Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
After a few rapid blinks, I riddle through the alcohol fog that I was happily letting sink into my body when I was blindsided. “I thought we decided to move forward. Forget the past and all that jazz?” Enjoying the cocktail and the company of this after-party a little too much, I take another sip.
Harrison’s knee is bouncing, and he looks down at the floor between his feet. “We did, but I have questions that I can’t seem to answer.” When he looks at me again, a tenderness tinges his eyes. No smile is found, which is odd, considering his demeanor is usually jovial. Or maybe that’s just the impression I’ve gotten over the years.
Not sure where we’re going with this, I settle in, resting back on a hand against the low leather couch. The motion has the toe of my shoes bumped against his, and I don’t bother moving it. “What’s the question again?”
“Why’d you make me promise not to contact you?”
“You were right there agreeing with me. At first, it was a joke, like this will be fun, meaningless sex, a romp on a yacht in the harbor, but . . .”
“But then?”
I look away. “You had my number, Harrison. I didn’t have yours.” I finish the ice-filled drink, wishing I had ordered one without so I’d still have some vodka left. I’m thinking I’ll need it for this conversation. “We should leave the heavier topics for another day and get another drink instead.”
He doesn’t bother dancing around the topic and steps right into the fire. “Nick and Natalie have been together practically since the minute they met, which happens to be the same time we met.” He looks up at a small scuffle beyond the velvet ropes. When our gazes meet again, he adds, “You could have gotten my number when they got together.”
I rest my hand on his knee, trying to calm the anxiety revealing itself. “Harrison . . .” I find myself sighing as if I’m giving up; hopefully, the angrier side I’ve been holding so tightly to when it comes to him. Is it so bad to give in? “Natalie and I are a lot alike, but we’re not the same person. Her heart is open, so exposed and ready to be hurt—”
“Nick won’t hurt her.”
Getting to know my best friend’s husband over the years has shown me that true love exists. I’ve borne witness to it. Nick would do anything for Natalie, and she would do anything for him. They’re committed in legal ways, but this baby cements them as forever tied to each other. “I know he won’t. I meant before him. Natalie and I, God, we’ve done some crazy things, partied more than our fair share, and been the life of them. We never ran from being the center of attention. Worse, I ran into the arms of the baddest boy in the room. They were easy to find, usually with a cigarette or joint hanging out of the side of their mouths. We’ve both lived carelessly—her with her gentle heart, me with my willingness to prove to the world how I didn’t need anyone.”
“Didn’t?”
“Don’t. I don’t need anyone, Harrison. That’s your warning. If you proceed, do it cautiously because I always hurt the innocent. And I don’t think I’ll ever change.”
“Do you want to?” he asks with no fear heard in his voice. I detect a little disappointment, though.
“And set myself up to be hurt again? Not really into that either.”
He shakes his head in seeming disbelief. Then he drinks, his gaze sliding around the crowd in front of us. “You know, Tatum, I think you’re right. I think we need another round of drinks.” He stands and passes the table full of bottles, a free setup spread across the white lacquer top. Watching him, he weaves around the bouncer who lifts the red rope for him to pass.
Sitting forward on the backless couch, I set my glass down on the table and then stand to peer across the top of the crowded bar. The VIP area has a good vantage point, and as the sexiest man in the place, Harrison easily stands out. Then my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as two women strike up a conversation with him. They’re leaning in, flirting, and he’s eating it right up with that stupid smirk on his face. Anger flares inside. Anger or jealousy? I’m not sure because the burn feels the same either way.
I knew he was a player. Standing up, I stalk toward the exit, and my glare alone warns the bouncer to lift the ropes. I shouldn’t bother giving Harrison another second of my time, but I’m too mad, insulted even, and irritated that I actually started to believe I’d made a mistake in Catalina. He’s no less the playboy I met back then.