Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Harris shakes his head. “Negative, Ghost Rider, and I’m glad I was drunk because I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Shit. That drunk?”
He looks sheepish. “Yeah. It wasn’t great. I’ve never seen my mom so pissed off in my entire life. I was playing football in college, right? So it was a whole thing, spraining my ankle.”
I can only imagine. “I’m afraid to find out what number one is . . .”
“You should be afraid. The dumbest thing I’ve ever done: I thought it would be romantic to surprise my high school girlfriend by climbing through her bedroom window. You know—like in the movies?”
“Stop it, you did not!” I laugh. “What happened? Did you fall?”
“No—worse. Her mom was sitting at the end of her bed. When she saw me, she started screaming for the dad. It was a fucking disaster.”
“Wow. You sound like you were . . . seriously something else growing up.”
Harris laughs, rubbing his face like he’s still embarrassed by the memory. “Oh, I was definitely something else. Thought I was smooth as hell, but really, I was such a douchebag. But I’ve learned my lesson. No more grand romantic gestures involving windows.”
“Aww, I wouldn’t say that—the gesture sounds super sweet. No one has done anything as remotely romantic as that for me.” I barely get flowers from my dates, let alone have them scale a building to see me.
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the soft hum of the lake breeze drifting through the open window. I sip my wine, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he leans back, looking completely at ease.
“I appreciate you saying that.” He watches me for a moment, his smile soft. “Your turn. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done for a guy?”
“I don’t know.” I scoff. “Let him live with me?”
He goes quiet. “When was this?”
Parker. I should never have brought him up because now Harris wants details. I can see it on his face.
I take another sip of wine, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “It was a long time ago.”
Harris shifts slightly, setting his glass down on the table. “College?”
“Uh, no. Like last year.” I laugh softly because that is definitely not a long time ago—I only wish it was. “I hate talking about it. He was not the guy for me.”
Harris doesn’t say anything right away, but I can feel the weight of his attention, like he’s reading between the lines of what I’m not saying.
“And?” he finally asks, his voice curious.
“And.” I sigh. “That’s it. I loved how nothing rattled him—until I realized nothing motivated him either.”
Harris rests his elbow on the back of the couch, his body angled toward me. “So he was too laid back?”
I nod, swirling the wine in my glass. “Yeah. I was working long hours trying to grow the yoga business—and he’d be at our apartment meditating or talking about how ‘everything works out when the universe decides.’ Um, no, the universe isn’t going to pay the rent on the apartment we shared, dude.”
The more I think about it, the more annoyed I get. My nostrils flare as I remember how Parker always had a spiritual excuse for not taking responsibility. If he didn’t get a job, it was because he wasn’t meant to yet. If I asked him to help clean the apartment, he would say, You’re too attached to material things, Lucy. Fuck you, pal! Sorry for wanting a clean floor!
Lazy asshole.
How stupid was I to tolerate his shit for so long?
Ugh!
Harris studies me as if he’s trying to decide whether to say something or let me stew. Then he reaches over and takes my hand in his. “For what it’s worth, you deserve someone who’s all in. Someone who doesn’t need you to carry the whole weight.”
“That’s . . .” My breath catches. “What Annabelle always says.”
“She’s smart.”
“She is,” I whisper, my fingers tightening around his for a moment before I pull back, exhaling the last of Parker from my system. “What about you?” I switch gears. “What was your last relationship like?”
Harris shifts slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Messy.”
I tilt my head. “Messy how?”
He lets out a soft laugh with no humor behind it. “She was using me.”
My stomach twists. “Using you for what?” His body? His looks?
“My giant axe.” Harris winks at me but again—no humor.
I laugh, but there’s a hollowness to it because I know he’s deflecting. “Come on, don’t do that. Be serious.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Status. Attention. Dating an athlete was a flex for her. I thought she was in it for me, but turns out, I was an accessory.”
I frown. Is he talking about college here? “That’s awful.”
“It wasn’t great,” he admits, looking down at his hands. “She’d post pictures of us online like we were the perfect couple, but when it came to real stuff—supporting each other, being there—she checked out. And I was too blind to see it.”