Tate lifts his head, surveying the crowd of people around us. “You’re probably right.” I push his chest to get up, but he doesn’t budge. “Just give me a minute.”
“Sorry.” I giggle.
We lie there for a minute, giving each other goofy smiles before he kisses my forehead and hops off me. Holding his hand out, he pulls me up and holds me close. “I don’t want this weekend to end.”
“We still have the rest of today.”
“I don’t want you to go home.” He pouts. “Stay the night. I’ll get you up early enough for you to go home before work and get ready.”
“Yeah, but then I’ll have to get up early. If I go home tonight, I can have a longer sleep in.”
“I promise I’ll make it worth it,” he whispers into my ear, before kissing down my neck. Oh, I’m sure he would.
I can’t keep my hands off her. I thought leaving the apartment and going out in public might keep me in line, but it hasn’t turned out that way. My arm goes from around her shoulders to her waist. I grab her ass and anywhere else I can.
It’s not long before I’ve had enough of walking and drag Harper back to the picnic rug.
I lie down on my back and Harper slides beside me, laying her head on my chest. We hold hands, entwining our fingers together, and I run my free hand through her hair as I ask, “Would you rather lose an arm or a leg?”
“What?” She laughs.
“Would you rather lose an arm or a leg?” I ask again, seriously.
“Why are you asking me that?” She looks up to me from her position on my chest.
“I want to get to know you. What better way than to play ‘Would you rather’?”
She laughs as she hits my shoulder. “Well, getting right down to it, then? No small talk first?”
“I think we’re past that.” My eyes stick on the clear sky above us.
“Okay then.” There is determination in her voice, and I know she is going to take this game seriously. Her stubborn personality would allow no less, and now I’m even more excited to play.
“I would rather lose a leg,” she answers my earlier question.
“Why?”
“It’s a boring answer.”
“Why, Daisy?”
“Ughhhh.” She whines. “Because I think it would be easier to learn to walk again rather than learning all the small movements your hand does, like writing, cutting, typing, dressing yourself.”
“Valid point,” I tell her as I muse about my next question. “Would you rather not be able to use the Internet or never watch TV again?”
“I’d give up the Internet. Nothing good ever comes from that evil place anyway.” I laugh at her serious face. She’s probably right. “I have a small TV addiction. It’s only small, but the struggle is real.”
I laugh out loud. “I think I may have to invest in cable. Bribe you to come over more.”
“No judgement here, but I did notice it was missing.” I smile widely at her smart mouth and then bend over and kiss it.
“Okay, next question.”
“Hey! How come I don’t get to ask any questions?”
“Okay, go ahead.” I grin at her.
“Okay, ummmm . . .” She pauses. “Okay, let’s stick with this arm and leg trend. Would you rather a third arm or a third leg?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “You started easy.”
“I’m just warming you up.”
“Okay.” I chuckle. “That’s easy. I’d rather have three arms.”
“Why?”
“Because when I do this it would be way more fun.” I dig my fingers into the sides of her stomach and tickle her. She screams out and rolls around on the mat as if she’s having some kind of fit.
“Shhhhh,” I tell her, laughing. “Everyone will think you’re bat-shit crazy.”
“You make me bat-shit crazy,” she pants, trying to catch her breath now I have stopped the torture. “I get another question.”
“Okay.” I smile. I can’t say no to her. I’ll give her whatever in the hell she wants. I’ll move the earth if I have to.
She grins as if she’s just come up with a new Nobel Prize-winning idea. “Would you rather eat thirty pounds of cheese or a bucket full of peanut butter? No water, though.”
“Of course, no water,” I mock playfully. “I’d take the peanut butter. Who doesn’t love peanut butter?”
“True, very true.”
“Okay, my turn.” I pull her back into my arms while I think of my next question. “Would you rather publish your diary or make a movie of your most embarrassing moment?”
“Mmm,” she ponders. “Well, I can either publish all my embarrassing moments or make a movie of the one. Is that even a question?”
“Well, it depends. How many embarrassing moments have you had?”
“You were witness to about ten of them, so you can probably answer that yourself.”
“Fair point.” I nod.
“Would you rather be the one to pay for sex or getting paid to have sex?”
“Geez Harper, straight for the dirty talk.” I laugh.
“These are important questions, too.”
“Well, I’d never turn down a good pay check.”
Harper giggles and I can’t help but mirror her laugh. It’s contagious, and I wish I could have her laughing like that all the time.
“Okay, smart ass, it’s my turn. Would you rather have sex with a clean but ugly person, or a good looking but smelly and dirty person?”
“Well, I slept with you so . . .”
“Funny,” I tell her, except I’m not laughing as I roll us over so I’m straddling her. I lock her down with my thighs straddling hers and quickly grab her wrists to drag them to rest above her head.
“Now who’s laughing?” I ask her.
Lust flashes in Harper’s eyes and I’m sure they’re only reflecting my own. Bending down, I kiss her lightly on the lips. Harper moans as I run my tongue along her bottom lip and then gently tug on it with my teeth.
I keep her hands hostage as I tease and torture her mouth—kissing, nibbling, sucking, but never deepening the kiss.
“If you don’t stop we’re going to be arrested for indecent behaviour,” Harper whispers against my lips.
“It would be totally worth it.”
After the public fondling in the park, we spent the rest of the afternoon back at Tate’s apartment not watching movies. Even though I did have to be up at a ridiculous hour this morning, as promised, Tate definitely made it worth my while.
We struggled to say goodbye when we parted ways this morning, but I was also pretty excited to go to work and tell Brooke all about my weekend. The excitement sits in my belly like a grenade ready to explode, and I have to talk to someone about it.
“Good morning,” I sing, walking into the gallery.
Ruth gives me a huge smile, Brooke looks at me in confusion and Saxon wears a cocky grin, as if what I had done all weekend is plastered all over my forehead. I smile and walk past them all, heading to the back office.
Saxon laughs as Brooke’s heels follow me down the hallway.
“Someone had a good weekend.” It’s not a question.
“Oh, Brooke.” I sigh like a lovesick teenager. “I didn’t just have a good weekend; I had the best weekend of my life.”
Brooke’s eyebrows fly up. “Really? Who with?”
“Tate.”
“What?” she screeches.
“Brooke, we’re already late, baby. You and Harper are going to have to hold the gossip til later.” Saxon smirks as he pops his head in the doorway of my office.
“Oh my God, Harper, I want to hear all about it but Sax and I have a meeting. I’ll be back by lunchtime; we can go out and you can fill me in on all the dirty details.”
“Sure.” I wanted to go have lunch with Tate at the café, but if I don’t get to tell someone about my amazing weekend soon, I may explode.
Before getting stuck into my work for the day, I send Tat
e a quick message.
Me: I can’t make it in today for lunch. Going out with Brooke.
Tate: No worries. We’ll be flat out here anyway. I will miss seeing my Daisy though.
I swoon at his totally mushy text. God, he’s so sweet. I still need to get it out of him why he calls me Daisy, though.
Me: Miss you too. Xo
The morning passes quickly as I lose myself in my work. Various new jobs keep my full attention.
“I’m back,” Brooke says as she stands in my doorway. “I’ll just go pee and then do you want to go?”
“Perfect.” I don’t look at her as I quickly finish off what I was doing. Standing, I grab my purse and jacket and head towards the front desk.
Saxon leans on Ruth’s chair as he points and directs her on the computer, giving instructions for a document he needs completed.
“Wanna join us for lunch, Ruth?” Brooke asks, meeting us all in the front foyer.
“Not today, darling, I have a lot to do. Besides, I don’t think Harper wants an old lady there when she’s telling you about her sexy weekend.”
I blush, and Saxon cracks up laughing as Brooke shrugs. “Fair enough. I’ll bring you something back,” she says. “Bye, baby.” She gives Sax a chaste kiss on the lips and then we are on our way.
“Wanna go Greek?” she asks as we walk down the busy city street.
“Perfect.”
Entering the large restaurant, Brooke greets the hostess who leads us to a small table in the back. I admire the authentic décor, the crisp white linen tablecloths, and baby blue accents. There are concrete columns throughout the space and pictures of the Greek Islands scattered on the walls.
“We need wine,” Brooke declares as we take our seats.
“Should we really be drinking during the work day?” I send her a mock glare.
“Yes. I think we are going to need it for this conversation. Besides, I’m the boss, and it’s not like the gallery is open to the public yet.”
“Two glasses of your house white,” I tell the waitress.
“A bottle,” Brooke corrects.
I raise my eyebrows at her and she shrugs. We finish making our order before the waitress retreats back to the kitchen.
“So, don’t waste a second. Tell me everything,” Brooke says, leaning eagerly on the table.
“Oh, Brooke.” I sigh. “I’m in love. I couldn’t tell him, but I know that’s what it is.”
“Couldn’t tell him? Did he tell you?”
“In a round-about way.” I nod. “He is perfection. He is sweet and loyal and caring and honest. I know I fall for guy after guy, and I know I’ve made some stupid judgement calls, and I know I’ve said I’ve loved them all, but it’s different with Tate. He is different.”
I halt the conversation as the waitress approaches and places two wine glasses down and the ice bucket with the bottle of wine next to the table. “Your meals won’t be long,” she says, before quickly leaving us in peace again.
“Well, go on.” Brooke’s eyes are wide, and she has a huge grin on her face.
I smile, and I’m sure I look like a smitten teenager. “I feel connected to him. Like I’ve known him forever. We spent most the weekend in his apartment just talking and spending time together. When I think about how I’ve only known him for a couple of weeks, I can hardly believe it.”
“I know the feeling.” She sighs happily. “It was like that between Nate and me the instant we met. It was with Saxon, too, after I lost Nate. I just wasn’t as open to it and definitely denied it for a long time.” I nod and give her a sad smile. “Are you open to it? Letting yourself accept it?”
Brooke knows everything I have been through over the years. She’s seen enough and even the years we didn’t know each other, I have filled her in during our many girls’ nights out, and she sees better than anyone how it has changed me, how I am now because of it all.
“I’m trying to. I don’t want to push him away, and I don’t want to spend every moment doubting what he says or what he does. It all felt so right, and I’m trying so hard to just enjoy it. Enjoy him.”
“So did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Enjoy him.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Brooke . . .”
“Come on, Harper, we’re grown women.”
I sigh in resignation but really can’t wait to tell someone. “Just seeing him melts me. The way he looks at me, kisses me . . . Jesus, I think our bodies were made for each other.”
Brooke squeals in delight. “God, that’s the best kind.”
“We couldn’t keep our hands off each other and he made me feel so . . . sexy.”
Brooke’s gaze focuses over my shoulder and her eyes narrow. Her face has paled, and I’m about to duck for cover when she breathes my name, “Harper.”
Her voice is unsteady and causes me to turn towards the door. What in the hell has got her so rattled?
No. No, no, no, no, no. Tate stands by the hostess stand, asking for a table. Next to him stands a tall, skinny blonde. She is stunning and pure model perfection. Of course, she’s the opposite of my tiny frame, with my black gothic bob. She oozes confidence and sex appeal, and my heart drops.
“Harper,” Brooke says from behind me where I have now turned my back on her, totally focused on the couple across the restaurant.
I can’t look away. Can’t turn away from the train wreck that is my life. The hostess leads the beautiful couple to a table across the room and I watch. My eyes torture my heart as it shatters in my chest, figuratively breaking into a thousand tiny pieces.
I stretch up in my seat so my eyes can follow them to their table. Is his hand on her lower back? They reach the table and Tate pulls out her chair for her. She slides into it and my heart stops as Tate looks up and his eyes rise and meet my own.
A large radiant smile fills his face, but it’s there only a second before it falls as realisation sets in. He’s been caught.
“I have to go,” I say, turning to Brooke, picking up my glass and drinking whatever is left of my wine.
“Harper, wait,” Brooke says, in a panic.
I don’t wait and I don’t look at Tate again as I run out of the restaurant. He calls my name and it sounds like he’s getting closer. Speeding up my steps, I push through the exit. Thankfully, someone is stepping out of a cab and I rush over, almost pushing them out of the way as I jump in.
I slam the door shut and lock it as I yell at the driver to go; Tate is banging on the window.
“Harper, wait. Harper.”
The driver takes off and Tate runs along the taxi, pulling at the door handle and banging on the glass, but it’s not long before the taxi is going too fast for him to keep up.
“Where to?” the large, sweaty taxi driver asks, annoyed.
“City Park, east entrance.”
Looking through the back windscreen, I watch as Tate rests his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Sharp pains shoot through my chest and my breath catches. He stands tall and looks up to the sky, yelling. I assume they’re obscenities, by the horror-struck looks from the passers-by. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and I don’t need to hear ‘Daisy Cutter’ by 311 ringing from my purse to know he’s calling me.
I had thought it was so cute when he snuck his own ringtone onto my phone when I was getting ready for bed last night. How many other things were there which I thought were so sweet, tender, and caring, but were really just bullshit.
I silence the phone, definitely not answering, and by the time I turn back, we have travelled too far for me to see him. I release a deep breath.
It’s only a few minutes before we pull up in front of the park entrance. I throw a few bills at the driver and jump out of the cab, needing some fresh air. My chest is tight and my body numb. I’m struggling to breathe and worry I may be having a panic attack.
If that’s the case, coming to the spot where Tate and I had our little park date probably wasn’t the best idea. Walking slo
wly to the tree we set up camp under, I lean against its thick trunk. There are so many more people here on a weekday; some walking through to get to the opposite side of the city, many on their lunch breaks, and students either reading or studying.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, trying to ignore it all. A tear slides out of my eye, and I know I can’t hold them in anymore. I let them flow freely.
I know . . . I know deep down this is it. He’s broken me. I’ll never recover from this. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Tate Washington is exactly who I thought he was. I wish I had listened to my head all those weeks ago when it was holding up the red warning flag, telling me to stay away from him.
My purse continues vibrating on my lap, as it has been for the last half hour. Shit, I need to call Brooke. Not having the courage to ring her, I text instead.
Me: I’m sorry about lunch. If it’s okay can I have the rest of the day off? I’m feeling unwell.
It’s not a complete lie. I do feel like I might throw up at any given minute.
Brooke: Of course hon I understand. I do think you should talk to Tate though. He seemed really upset when he came back into the restaurant and his ‘lunch’ didn’t seem to go well. All they did was argue. Well for the short time they stayed.
Me: Did you stay just to watch their date?
Brooke: Yeah :/ I don’t think things were what they seemed. You should really answer his calls.
Me: How do you know he’s been calling?
Brooke: I watched remember?
Me: Sorry hon. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Brooke: Call me if you need me. xo
I slide my phone back in my bag, not bothering to listen to Tate’s voicemails or his text messages. I force a laugh as I imagine Brooke staying at the restaurant and eating alone just to watch Tate with that woman. Wait until Sax hears about that. Brooke, she has such a good heart . . . She is the epitome of what a good friend is.
The tears flow again, and I lay my head back against the trunk. I’m such an idiot. Sitting there going on and on to Brooke about how great he was, what a connection I felt to him. I want to be mad at him for sucking me in, but deep down, I’m mad at myself for once again falling for the bad boy, the sweet talker, the smoother mover, and once again falling too fast. When will I learn?
Whatever You Do Page 16
