“You have no idea how to negotiate,” she accused. “Just when I’m about to say yes, you had to be a total perv.”
I grinned and ran my thumb along her cheek, down her jaw, and across her mouth. I couldn’t stop touching her. “Just say yes. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just give me two months of dating. Two short months.” I felt her fingers mindlessly stroking along my sides, and I wondered if she felt the same pull I did, like she’d go crazy without my body under her fingertips. “I just want to get to know you. A few dates isn’t asking much, Harlow. Not when an annulment will cost me $1,000.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You already looked into it?” she asked quietly.
“If you really want it, I’ll give it to you. Just give me this first.” I held my fist out to her, with my pinky curved toward her in invitation.
Slowly she reached up and hooked her finger around mine. “Okay.” Her answering smile was the same one she’d given me in Vegas when she agreed to have a drink with me. “Deal.”
“I have to warn you,” I said, bending my head toward hers. “I’m going to make you want to forget all about the annulment. I’m still going to kiss you. A lot.” My mouth touched hers, and the rhythm between our lips was deep, slow, and hungry. Our hands and fingers roamed, seeking out the touches they remembered from months ago.
“And one other thing,” I said, pulling away. “I’ll probably want to touch your ass a lot, too.”
She smacked me on the arm. “You’re being totally skeevy,” she accused.
“No. Just honest.” Our eyes met, and as our laughter faded away, I realized I’d be content to just lay here, kissing her and making her laugh for hours. “Go out with me tonight.” Maybe I was pressing my luck, but she agreed to date me. Why not start right away?
She blinked, a million thoughts skipping through her mind in those few seconds. “I can’t. Not tonight. My sisters are coming over and staying through tomorrow.”
“Great. You can introduce me.”
Her easy smile melted away, and it was as if a protective shield shuttered over her expression. “Trace…I can’t.” She looked almost sad, and she wiggled out from under me and pushed herself up into a sitting position. “It was nice of you to introduce me to your family, but you’re…” She paused as if it pained her to admit what she was thinking. “Even if we do these two months, I still need you to be my secret. I’m sorry.”
I swallowed down the way her refusal grated against me and shrugged. “Yeah. Totally understandable.” I blew off her rejection, refusing to be offended. Harlow’s gaze searched my face as I pushed up to kneel and I knew she was looking to see if she’d hurt me. “Well if they’re coming tonight, I should probably get you back home, yeah?” I stood up and offered her a hand.
She nodded and let me help her up. “Thanks. And…I’m sorry.”
I forced an easy smile. “For what? Who says I don’t like being your dirty little secret?”
Her gaze searched my expression, looking for the truth I refused to admit. I didn’t want her looking at me like I was an injured animal.
“I like things dirty, remember?” I asked, giving her a swift smack on the ass.
She pressed her lips together, and I laughed.
I refused to let her confession bother me. I was still getting my two months. A lot could change in that time.
— HARLOW —
11. GIRL GONE WILD
September 24, 2016
GIRL GONE WILD By Harlow Ransom
If Baltimore ever hosts Girls Gone Wild for spring break, we know exactly who we can expect front and center. Harlow Ransom—the queen of discipline—has fallen, and fallen hard. That’s what happens when the pedestal is so tall, the fall is so much more disastrous. Harlow’s self-control has been legendary for many years, earning the disdain of classmates and disgust of her wild sisters. But in the last few months, she’s seen that legend crumbling around her.
“No one can be that perfect for that long,” her sister Marlow remarked. “When you don’t let your hair down, it becomes a big knotted mess. Harlow’s finally stepping out of her comfort zone, but now she only has one speed. Reckless.”
Eager to defend herself, and her actions, Harlow told us that Marlow has it all wrong. “I know I made a few mistakes, but I’m going to set everything right again. I just had a lapse of judgment.”
A lapse of judgment? This reporter pointed out that perhaps Harlow is lying to herself about the severity of her situation. A lapse of judgment would be kissing a stranger, not marrying them. To make matters worse, her lapse of judgment happened over two months ago, and nothing has been done to rectify it. Does she have any plans at all to fix her mistake?
“Oh, it’s all good. I just have to date Trace for two months. Just until Thanksgiving. And then he’ll give me the annulment I want. Easy peasy.”
Easy peasy. Those were her words, dear reader. This reporter would like to suggest there is only one thing easy in this whole situation, and it’s not Harlow’s solution to her sham marriage.
=========================
I’d never realized just how quiet my place was until Trace dropped me off an hour later. After an afternoon of boisterous teasing and loud conversations with his family, the silence of my apartment was unsettling. And lonely.
Couch Cat met me at the door and leaned against my leg, her low purring and the jangle of her collar the only sounds to greet me. I bent over to pet her, realizing that in the worry over my outfit in the morning and my subsequent face plant into the door, I’d forgotten to feed her. She was currently using my leg as her own personal massager, a not so gentle reminder that I was a sucky owner.
I made my way to the kitchen, and as soon as her bowl was filled, my usefulness was achieved so she went back to ignoring me so she could eat.
My phone buzzed with a text message, and I looked at the screen to see it was from my dad.
Dad: Did you remember to make a deposit into your savings this month?
Crap. If I made my usual deposit to my savings, I wouldn’t be able to make a payment on my credit card. And I needed to make a dent in those charges from my birthday weekend.
Me: I had some unexpected expenses.
I sent the text and my fingers hovered over the screen waiting for his response, wondering if I’d be forced to lie.
Dad: If you need any help putting together a budget for next month, let me know.
I sighed, relieved he wasn’t going to insist on details.
Me: I think I’ll be fine.
Dad: I know you will. I’ll call you Sunday night. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I tossed the phone on the counter and then walked the few feet back into my living room where I collapsed onto the couch, my body aching. I could have attributed the ache to my clumsiness earlier in the day, or even the tumble that Trace and I took after he chased me down outside his barn. But I knew that’s not what I was feeling. The ache was deep. A craving that left me hungry. Starved.
And I knew Trace was the cause. I worried that it was a feeling that wouldn’t go away on its own.
Now that I’d peeled back a tiny corner of my restraint and allowed myself a small moment of indulgence, I could see just how flimsy my sense of self-preservation really was. I had made terrible decisions in Vegas where Trace was concerned, and yet I still let him kiss me senseless outside that barn today. And I agreed to date him for two months.
What was I thinking? I should be laser-focused on completing my courses, publishing as many articles in the Diamondback as possible, and getting an internship. Trace had hijacked my thoughts and was rearranging my plans, replacing them with a greedy need that it seemed only he could satisfy. He had picked away at that tiny corner of my perfect image, and now the rest of my self-discipline was crumbling into pieces so small I was afraid I’d never get myself put together the same way again.
The question was, did I want to be the same as I was before?
My body disagreed, and I hated that I was weak and let myself want him so much.
My heart…I had no idea what my heart wanted. But even if I did, I was positive I couldn’t trust it to choose wisely. It was just as unreliable as my body.
I was such a hot, fucking mess.
I closed my eyes, hoping a solution, and the strength to follow through with it, would come to me.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, the silence of my apartment was shattered by my sisters as they stumbled through my front door with laughter and a month’s worth of luggage. I groaned as their shrill voices caused my head to pound.
“And here I thought you’d be excited to see us,” Willow said. Her words were followed by a loud thump and I narrowed my eyes at her when I saw the enormous suitcase sitting in the middle of my tiny living room.
“How long are you planning to stay?” I croaked, trying to blink moisture into my dried-out contacts. I hated the way sleeping in them made me feel like someone had stuffed cotton balls under my eyelids.
“We’re going out tonight, aren’t we?” she asked as if that was the perfect explanation. When I continued to blink at her, she said, “We had to bring several outfits. Lord knows you have nothing in your closet that should be seen in public.” As usual, she was dressed perfectly, like she was a mannequin in some upscale clothing store in Manhattan. When I didn’t argue, she spun around, her high heels clicking defiantly on my wood floor as she made her way into the kitchen. She came back seconds later with sparkling water. Thank God I remembered to get that for her. A lack of sparkling water would definitely have upped my torment and her bossiness.
“What’s with the homeless look you’ve got going on?” Marlow asked sitting down on the couch, nearly crushing me. She was frowning as she stared at my makeup-free face and grass-stained clothes. “And what the hell! Do you have a black eye?”
“What?” I cried, shooting up into a sitting position and nearly knocking her to the floor. I grabbed for my nose to find it felt a little tender. Funny how I hadn’t noticed it at all while I was with Trace this afternoon. Even when he was kissing me.
“You do!” Marlow’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God! Were you attacked?”
I groaned and fell back against the decorative pillow, throwing my arm over my eyes. “Yes. By my front door.” Let the teasing begin.
Willow tsked and came to sit next to Marlow, squishing me further. “I don’t know how you survive without us, Lolo,” she said.
Marlow pulled my arm away and brushed my tangled hair out of my face. “See what happens when you live alone? You’re well on your way to becoming a sad little hermit who lives off cat food and Judge Judy reruns. You could have knocked yourself out, bled to death, and then Couch Cat would have eaten your remains just to survive. And no one would know for days because you’re a lonely recluse. You want that thing feasting on your rotting liver?” she asked, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to where my lazy roommate was currently lounging in the sun on the windowsill.
Harsh. But she had a point.
Willow frowned, lost in thought. She gave me a look of pity that made me feel every bit the youngest sister I was. “It’s a good thing we came to visit. We’re taking you out tonight. She grabbed my hands and started to peel me off my Craig’s List couch cushions. “If we’re going to make you presentable, we better start now if we want to get out before all the bars close.”
“Oh ha ha. You’re hilarious.” But she was also right. I let her pull me to standing, and Marlow immediately settled into my vacated spot, rummaging through my belongings on the coffee table, making herself completely at home.
“What’s this?” she asked, reaching for the spiral bound notebook that sat on top of the books I’d been studying earlier.
“Just a to-do list.” I reached my arms in the air, leaning side to side to get out all the kinks from my nap on the couch.
She scanned the list, no respect for privacy at all. But then again, it was Marlow. She didn’t know the meaning of privacy. “Who’s Trace?”
I’d started to walk toward my bedroom, but her question stopped me in my tracks, my head whipping around in panic. “What?”
“Right here on your to-do list.” She pointed to the notebook in front of her.
I hurried over to read what she was looking at because I couldn’t remember what I’d written. And I didn’t want to have to explain Trace to my sisters.
1. Take Couch Cat for shots
2. Get Willow’s sparkling water
3. Order new ink for printer
4. Fall in love with Trace
Number four was in a series of jagged letters that I recognized as Trace’s handwriting. When did he do this? It must have been earlier this morning before we left to go to his parents’ house. I’d left him alone in my living room while I went to change my shirt, which had been covered in blood.
Oh. My. God. He was just as nosy and intrusive as Marlow. Why would he write that? Going to lunch together was one thing. A few dates were even acceptable. But falling in love? That was never going to happen. And no, I hadn’t forgotten we were married, but we’d been together a collective 48 hours at most. Love?
I couldn’t catch my breath because my heart was knocking around my chest like a rabid dog trying to break free.
“Who’s Trace?” Willow asked this time, peeking over my shoulder at the list.
Marlow was peering up at me, and I realized my face was frozen in shock. I replaced my expression with one of amusement and gave an indulgent laugh, grabbing the notebook so that she couldn’t flip through it and see any other incriminating evidence. “Oh, that. Just some guy in one of my classes. He likes to write stupid stuff on my notes when I’m not paying attention.”
“Is he cute?” Marlow asked.
I huffed and walked away, tucking my damning lists under my arm and shaking my head as if the idea was ludicrous. “Not that it matters, but no.” He’s fucking gorgeous. “I don’t have time for a guy, cute or not. You know that, Marlow.”
“Well, you do tonight,” Willow promised, hooking her arm through my empty one and pulling me toward the bathroom. “And we’re not going to let you sneak away from us this time. Makeup first, then clothes.”
“Fine,” I conceded. “But I’m wearing my glasses. I can barely see out of my contacts.”
“Not the glasses,” Marlow whined. “You look like a librarian when you wear those things.”
“I’m cool with that,” I called over my shoulder. “Good girl, remember?”
Good girl. Maybe if I played the part, I’d be able to keep myself out of trouble. Without the temptation of Trace around, I had a pretty good chance of staying on the straight and narrow tonight no matter how much my sisters might push and pull.
“Nobody is perfect, Lolo,” Marlow shouted after me. “Good girls take risks too; they just don’t get caught. You’re not as innocent as you think you are. One day you’ll take a risk, and you’ll discover just how much fun being bad can be.”
I swallowed back my denial because she was right. And I wondered if she knew just how right she was.
***
I was positive that in the last half hour, the guy driving our Uber car had been looking in the rearview mirror for at least twenty-seven of those minutes. Not that I could blame him. I had a hard time not gaping at Marlow…and she was my sister.
I leaned over to whisper to her. “I think that dress is two sizes too small for you. Your tits are hatching an escape plan right now. It’s like a prison riot in your dress.”
The driver must have heard the words “tits” and “escape” because his eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, silently rooting for Marlow’s prisoners to break free.
She laughed. “My
tits, your ass. At least one of those better have some fun tonight.”
I self-consciously pulled on the bottom of the dress I was wearing, for all the good it did me. Marlow had stuffed me into a tube of fabric that I was pretty sure was meant to be a skirt since my ass was barely covered. I tried to fight it, but she’d made me choose between the dress she was wearing and the one I had on. I figured an accidental mooning was a much smaller crime than a Harlow-Free-The-Nipple campaign. She also won the battle on the high heels, but only because my flats admittedly looked ridiculous with any of the outfits she’d brought.
Willow had brushed and dabbed and buffed me until my hair was tamed and my black eye was invisible, but I’d won the battle on the glasses. Even she wasn’t cruel enough to force me to put the contact lenses back in after she saw the state of my eyes after my nap.
Once they’d had their fun treating me like their own personal doll, the Uber was called, and we were on our way to the city. College Park had great bars, but my sisters wanted to go dancing, and for that we had to head into Baltimore. Charm City Nights was a nightclub in one of the newly renovated warehouses near Fells Point. It was no Vegas night club, but my sisters were appeased when I told them there was a DJ there tonight.
The driver pulled up alongside the curb, and when we got out, he handed Marlow a card, practically begging her to call him to be our ride home. I snorted. Yeah, I was sure he’d be happy to give her a ride.
When the car pulled away, she sighed, pulling her ID out of her bra. There was no way that dress wasn’t going to meet a disastrous end before the night was over. The strips of fabric were just no match for my sister’s curves.
“Do you realize we barely avoided four different accidents on the way here thanks to your rack?” I asked her, gesturing to her mountainous cleavage. “He’ll probably have to go jack off around the corner just to make it home in comfort.”
“Let’s stop being a prude for one night, okay?” Marlow asked sweetly. “The poor guy was driving an Uber car on a Saturday night. He at least deserved a good view for his efforts.” She tucked her arm in mine and pulled me toward the velvet ropes.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 10
