Drilled, page 2
“How could you stay away? You’re a virgin and he’s a single man walking around with a third leg!” Emma hisses for only me to hear.
“Oh my god,” I groan.
Rebecca sighs. “Your taste in men is just like your taste in condos. You want to cram too much into a small, tight space.”
“Rebecca!” Emma gasps, covering her laughing mouth.
I can’t stand talking about Harley’s penis any longer. “You guys! I’m the one who wants to buy Hilltop House. Harley’s too big for me, but I can’t keep myself away from him. So I made up all these crazy requests from a demanding client when there is no client. It’s just me.”
My eyes well up, and Rebecca and Emma exchange glances.
“Let’s take a walk,” Emma says, looking over her shoulder at the retired farmers staring at me as my eyes leak everywhere. “This place is too full of gossips.”
Emma hooks her arm through mine and rushes me out of Ruby’s while Rebecca handles the bill.
Once we’re all clear of the gossip that haunt our favorite diner, the fresh air makes me feel slightly better. The three of us weave our way down the short stretch of road that leads from the diner to the downtown square and the handsome historic buildings that have been slowly and lovingly restored over the past few years.
Everything downtown reminds me of all the couples who met and fell in love in Fate and are responsible for the town’s doubling population. It’s why I have a real estate job in this town.
We walk past the old textile mill that now serves as a museum, fiber arts gallery, and a partially restored mill, and it reminds me of the story of how Juniper and Rex met and fell in love.
Danny Bryce’s landscape truck pulls up alongside the visitor center near the courthouse square, and I watch the landscaper unload a double baby stroller from the back and strap in a toddler and an infant. Izzy soon appears from the visitor center to have lunch with her family at the gazebo.
We make our way past Billie Jane’s yarn store, and I watch her and Ben making out as if no one is watching.
Emma and Rebecca are talking about getting their families together over Christmas up at Eli’s cabin in the mountains, and pretty soon, this little walk and talk does the trick. My salty tears dry up, and soon enough I’m just plain salty.
“He’s also got bad credit and he can’t get a loan for his business, and on top of that, I’m pretty sure he’s underwater on Hilltop House!” Okay, so I guess I will let them in on the gossip. I wish I didn’t know any of it.
Emma gives it to me straight when she sees me eying Doyle and Maya holding hands and kissing on their front steps.
“Girl,” Emma says. “Listen. Harley Wood might not be the brightest bulb. But he’s basically a puppy with a huge dong who worships the ground you walk on. And you’re trying to talk yourself out of that?”
I turn to her, confused. “Worships the ground I walk on? That’s a stretch. At best, he’s annoyed that I rejected him.”
Rebecca snorts. “Everyone in town sees the way he stares at you. Grace says he cooked Thanksgiving dinner for the entire family last year. He cooked a turkey so Grace and Presley could put their feet up. And he entertained the new baby while Grace took a nap! And you’re worried about a credit score?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” I mutter. It does sound nuts hearing it said out loud. As if something so made up says anything about a person’s character.
Emma blurts out in sudden rage, “It’s not as if a credit score is real! Down with banks!”
Rebecca and I both cast a glance at Emma.
“Okay, Emma,” Rebecca says, pressing a soothing hand to our friend’s shoulder. “You’ve been spending too much time up on the mountain again. How about you and Eli take a vacation among other humans sometime?”
Emma laughs, and then Rebecca turns to me. “But she’s correct. Down with all of that. The boy likes you, and you’re crazy about him. Give it a shot.”
I don’t notice until it is too late that Emma and Rebecca are steering us past the Victorian apartment building where Presley and Grace used to live. A chain-link fence surrounds it, keeping the public away while the Wood brothers work on restoring it.
As we come around the corner lined with overgrown hedges, I run straight into a brick wall that was never there before.
“Holy shit!” I gasp.
Except it’s not a brick wall. It’s just some man’s chest that feels like a brick wall.
CHAPTER THREE
Harley
“Charlotte?”
Her face bumps straight into the white tank I’m wearing under my hoodie, and her lipstick leaves a pretty rad pink smear on it. I’ll probably make out with it later.
“Whoa, I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”
I reach for her, but she nervously dodges my contact.
“I’m fine, you’re fine!” she chirps, giving me her winning smile.
She doesn’t look fine underneath that smile. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I unthinkingly sweep my hand in the air over my face. “You just look a little splotchy.”
That was probably not the best thing to say.
“Gee, thanks. I’ll make sure I do a better job of blending my highlights tomorrow,” Charlotte replies with a snort.
Her friends are watching us from a short distance away, and I feel all kinds of self-conscious.
“No, it’s not your makeup. Have you been crying?”
“No!” Charlotte exclaims at the same time that her friends both chime in, “Yes!”
Charlotte looks so sad, and I hate that.
“Do you want to talk about it over lunch?” I ask her.
“I already had lu—” she starts, then trails off when the friend with the long, straight hair nudges her.
“I mean,” Charlotte restarts, “I…wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Come on,” I say, motioning toward the construction site at the old Victorian.
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Sure,” I tell her. “We’ve already fixed up the stairs. Let’s sit and chat.”
She follows me to the stairs leading up to the grand restored front porch, where I sit beside her. She pulls her knees up to her chin, her feet resting one step below where she sits. In contrast, I sit with one long leg stretched out and the other propping up my elbow as I angle toward her, listening.
She studies my face warily for a moment.
“Harley, I have a confession to make.”
I swallow hard and mentally brace for impact.
When I’d first walked up, Charlotte looked like someone had run over her puppy. Something’s upsetting her, and I’m sure it’s something I did. How I’ve been too stubborn to work with. How I’m unreasonable and that I push back on everything she brings to me.
“What’s up?”
“I…”
I stay silent and let her get the words out.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but it’s hard.”
“I’m listening.”
I study her face. The delicate skin of her neck is pink, and the same flush has crept into her ears and cheeks. Something has really got her upset.
Suddenly, the dam breaks, and her words spill out like rushing water, so fast I’m swept up in a wave of emotions.
“The truth is, I’m the client.”
“You’re whose client?”
“Mine.”
“Charlotte, I’m not following.”
She rubs the spot between her eyes like she has a headache. “I’m the one who was making all kinds of demands about the house. There was no client.”
I stare at her, blinking.
“Huh?”
She tries again. “The demanding client with all the contingencies. It’s me. It’s been me this entire time.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you pretend?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I touch her hand. “If you have trouble finding clients, just say so. If handling this property for us is too much, all you had to do was ask.”
Charlotte covers her eyes with both hands, her elbows propped on her knees. “Oh my god, you’re killing me, Harley Wood.”
“Sorry?” It’s a question because I’m not sure what I’m sorry about.
She exhales heavily and says, “I was stalling, pretending to be a demanding client because I regretted turning you down. I turned down that date with you, in part, for professional reasons. But then, I developed a crush on you while working with you and your brothers. So I was stalling to spend more time with you.”
I pull one leg in and stretch out the other, shifting my weight as I absorb this information. “You want to date me?”
Charlotte grimaces and half-smiles, her pretty eyes full of hope instead of the usual sharpness. Her armor is down. I like this.
“What changed?” I ask.
“Me deciding I was wasting time, I guess.”
“You were wasting time. I’ve been waiting for you for days. Weeks.”
“Oh,” she says, her throat sounding dry.
“What you did was really manipulative, Charlotte.”
“I know.”
“But kinda cute. Nobody’s ever played mind games with me before. I don’t dig it, but I still dig you.”
She peeks over at me. “You do?”
Shrugging, I say, “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are.”
“Even after what I told you?” Charlotte asks, shocked.
“Let’s do it. As long as lying and shit isn’t your entire personality.”
“It’s not. Ask anyone!”
“Calm down, Charlotte. I believe you.”
She exhales slowly, deliberately. Then, a genuine smile breaks over her face. “When?”
“I have the afternoon off. It’s a date.”
“What, now?” she asks, incredulous.
“No time like the present,” I say.
Charlotte seems taken aback for a moment. But she’s a woman who’s quick-thinking.
“Okay! I…I was going to make a big production and beg your forgiveness. Ask you out formally, make reservations somewhere special in Gold Hill, but there’s no time for that right now.”
“Guess not,” I say. “We could just cut through the prelude and go to my place.”
Charlotte blanches, and I realize that was the wrong thing to say.
I know what people say about me in this town. That I’m a playboy, that I hit it and quit it. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“I’m probably not the one for you if that’s the case. I tend to move more slowly than that,” she says quietly.
Ah shit, I’m fucking this up.
I squeeze the hand I’m holding. “Listen, that was hasty of me. The truth is I’m just thrilled you asked me out. Going slow is fine.”
Charlotte’s softened eyes travel over my face and land on my mouth. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Then again, we don’t have to go glacier slow.” The pink in her cheeks darkens, and she bites her juicy bottom lip.
I lean in, memorizing the way she looks up at me, so sweet and vulnerable. I’m fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss her, but I get the feeling that she should be the one to make the first move when it comes to kissing.
I laugh, “Glacier slow is definitely too slow. How about paint-drying slow?”
Charlotte’s smile pours something warm and healing into the gaping maw in my chest. “I don’t know, how long does it take for paint to dry?”
I shrug. “Couple hours, depending on the day.”
She breathes. “That’s a good amount of slow.”
We walk to the curb, holding hands and staring at each other like dummies for who knows how long. Finally, I turn over her hand and trace my fingers over the inside of her wrist.
She shivers, and her lashes flutter. “S-so, what were you going to have us do on our first date when you first asked me out last month?”
I laugh. “I was going to take you fishing, but…” I gaze over her wool skirt and heels. “That won’t work in this outfit. Do you want a bite to eat?”
Charlotte grimaces. “I already ate lunch, sorry. But I don’t mind going home to change clothes. I’ve never been fishing before; it might be fun!”
Now she’s just being overly kind, and that’s not the Charlotte I know. She asks for what she wants; I don’t want that to change.
I shake my head. “I have a better idea.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Charlotte
I might already fall in love with Harley when he says my motto, unprompted.
“There’s always room for ice cream.”
Swoon.
Harley treats me to a sundae from the gourmet ice cream truck parked on the square, and we have our date in the gazebo. Danny, Izzy, and their kids pack up and vacate soon after, and then we’re alone—me with my peach cobbler with real chunks of cake and brown sugar swirls and Harley with his mint chip.
I feel so guilty about lying to him. “I’ve been a little selfish and taken up a lot of your time with my little charade. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t ever be sorry for taking up my time.”
Something cold and wet drips down my hand, and I move to lick it off, but Harley beats me to it. His full lips sweep over my fingers, and I feel his tongue dart out to lick the ice cream off my knuckles.
It’s such a surprising and intimate move that I freeze, frozen in space, my mind and body reeling at the sensation of it. The touch of his warm tongue on the coldness of my hand makes me clench.
“What are you staring at, Charlotte? You better eat that before I have to lick all of it off you.”
I laugh, but my throat is dry. I don’t need ice cream; I need a cold shower. Instead, I take a huge sip from my water bottle.
“Sorry, you caught me off guard,” I say, then turn my focus on the ice cream, devouring my feelings.
After a few minutes of eating my feelings and listening to Harley talk, I feel his eyes on me.
“Do I have something on my face? Why are you staring at me like that?”
He shrugs. “Because I’m enjoying watching you put away that peach cobbler ice cream.”
“You want some?” I ask, holding out what’s left of my cone.
“I do,” he says, leaning in.
But he’s not aiming for the ice cream cone.
Instead, his lips land on mine in a kiss that’s warm and cold and sweet and salty all at once.
“Yum,” he says, chuckling when he pulls away from the kiss.
“Very yum,” I say, like an idiot.
He chuckles, then leans in for another kiss, this one warmer and deeper, his lips lingering over mine as he traces the tip of his tongue over the seam of my lips.
I open to him and let him have a taste. Harley’s tongue sweeps into my mouth and caresses my tongue, creating a mess of emotions.
I knew kissing him would be good; I didn’t know how instantaneously addicting his lips would be.
Harley’s kisses grow more sensual and intoxicating by the second. So slow. So unhurried and unbothered by the world around us. Everything about the way he moves his mouth over mine reminds me he’s had more experience than me.
I’m caring less and less about that and focusing more on hoping Harley never stops kissing me.
“Keep kissing me like that, and I’ll never sell the house for you. Just keep bringing in more and more pretend contingencies.”
He laughs, and it warms me to my core. “Keep bugging me with demands, and I might buy the Hilltop House myself.”
“You should,” I murmur, assuming he’s joking.
I remember what the assistant manager at the bank said about Harley. I hate that I know about his loan application. His credit score is irrelevant to the person he is.
“Hey, you’ve got some ice cream on your neck,” Harley says, nudging my hair out of the way.
“You’re good at changing the subject,” I tease.
“Yes, I am. I don’t actually want to talk about work anymore.”
What a relief.
“And I highly doubt I have ice cream on my neck.”
Harley presses a soft kiss against my throat. “Who’s to say?” he murmurs against my skin, and I shiver.
“You’re a mess,” I tease.
“Nah, you’ve made a mess of yourself, and I have to clean you up,” he says, tongue-kissing my neck lower and lower until he’s right against the juncture of my shoulder and neck. My collarbone is a breath away from being kissed, and I know if I feel his lips there, it might send me over the edge.
I haven’t spilled a drop other than that initial spot on my hand, and I suppose this is the precursor to foreplay. It feels that way, judging by my body’s reaction. I’m strangely aware of my breasts, the way they feel heavier, pushing against the heavy cardigan. The wool of my skirt feels itchy. My pearls are choking me. Why do I dress like such a grandmother?
“Baby, look,” he says, sliding his hand around my waist. A passing nanny pushing a stroller gives us a pinched, judgy look, but I can’t summon the strength to care that Harley and I are making a spectacle. “You’ve got ice cream all over your chest.”
Harley works his mouth over the base of my throat, and I have no choice but to angle my head back.
I do everything to make myself appear professional and devoid of sexual magnetism, and here I am being manhandled like a harlot…and loving it.
My nipples pucker inside my bra. I feel for the first time the need to touch them, feel their shape and weight. The need for him to do those things.
People are staring. But then I forget all about them when I close my eyes, and Harley kisses my mouth again. I only feel, smell, and taste Harley. He tastes like cinnamon and caramel and smells like wood varnish and the outdoors.
“If I’ve spilled everywhere, then I’d better go home and change,” I say, going along with his pretending. God, that’s the truth, though. I’ve spilled plenty, but it’s not ice cream, and it’s not on my sweater. My pussy is leaking all over my underwear.
