“Work? It’s Saturday tomorrow.”
“Yes, well with the gallery having its grand opening soon, we have been working weekends to keep up.” I smile, more at myself for pulling a lie so quickly out of my ass, and stand from my chair. I wait by the table, indicating he should do the same.
“Do you think you could get this one?” He gestures to the now-empty coffee cups. “I want to use this week’s allowance to pay my subscription so I can move up a level.”
“Of course. You wouldn’t want to miss the Warlords of Draenor.”
Shane smiles widely at my reference to his special pastime, and I’m shocked my brain managed to retain something he has said tonight.
“Would love to catch up again, Harper.”
“Definitely.” I don’t look at him as I pull some money out of my purse and throw it onto the table.
Shane makes his way to the exit and Tate is making his way over to me before my date has even left the café. I slink back down into my seat and bury my head in my arms.
“Another new rule,” I tell Tate as he sits down silently opposite me. “No more dates on a Friday night when I’m left hanging at 8:30pm.”
“I thought you were working tomorrow and wanted an early night?”
“How do you hear every little thing from back there?” I lift my head enough to look at him.
“Harper,” he says, like I’m some kind of idiot, “there’s like, three other people here. The place is dead and quiet. I hear everything.”
“Awesome,” I mumble, dropping my head back down.
Tate chuckles. “Want to come out with me tonight?”
“No.” I speak into my arms.
“Come on, Daisy. Let me take you out.”
“No.”
“You go out with all these losers and won’t even consider one date with me?”
Looking up, I meet his eyes. “No.”
“Surely, I seem a better option than pretty fly for a Wi-Fi.” He gestures to the door where Shane just left.
I laugh at his quick wit. “I tell you what. Seeing as you can still make me laugh after the week I’ve had, I’ll go out with you. On one condition.”
“What’s that?” He grins.
“It’s not a date. Just two friends, hanging out.”
“Fine, it’s not a date. But we are not friends.” I’m stunned silent as Tate leans over and kisses my cheek before standing from the table and walking off.
Once he has shut everything off, he flips the light switches by the door and ushers me out. I wait by the entrance and wrap my arms around myself as protection against the cool breeze that has blown in tonight. Once Tate has locked the front door, he reaches for my hand again, lacing our fingers together and leading me down the footpath.
The warmth of his hand holding mine sends shivers rolling through me. Jesus, Harper, what are you? A teenager?
“Are you cold?” He looks down to me with concern etched on his face.
If I told him yes, would he wrap his arms around me? I quickly shake the thought. Friends, Harper; just friends. I won’t be swayed by his good looks and massive amount of charm. “A little, but I’m okay.”
We round the corner of the building to walk down a side street. The alley is dark and full of garbage bins, and I subconsciously pull on Tate’s hand, bringing him to a stop.
“It’s okay.” He chuckles, obviously sensing my fear. “My parking garage is down here.”
“Oh,” I mutter as I let him pull me along. We pass some dingy metal stairs leading up to the roof level before we come to a single car garage roller door.
Tate unlocks and lifts the door and sitting there, smack bang in the middle of the garage, is a motorcycle. I look around, expecting to see a car next to it, a hidden parking spot I didn’t notice at first, but alas, this is not the case.
There are a few boxes stacked up against the wall, a large tool chest, and what look like bike parts lying around, but the bike is definitely the only form of transport. I look to Tate who is now standing beside the offending vehicle with a wide grin.
His smile pulls at something in me, and I take a step into the garage. The bike is a bright metallic blue, and as I move closer, I see that it appears brand new. There’s not a speck of dirt on the tyres, and it shines as if it’s recently been waxed and polished.
I run my fingers along the silky smooth back fender and over the word Ducati. I recognise the brand, but it really means nothing to me. It must have cost a fortune. Surely too much for a guy who makes coffees for a living.
Tate throws his leg over the bike and sits down onto it and I gasp. It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen. He holds out his hand for me and I try to lick my lips to wet them, but my mouth is suddenly dry.
I don’t know if it’s the fear or my hormones, but I am frozen to the spot and rendered speechless. Probably the fear of my hormones, and what they are going to cause me to do when it comes to this man.
“It’s okay,” Tate says softly. “I’ll take it easy on you.” He smirks, and I’m glad he chooses to see the fear only and not my raging libido.
Taking a hold of his hand, I throw my leg over the bike and settle myself behind him. “Oh, my.” The mix of being this close to Tate and my jeans rubbing up against me throw me into a tizzy.
“First time?” He chuckles.
“What?” My first time? His masculine cologne and slight smell of coffee scent surrounds me, clouding my thoughts.
“On a bike.” He laughs again.
“Oh. Oh, yeah.” I can’t concentrate on anything he is saying as he reaches back and grabs hold of my hands that have been resting on my thighs. He pulls them around his waist. His back muscles tighten against my chest, and my nipples peak in excitement as my body trembles in response.
Tate releases my wrists and twists around to face me. He cups my face in his hand and rubs his thumb back and forth along my cheek. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry.” I can’t focus. He is all I can see. He is all I can feel. He holds all my attention. Kiss me, please.
“You’ll be fine. Just hold on tight and make sure you lean with me into the turns.” He kisses my forehead, but before I am able to register anything, he has turned back around and picked up a helmet that was resting on the handlebars.
He quickly slips the helmet over my head and fastens the strap before giving me one of his beautiful wide smiles. I sit there, still frozen and unmoving.
Tate turns back and kicks the bike to life. Reaching around again, he pulls my arms around him. He pats my hands that now rest on his hard stomach, as if to remind me to hold on. I tighten my grip, realising we are actually going to do this, and his body shudders with laughter.
Resting my head against his strong back, I close my eyes tightly as Tate crawls out of the garage. Once we hit the main road, the bike jumps up in gears as we gain more and more speed.
In what feels like a nanosecond and hours all at once, he slows the descent of the bike. I open my eyes for the first time since getting on here and notice we are well out of town. Tate pulls the bike up to a curb in front of a local bar and drops the stand. I jump off the bike before he shuts it down and place as much distance as possible between the death-trap and me.
“I think we need some more practice. You’re a little stiff.” Tate laughs as he hops off the bike. “Was it really that bad?”
I think about his question and realise it probably wasn’t that bad. Now I think about it, I wish I had really appreciated the moment for what it was. Being able to hold Tate tight, breathe him in . . . Dammit, why didn’t I nuzzle between his hard shoulder blades and grab a feel of those tight abs?
“No, not that bad,” I say mindlessly.
Tate steps towards me, a sweet smile on his face. He loosens the strap on my helmet. “I would never let anything happen to you, Daisy.” He pulls the helmet off my head and I return his smile as I run my fingers through my hair, hoping to bring it back to some kind of semblance o
f its self.
He hangs the helmet on the handlebars again and takes my hand in his, walking us through a small gravel parking lot where cars are parked every which way, some even up on the footpath. We walk towards an old building, the brick façade looks faded and the tin roof slightly rusted. Definitely not the fancy clubs and bars of the city I’m used to.
Tate pulls open a large wooden door and gestures for me to step inside. I do and then wait to the side, not wanting to enter alone. The stale cigarette smoke and beer stench hit me, and I scrunch my nose up in revulsion.
“Not the nicest of places.” Tate laughs at my reaction.
“I’m just glad I’m only in my jeans.” I can’t imagine rocking up here in one of my skirts or clubbing outfits.
Tate takes my hand again, which is quickly becoming my new favourite thing in the world, and leads me down a dark and dingy hall that leads to a large room. As he pushes through the swinging doors, it’s like time halts.
Apparently, you can be overdressed in jeans.
The whole place stops. Even though music is still playing, it feels like silence descends upon us as every head in the room turns to look at and dissect us. I clutch Tate’s hand tighter, giving it a tug, ready to turn back and head out.
What would possess him to bring me here? Surely, this isn’t his local hangout. Even in his dark wash jeans and checked shirt over a black tee—even with his tattoos—he looks too sophisticated for this place. There’s a mixture of people here, some older men, dressed in ripped jeans and faded blue singlets. A younger crowd, dressed a little gothic with all black outfits.
He leads me over to the bar, surprisingly saying hello to most people along the way. Maybe this is his local hangout. Maybe they were staring at me.
Tate takes a seat on a stool at the bar and I slip onto the one next to him, glancing around as he calls out to the bartender. The place is huge and there is wood and imitation timber everywhere you look, covering the floors and the walls. Even the furniture is all made of it, too.
There are actually not many people here, but the loud music and dim lights make it feel like more is happening than what really is.
Noticing a group huddled around a jukebox, I realise that’s where the grating rock music is coming from. The group is dressed similar to everyone else—lots of dark clothes, dark make-up, and piercings. There are gauges and Mohawks everywhere.
Looking around, I’m a little confused as the décor screams country but the people walking in the space in front of me definitely don’t match that description at all.
“What kind of bar is this?” I lean over and ask into Tate’s ear.
“It used to be a strictly country bar for years, but is recently under new management and now it’s a starters bar.”
“Starters bar?”
“People looking to start out. Get their name out there. It changes genre every night depending on bands, so tonight is obviously punk—” He gestures to the crowd in front of us “—but it ranges from country, to rock, to pop, even classical every now and then.”
“Wow.” This might just be my kind of place. The decor and locals leave a little to be desired, but I love music and have an eclectic taste. All different eras and genres . . . I love it all.
I smile widely at Tate, much more confident now that I am going to enjoy myself here tonight.
Over the next half hour or so, Tate and I drink and chat casually as a band sets up on the big stage on the back wall. People begin flowing into the bar, slowly filling up the large space.
A beautiful, tall blonde makes her way towards us, glaring daggers at me until Tate notices her approach and a sickly sweet smile takes over her face.
“Hi, Tate,” she coos as she pushes her very large, definitely fake, chest into his face.
She is not the first woman to approach Tate tonight. There have been many, in fact, in the half hour we have been sitting here. All are tall, slim, beautiful model look-a-likes.
“Hi, Kerrie.” Tate gives her the same polite greeting he gave all the others—he’s not overly happy to see them, but never rude or dismissive. This is a prime example of why I need to stay away from Tate.
Tate, the lady-killer. I have no doubt he has women chasing him everywhere he goes. No doubt my first impressions of him were right. All the ladies have had the same shocked expression when he introduced me as being with him tonight. He obviously normally comes alone; although by the way these women are acting, I doubt he leaves by himself.
The overhead lights flicker off and the stage lights spotlight around the room. People gather and make their way to the large dance floor in front of the stage.
“I might go to the bathroom now, while there’s no line.” I tell Tate.
“Do you want me to come?” He looks uncomfortably between Blondie and me.
“I think I’ll be okay.”
He nods in resignation and points to the side wall, where a huge bathroom sign hangs above the doorway to a narrow hall. Giving him a small nod, I make my way over there.
It takes a little while to push through the crowd, but thankfully, as I thought, there is no line. I take my time and use the quiet as an opportunity to take a breather and check myself in the mirror before I head back.
Reaching Tate, I find him talking to some guy who has now claimed my seat. I stand on the other side of Tate, not wanting to be rude and interrupt their conversation. They appear to be deep in discussion, so I take a moment to check him out.
The man also stands out like a pair of dog balls in here. He is wearing black slacks and a black polo shirt. His hair is styled perfectly to the side and he is clean-shaven. On a closer look at his polo, I spot a logo on the top pocket, and I figure he must work here. Probably the manager or something.
They both nod at each other before their attention diverts towards the stage where the band have started playing.
Tate notices me standing next to him and smiles widely. He places his arm along the bar behind me and leans back against it. He’s not even touching me and excitement bubbles in my stomach at the possibility he might. I need to keep my out-of-control hormones under wraps.
The bar where we sit has become more crowded, and people push up against me, trying to squeeze through to order a drink. I get shoved into Tate and grab his shoulder as his arm wraps around my waist to secure my footing.
Smiling down at him, I mouth a thank you then stand upright once more. He grips my waist tighter as he pulls me around to the front of him and settles me between his legs.
I stand frozen not wanting to move. It’s quite an intimate position for two friends. He pulls me down to lean against one of his thighs and places his arm tightly around my waist, preventing me from standing again.
His body shakes with laughter, and I glare down at him. He pulls me closer onto his lap and leans into my ear. “Is this okay? I don’t want you being pushed around.”
His breath floats over my collarbone and my hand automatically goes to that spot. His eyes are serious, and I can’t seem to look away. Once again, he has rendered me stupid. Stupid and speechless.
I nod and give him a barely-there smile, my traitorous, numb brain unable to give any more. I really need to get these teenage hormones regulated when it comes to Tate Washington.
Tightening my hold around Harper’s waist, I pull her closer against me. Her body is tense in my arms and even though I’m happy I affect her, I’m not happy with how. I want her to feel comfortable with me. To melt when she’s in my arms. To turn to liquid and trust I’ll hold her up.
Deciding to test her limits and how far she’ll let me go, I rub my hand casually up and down her stomach where my hand was resting. Harper stills for a second before she relaxes in my arms. Her shoulders drop as she releases a deep breath—a breath she must have been holding since I pulled her onto my lap.
I smile wickedly but don’t take my eyes off the band on the stage as Harper does the same. Pushing her further, I remove my palm from her body and rub lightly ov
er her stomach with my fingers, gently tickling her belly. She responds, subconsciously or by choice I’m not sure, but she leans into me. Her body now uses mine to rest against.
Lifting the hem of her top, I slip my fingers underneath, trailing them along the warm, soft skin. I bite my lip to hold back a groan of pleasure as she shudders against my arm.
She doesn’t stop me and doesn’t look away from the stage, as she leans further into my body. Her head resting on my shoulder.
Deciding not to push my luck, I leave my hand running along her stomach, even though all I can think about is slipping it beneath the waistband of her jeans and moving her panties aside as I slide my fingers inside her.
A tall, slim body appears in front of us, blocking my view of the stage and the band I’m supposed to be concentrating on.
“Hi, Tate,” Nicole drawls in what I think is supposed to be a sexy tone.
“Hi, Nic.” I put no emotion in my response, hoping to show her I’m not interested without being rude.
My curt greeting doesn’t deter her as she steps closer to me. “Missed you last week. I was bored without you.” Her tone is suggestive, and I have no idea what she’s talking about until her eyes sneakily glance towards Harper who has once again stiffened in my arms.
“I was busy last week.” A light bulb goes off, and I pull Harper tighter into me. She connects the dots immediately and wraps her arm around my neck. Nicole’s eyes follow but she takes no heed as she places her hand on my thigh. High on my thigh.
“Well, great to see you this week. Maybe we can catch up after.”
I remove her hand from my leg. “I don’t think so.” My answer is short and I then lean over towards Harper, as if I’m trying to see around Nicole to the stage.
I don’t look at her but hear a huff as she exits my line of vision. Harper’s body shakes with laughter, and I roll my eyes in frustration. This is not the impression I wanted to make.
This was just another thing for Harper to read into and add to her list of what she thinks about me. Another reason to keep me at a distance.
Whatever You Do Page 7
