?”
“No.” I hold out my hand to ward him away. “Don’t come any closer.”
“What?”
“You got dumped at the altar six days ago. Now I know she was a bitch, but you were preparing to marry this woman. You gave her your word and your ring, and she ran off with someone else, and now you’re here with me, preparing to rip my heart out all over again.”
“Rose—”
“Shut up and listen. I can’t do this with you again after everything, after all the years we’ve worked to get back to being us. I can’t let you destroy that because you decide you want a pity fuck.”
Harley & Rose Page 8
