Harlow
The men I date fit a certain mold.
They went to the right schools, have the right professions, know who my father is, and are almost as careful weighing the risk-to-reward ratio in asking me out as I am in who I say yes to.
I never have gorgeous men pressing me for inappropriate favors like this, and it’s kind of exciting. Maybe that’s why, against all logic, Thursday morning I’m seated at one of the Toasty Bean’s sidewalk tables, waiting on Wade Grady to pick me up.
I’ve spent the last four days on the brink of calling the whole thing off. But then I’d get a text, email, or call from Wade showering me with “fun facts” and “miscellaneous tedium”—he lost his first tooth in a fistfight with his cousin and has to take an allergy pill when he bales hay—and I’d end up asking half a dozen more questions, most of the time laughing so hard at the answers I couldn’t catch my breath. And then for the next few hours getting caught up in the idea of having ten days with this guy who’s promising me fun in exchange for a fake serious relationship.
Only now, as Wade pulls up in one of those oversized white pickups, I’m pretty sure this whole thing is crazy. But what I can’t understand is why I’m going through with it anyway.
“Hey, Good Girl,” he calls from over the roof, hopping out to round the beast.
I catch the server’s eye and tuck a few bills under my mug as Wade jogs up. He pulls one of my bags from beneath the table, grabbing the other where it rests against the geranium planter that sections off the seating. This is the first time I’ve seen him since our lunch and he’s wearing faded Levi’s and a T-shirt with a small John Deere logo on the front that smacks of country boy—though he swears he’s more small-town than country—and makes me think the sundress I picked for today strikes the right balance of casual and cute to match.
“Good Girl?” I ask, trying not to get distracted by how the muscles through his chest and arms flex as he throws the strap over his shoulder.
“If the shoe fits.” He nods down to the legal pad I’m tucking into the side of my tote. “Ten to one… that’s filled with notes about me and you were studying.”
So, I wasn’t the only one paying attention this week. “Of course, I was studying. I’m not the kind of person who walks into a test without being completely prepared. What do you want to know? Enderson, population 7023. Home of the Tigers. Birthplace of Carl Hammond Fossy, artist, John William Paulette, inventor, and one Wade Earnest Grady—”
His bark of laughter has me grinning. “Wikipedia? Damn, you’re serious about your research.”
“Always.”
I follow him to the truck where Wade loads my bags into the backseat and then puts a wide hand out to help me up into the passenger seat.
Once I’m in, he braces an arm at either side of the open door and squints into the midmorning sun. “Gotta admit, I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.”
I give up a guilty sigh. “Neither was I.”
He nods. “Well, I’m glad you did.” He closes me in and jogs around the hood before climbing in himself. “This is my baby brother’s wedding, and I was dreading it. I’ve been so focused on the bullshit I was sure I was going to have to face, I didn’t think I’d be able to enjoy a minute of it. But now? The only thing I’m worrying about is whether my mom made cookies for me.”
At my raised brow, he laughs. “I’m not kidding. Having you with me makes all the difference. I know you have reservations, so thank you. I mean it.”
Maybe it’s the whole “sports celebrity” thing, but apparently there’s some expectation that he’ll settle down with a nice girl from Enderson, and he doesn’t want to deal with the pressure this week.
Whatever his rationale, I’m looking forward to this escape.
Wade puts the truck in gear and, merging into traffic, tells me to pick some music.
He quizzes me about school and my favorite classes and whether I’d rather have a skinned knee or a really bad hangnail.
The knee, obviously, though he’d rather the nail. Craziness.
I’m pretty sure he’s keeping me talking in an effort to counteract any lingering nerves on my part. And it’s mostly working, because despite us not having a lot in common at the surface, Wade is a very relatable guy.
We swap stories for a couple hours. I’ve got Instagram and Facebook open on my phone, digging up pictures of the people he’s telling me about. Overall, I’m feeling pretty relaxed about this whole thing when he cuts me a quick look.
“So, I know it’s weird that I can’t go home without finding a buffer to bring with me, but I don’t want you to think it’s because my family’s a bunch of jerks. They’re pretty awesome. Nice. Loud. Welcoming.” He grips the wheel with both hands. “But there’s probably something we should talk about before we get there.”
We’ve been talking since I got into the truck. “What?”
He takes a breath. Holds it. Then— “The physical stuff.”
I cough, my head cranking around in a way that betrays my surprise in no small way. Nothing contained or unflappable about it. The whole instilling-confidence-through-thoughtful-reserve thing I work for in the conference room? Not happening.
And worse, I can feel the heat pushing into my cheeks as I swallow hard.
Wade cuts me another look and, seeing my reaction, blanches. “Jesus, no! Don’t pull the eject handle,” he says in a rush. “I just didn’t want you to worry about it. I won’t be all over you.”
I sit back in my seat, letting go of that held breath with a sharp, “Wade.”
“I’m sorry, I was—hell, I was nervous about bringing it up.” He shakes his head. “Because I didn’t want to spook you or anything.”
I gape.
“I know,” he grumbles, but that same good humor remains in his eyes. “This is, in fact, my first rodeo when it comes to bringing fake girlfriends home.”
“Okay, then what exactly does ‘I won’t be all over you’ mean? You won’t be groping my breasts or shoving your tongue down my throat in front of your parents?” I guess I’d just assumed that much. But suddenly, talking about it seems like an excellent plan. “In fact, why don’t we clarify what you will do, just so there aren’t any surprises?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Would you be okay with my arm around you? Not all the time, but like when we meet my parents and friends?”
His arm? “Your arm around me is fine.”
“I’ll try to go easy on the rest, but just kick me if I’m too much.”
The rest? “What are you normally like with the girls you date?”
His head wags back and forth. “First, I don’t date that many girls. I mean, date-date. Not just— Never mind.”
And there it is, a rosy spot high on his cheekbone. It’s kind of cute to see a big, tough hockey player embarrassed. “I think I get it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the touchy type. I like to be close. I’m a hugger. When my girlfriend’s got pretty hair or a nice dress, I like to touch it. I like to hold hands. Kiss.” His brows pull together. “Not with tongue or anything, but— It doesn’t matter.”
“Right.” And suddenly I’m thinking about Davis, my college boyfriend. How I’d reached for his hand when he came to the house for dinner, and the look he’d given me made it plenty clear hand-holding wasn’t what he’d come for. Too bad for him, my father had blazed past him, phone at his ear, without so much as a second glance, and then closed himself into his office for the night. I didn’t invite Davis back.
“So the men I’ve dated aren’t generally like that. Not so outwardly affectionate, anyway. No PDA.” They greet me with a kiss on the cheek when they pick me up.
Except Craig, the man I dated for two months, who never actually kissed me. Ours was a polite parting, to say the least.
Wade nods. “Cool. No PDA.”
Only that subtle tightening around his eyes and mouth says not cool.
“Won’t people notice if you aren’t doing any of that? Not so much the kissing, but the other stuff.”
The sound he makes is noncommittal, but I’m already imagining friends and family I shouldn’t be concerned about speculating about the longevity of our relationship. Discussing how clearly not into me he is. How rigid I seem. And all the ways I must be lacking.
My competitive, goal-oriented side doesn’t like it.
Besides, the whole point of this week is for me to get a vacation from my reality.
“That’s very considerate, Wade. But you’ve gone to some lengths here to convince these people I’m something to you I’m not.”
This time the shift of his eyes toward me is slower. “I have.”
I go for a casual shrug, trying for the easy posture he always has. “So why chance failure by trying to be polite? We need to commit or why bother at all, right?”
He licks his lips. Opens his mouth and closes it again. Narrows his eyes on the road ahead and then on me, the corner of his mouth hitched the smallest degree. The suggestion’s not what he was expecting.
Wade flicks the signal for the next exit. “Let’s stop at the station up here.”
“For gas?” The indicator shows nearly a full tank.
“I’ll top her off, but maybe we just give it a trial run. See how it goes without an audience first, yeah? And if it doesn’t feel right, no sweat. Every relationship is different.”
I cough, straightening in my seat as heat flames up my neck and cheeks. “You—you don’t think I can pull it off?”
The shake of his head is slow. “That’s not what I said.”
“But?”
He laughs. “Put that little arched brow away. Just… hold on.” He flips the visor down and opens the vanity mirror in front of me. “What do you see?”
I look, taking inventory of the woman reflected there. Her arms are tightly crossed over her chest, lips pursed into a slight frown, and there’s a buckle between eyes that are narrowed like she’s studying a problem that needs to be broken down.
Honestly, I don’t spend that much time in front of a mirror beyond checking to ensure I’m putting a professional image out there. That even though I’m younger than most everyone I work with, I don’t come across like I am. And it’s somewhat startling to see how that carefully cultivated persona might not gel with… well, really any other situation at all.
Especially one where I’m supposed to be the love interest to some touchy jock.
After a breath, I gesture toward my reflection. “I see a woman who’s been a straight-A student since the sixth grade when that witch Mrs. Hall gave me a B-plus in art. A woman who performs under pressure and doesn’t crack. A quick study and someone who excels at every goal she commits to.” Every goal but one, that is.
I close my eyes. I see a woman who just wants to be someone else for a while.
Unraveling my arms, I smooth my features. Relax my mouth and—
“Are you seriously practicing smiling right now?”
I turn to Wade. “Just find the gas station. I’ve got this.”
This guy has no idea what I’m capable of.