The Workaholic and the Realist (New Hampshire Bears #2)

by Mary Smith

  Harlow rolled her eyes. “Keaton, really?”

  “I’m completely serious. I want one kiss, and then we’ll go get trashed and eat until we’re stuffed.”

  She pursed her lips and eyes me carefully. She had to be thinking hard about this proposal because she hadn’t disagreed yet. “One kiss?”

  I held up my index finger and gave her my best sad puppy-dog eyes. No pun intended. “Don’t tell me you’re shy?”

  Harlow gave me a small smile. “Well, if I give you this one, very tiny kiss then can we go get drunk and eat?”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  Harlow leaned in and faintly touched her lips to mine. I couldn’t resist; I grabbed her face and brought us together. I convinced myself she would hit me for sure, but instead, and surprisingly, she giggled. I broke away first, not wanting to press my luck any more than I had.

  “Let’s hit the bar.”

  It was official: Harlow would kill me with her body.

  When she strolled out of the en-suite, all I could focus on were her long, tanned legs. She wore a purple dress that stopped mid-thigh and tied around her neck. Her back was bare again. Staring at her for the rest of the day would do nothing more than please me.

  “I take it you’re ready.” She slipped into a pair of matching heels.

  “Do you approve of my outfit?” I held my arms out wide. I went simple black dress pants, red shirt, no tie, and rolled-up sleeves.

  Harlow inspected me, tapping her finger to her lips. “You’ll do.”

  “Well, I hope I don’t embarrass you with my attire.” I leaned in close to her before passing by and opening the door.

  “I do like when you’re so formal.” She patted my chest as she crossed the threshold. “It makes you much hotter.”

  I smirked at her as we walked hand-in-hand to the lounge bar. I avoided eyes contact with any of the men who were eyeballing my girl. We took a small two-seated booth toward the back, and I ordered us a couple glasses of wine. We both glanced at the minimal menu.

  “I vote we order several appetizers and eat them until we want more,” Harlow suggested.

  “Sounds good. How about you pick two and I’ll pick two?”

  “Okay. I’ll pick cheesy breadsticks and stuffed jalapenos.”

  “Yummy. I’ll go with the toasted cheese ravioli and loaded potato skins.”

  “And toss in nachos too.”

  “It’s a lot of food for us,” I pointed out.

  She shrugged. “So what? We’re celebrating, right?”

  “You’re right.”

  The waitress returned with our wine, and I placed our enormous order, still unsure where it would fit on our small table. Even the woman taking the order seemed concerned.

  “Honey-Bunny,” I shifted in my seat, getting ready to discuss an uncomfortable topic.

  “Mmm.” Harlow sipped from her glass.

  “I’m very sorry about today. I shouldn’t have…lost it…”

  “Keaton.” She took my hand. “Stop. You cried, and there’s no reason to apologize for it. I suggest we drop it and discuss something else.”

  “Okay. What are we going to talk about?”

  “Um…” she took a second to think. “Have you ever done drugs?”

  It seemed like a strange question. “No, I’ve never done drugs. You?”

  “I smoked weed a few times in college, but nothing else.”

  “I knew you were a rebel,” I teased her.

  “Have you ever been drunk? Like piss-down drunk.”

  “Piss-down?” I never heard that phrase before in my life.

  “Just answer, puppy.”

  “I drink, but never, ever get drunk. Five is my top number of drinks.”

  “Shots?”

  “Only when I’m really upset.” I knew I sounded like a big pussy, but I didn’t want to end up like my parents. “I’m taking it you have been piss-down drunk.”

  “I can hold my alcohol very well,” she said with pride. I could see there was something she wanted to say, but the waitress brought our food.

  “That’s fast service,” I commented, snatching up a potato skin.

  “Yes, it is.”

  When I glanced up from my plate, Harlow was eyeing me. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Getting you drunk.” She took a small bite of the breadstick. “Yep, I am. I think we should get seriously smashed.”

  I laughed. “Why? Where did this even come from?”

  “When I was twenty-five, I had experienced a lot in my life, as should you.”

  I shook my head, smiling. “And getting me completely trashed will help me experience life?” I couldn’t figure out where this coming from in her mind.

  “Well, it would make things interesting.”

  She had a point there. “How about a counter offer?”

  “I’m listening.” She rested her head on the heel of her hand.

  “What if I drink until I’m very tipsy? I mean, really tipsy, because I still want to be able to remember everything.”

  “Deal.” She held out her hand and instead of shaking it, I kissed her knuckles, enjoying the smile on her lips. “Let’s get some food in us first.”

  Harlow and I ate a lot of food while discussing books. She really loves her romance books, and a lot of them I never even heard of. She went on about her new job and all the new clients and challenges. I hung on her every word. She talked most the time, and it felt like we did in the beginning when she’d first opened up to me.

  We ate more of the food than I thought we would have. As it began to grow colder, Harlow kept talking. I remained quiet, not wanting to break the roll she was on.

  The waitress came back and checked on us, removing the empty plates. I finished my glass of wine, as did she.

  “Ready for some shots?”

  “Are you sure about this, honey-bunny?”

  “Oh, yes, I am.” She rubbed her hands together, giving me an evil laugh.

  “I’m not sure why this is so exciting to you.” My cheeks hurt from smiling at her.

  “Because it’s something different. Something we haven’t done yet.”

  “Okay. Bring it on, honey-bunny.”

  Harlow waved the waitress over and ordered us a beer a piece and two shots of Alabama Slammers each.

  “What did you get us?”

  “It’s a delicious mixture of Southern Comfort, Amaretto, and cranberry juice.”

  Those seemed to be hard liquors, and I’ve never had them together at once. I reined my nerves in to make sure I did this for her. No matter how silly it was.

  The music began to thump in the bar, and Harlow swayed to the bass. She stunned me every time. Her auburn hair loose around her shoulders, her breasts bounced when she did. The waitress sat out beers and shots in front of us, and Harlow beamed.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Nope,” I answered, inspecting the shot glass.

  “One…two…three.” She took the shot in one gulp, and I followed her lead.

  It didn’t taste bad; although there was a slight burn when it traveled down my throat.

  “Okay, I’m ready to play a game.” Harlow drum rolled against the table.

  “A drinking game?”

  “Yep. Come on, play along.”

  “All right. I’m all yours.” I sipped my beer, enjoying the happier Harlow in front of me.

  “Do you know how to play Two Truths and a Lie?”

  “Yes, I’ve played it before, but not as a drinking game.” A bunch of us, when I was in the minors, did it to get to know each other.

  “Okay, if you can pick out my lie correctly, I have to take the shot, if not, you take it. And if I pick yours, you drink.”

  I nodded, as Harlow stopped the waitress and told her to bring five more shots each. “Harlow, five? I said I’d get tipsy, not drunk,” I reminded her.

  “Trust me; they’re not that strong, anyway.” She waved her hand. “I’ll start. One, I know how to
play chess. Two, I hate horror movies. Three, I’ve had anal sex.”

  I threw head back in laughter. Leave it honey-bunny to toss in something about sex. “Number three is a lie.” I knew this from our many talks.

  She picked up the shot glass and took it all. Before I started my turn, the waitress came back with a try full of shots. “Okay, my turn. One, I enjoy wearing suits. Two, Charles Dickens is my favorite author. Three, I’ve never had car sex.”

  “Three.” Harlow yelled and then laughed.

  “Wrong.”

  “What?” She stopped, stunned. “Are you shiting me? You’ve never had sex in a car.”

  “Never.”

  “So, what’s the lie?”

  “The suits. I hate wearing suits.”

  “Damn.” She downed another drink. “My turn. One, I’ve never had a speeding ticket. Two, I don’t keep family pictures because it makes me sad. Three, I like to watch baseball.”

  “Hmm,” I had to think about this one. “One?”

  “Nope, three.”

  I took the shot and asked, “Did you destroy your family photos?”

  “Nah, I would never do that; they’re all in the attic.”

  Since we’ve been having a good time, I didn’t want to lose our momentum. “My turn. Let me think.” I thought of everything Harlow might not know about me. “One, my favorite movie is Mission Impossible. Two, I love cupcakes. Three, I want to have sex with you tonight.” I winked at the last statement.

  “One.” She held up her finger.

  “Wrong,” I chuckled. “Two, I’m not a big fan of cupcakes. Drink up, honey-bunny.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Harlow

  Right now, I was losing my ass, and my head became fuzzier. “Fuck.” I rubbed my temple. “I figured I had this game in the bag.” I glared him, noticing the shots were now all gone.

  “I’m tipsy,” he confirmed. “What do you want to do now?”

  “I lost. I couldn’t do any more even if I wanted.” The music thumped in my head. “Do you want to dance?”

  Keaton shook his head. “Let’s end it for tonight.”

  I nodded and waited for him to stand first. I knew I’d be wobbly when I rose. He held out his hand, and I took it. My legs swayed a bit, but he didn’t let me fall.

  “You good?” He steadied me as I took a step.

  “Yep.” I popped the word out and started walking.

  Keaton held my hand all the way back to our door. I tripped over my heels, when he opened the door, but I fell into his chest and not on my face. “Oh, honey-bunny, I do believe you’re drunk.”

  I giggled. “I feel fine.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He caressed my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “You hurt me.” Oh no, here comes motor mouth Harlow.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I pushed off him and stumbled back until I hit the couch.

  “Harlow,” Keaton reached for me, but I had already fallen down on my ass. “You need to be careful.”

  “Only with my heart.” Stop talking, Harlow.

  “What?”

  I kicked off my heels, and jumped, well, I thought I did, up into his face. “You broke my heart. I haven’t felt that much pain since my parents died. Do you know how badly it killed me not to talk to you?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to fix this, but I was in pain too. I just can’t express myself well, and losing Grams threw me into a spiral.”

  “Telling me all that would have been a start.” I raised my voice. “But instead, you forced your way into my house, treated me like some slut, which I’m not, contrary to popular belief.”

  Keaton hung his head. “How many times do I need to say sorry for you to believe me?”

  Before I could answer, he continued.

  “You are my one. You walk in a room and I forget to breath. You laugh or smile and my heart stops beating. I crave being with you every moment I can, and when I’m not, I feel like part of my soul dies. I love you and only you.”

  “When did you lose your penis and become Emily Dickinson?” I slurred a bit, but he laughed.

  “There’s never a dull moment with you, honey-bunny, and my penis is firmly in place.”

  My body tightened. I wanted him, to feel him; damn, I wanted to lick him everywhere. “Prove it,” I challenged him.

  “Oh, I want to bury myself in you for hours, but not when you’re drunk.”

  I slid my hands up his chest, and his lips parted, his breath catching. “You need to do this as much as I do.”

  He gripped my wrists. “Not tonight.”

  “I’m very persuasive.” I rotated my hips, feeling his hardness.

  “Harlow,” he whispered. “Don’t. Please. There’s not a lot of control left in me.”

  He released my wrists, and I trailed them down to his belt. With my eyes still locked on his, I unbuckled him and pulled his zipper open. His eyes closed tight as I reached in and stroked him. I lowered myself to my knees and positioned myself at his tip.

  “Har—” He couldn’t finish my name as I engulfed him.

  My plan of slow and easy jumped out of the window, and I sucked him harder and pushing him to the back of my throat, making me gag.

  Instantly, I released him and covered my mouth. “Oh no.” My stomach gurgled, and I raced to the bathroom before the contents of dinner and alcohol came up.

  It did.

  A lot.

  Keaton held my hair and rubbed my back as it seemed, to me, never ending.

  “Oh my God.” I flushed the toilet and held my head as the room began to spin, and soon, I faded away.

  It hurt.

  My head, back, muscles, and even my hair hurt. I attempted to roll over, but it felt as if a ten-ton elephant lay on top of me. I heard the door open and shut, making me groan in pain.

  “I see someone is awake,” Keaton chuckled.

  “Shut up and stop talking so loud.” I pulled the covers up further.

  “Sorry,” he whispered closer to me. “Here is some coffee and your bagel.”

  “Water,” I mumbled.

  “I did bring you water and Gatorade.”

  “Water,” I repeated and did my best to reach for it blindly.

  “Stop. Here.” I heard the crack of the bottle being opened and a straw touched my lips.

  I took a long soothing drink. “Thank you.”

  “By the way, you look very rough.”

  “Go to hell. If you’ve forgotten, I’m forty. My body doesn’t bounce back like it used to.”

  “Your body bounces just fine,” he joked, and I opened my eyes.

  “We didn’t have sex, did we?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, honey-bunny. When you passed out, the mood did too.”

  I snuggled deeper into the covers. “Are we docked yet?”

  “Yes, we’re in Argostolion right now. We’ll be here all day. And by the way you look, I think we won’t be getting off the boat any time soon.”

  “I’m taking a nap,” I mumbled

  I felt better when I opened my eyes for the second time. I even made it to the bathroom to freshen up. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, making me look a little more human.

  Keaton was stretched out on his side of the bed, reading from his iPad. He had on a simple white t-shirt and black cargo shorts.

  “You look almost normal.”

  “Thank for the compliment, puppy.” I crawled back under the covers. “But, thank you for helping me. I know it couldn’t have been pretty.”

  He chuckled. “You’re correct, but I love you, and it’s part of being in a relationship.”

  “Keaton, I’m still working through everything.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t be together.” He put his iPad down and looked down at me. “I told you exactly how I felt last night, and then you started blowing me.”

  “So what?” I countered. “It doesn’t mean we’re back together.” As I r
aised my voice, my head pounded harder.

  “I don’t fucking get you, Harlow.” He jumped from the bed. “You’re so confusing.”

  “Bullshit.” I flung the covers off me and made my way over to him. “Need I remind you, you’re the one who left me?”

  “Oh no, please tell me again. Because I’m pretty sure I’ve apologized five hundred times already. What the fuck more do you want?”

  “I want your fucking promise.” My answer came out on a sob. I wanted his word he’d never leave me again, he’d communicate with me, and he’d love me.

  “What?” He stepped back at my response.

  My girly side, the one I hid the most, decided she needed to take over. “Do you even know how much I hurt? You keep apologizing over and over, but you haven’t said you’d never do it again. You never gave me any inclination about our future. Because I want one with you…you…asshole.” I stammered my words as my anger rose.

  “Harlow.” He took my hand. “I love you. Forever. I’ll get on my knees right now and make a vow never to leave you again. I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t handle the pain anymore either. We’re in this for life. You and me. No one else.”

  “Oh puppy.” Damn him and his sweet words.

  “Wait, hang on.” He rushed over to his small suitcase and opened it. I watched him move items around until he came back with a…key? “Here.” He got down on his knees. “I love you. You’re it.” He handed the sliver key to me.

  “What’s this to?” I inspected it.

  “My apartment. It’s a spare key I keep, and I meant to give it to Felicia, but I forgot.” He shrugged. “I’ve never given a key to anyone besides Grams.”

  “You’re giving me your key?” Here I was, seeing the man who really held my heart, kneeling in front of me giving me a key to his place. He’d made me a vow, a promise, confessed his love, and all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and fuck his brains out.

  “Yes. It’s you and me forever. Always.”

  “If you break my heart this time, I will knee you in the balls so hard you’ll never see them again.”

  “I will not break your heart, but—”

  “But what?” I cut him off feeling anger again.

  He stood up. “If you let me finish, I was saying, I will work on my communication. It’ll take time.”