Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
It was understood that they’d end up together. No one quite knew why they hadn’t already, but we all just assumed that as soon as they got their act together, they’d be together for real.
So, not only did I potentially fuck up the entire vibe of the group once word got around that I’d been all over Bas at the party, but I also could not figure out why Bas had been into it when he clearly had a thing for someone else.
Maybe he was just one of those guys that got his rocks off where he could and didn’t really care who he did it with.
But that didn’t seem right.
Nothing in my memories of Bas had ever indicated he was that kind of guy. Not that there was anything wrong with that—as far as I’m concerned, if you’re unencumbered and won’t be hurting anyone else, you should go wild. But I just couldn’t see him in that role.
He was the solid one of the group. He, Titus, and Cian had been a close-knit trio for years, and it was the other two who were going home with random women. Bas was always the one making sure everyone else got home safely. I’d seen him be the designated driver more often than I’d seen him partying.
Which brought me back to Lou again, because it was almost always Lou that he was making sure got home safely.
He was incredibly protective of her and unashamed of it.
What the fuck had I stepped into?
All I’d wanted was a little air when I’d stepped outside. The party was loud, and everyone was crowded around and asking questions about how long I’d be home and how my job was going and where I was living. I’d just needed a breather. I hadn’t even realized someone else was on the porch.
How had I gone from wanting some time alone to wishing that a guy I’d known for years would take me somewhere private and pull my hair some more?
Was this some kind of midlife crisis? I wasn’t old enough for that, was I? Maybe people went a little crazy when they were fired. I needed to do some research on that. Perhaps that had been the catalyst that sent me into the arms of someone who might not be in a relationship but clearly wasn’t available either.
I needed to stop obsessing over it. I’d been home for two hours already, it was the middle of the night, and I wasn’t going to figure anything out by replaying the encounter in my head over and over. Closing my eyes, I forced myself into a half-awake dream where I was in a large comfortable bed, the pillow was cool against my cheek, and there was a fan on somewhere in the room. As soon as I felt myself relaxing into my old twin bed, I hopped into dream Harper’s dream.
A dream within a dream was the only thing that quieted my mind enough for me to sleep.
* * *
“Harp? You awake?”
“No,” I called back as my mom opened the bedroom door.
“It’s almost eleven.”
“I’ve got nowhere to be, Ma,” I reminded her, rolling to face the door. “I can sleep in until noon if I want to.”
“But why would you want to?”
“Because I have nowhere to be.”
Mom wrinkled her nose and leaned against the doorjamb. “Well, why don’t you come with me over to pick up Gran? We need to go grocery shopping.”
“You’re going grocery shopping together?”
“It’s more fun when you bring a friend.”
“She’s your mother.”
“So? I’m your mother. Are you saying I’m not your friend?”
“Of course you’re my friend,” I replied, groaning. “You’re my best friend. My only friend.”
“I’m not your only friend,” she argued, waving me off. “But I’m glad I’m your best friend. You’re my best friend, too. But don’t tell your Auntie Rose I said that. Now, get up and get dressed. We’re leaving in half an hour.”
She left the room, leaving the door cracked open.
“Definitely my only friend,” I muttered into the pillow before dragging myself off the bed.
The contents of my suitcases were strewn over the floor from the night before when I couldn’t remember where my pajamas were, and I picked my way through them to find something to wear. No jeans. On top of everything else, I couldn’t bring myself to deal with leg prisons all day. I pulled on a dress and some thick socks and dug through the largest suitcase to find a sweater I could throw over it.
Fifteen minutes later, my teeth and hair were brushed, I’d pulled on my boots, and I was stomping down the stairs.
“Harper Rose,” my dad called from the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
“Dear God, yes,” I called back, making my way there.
“Travel mug,” my mom ordered. “Since you took your sweet-ass time.”
“I did not.”