Harlow
I wasn’t sure about crashing my second bachelorette party in as many weeks, but Janie wouldn’t hear of me skipping out. And now that I’m back at the hotel, tipsy from too many sugary drinks and still giggling thinking about the “police officer” who showed up at her sister’s house during dinner, I am so glad I went.
Wade and I texted a few times early on in the evening, but then Grace caught me and commandeered my phone, texting her son in no uncertain terms that this was a girls’ night and he could have me back when the party was over. She’s feisty and so much fun.
Dressed for bed but still a little wound up, I check my phone wondering if Walt had as much fun at his party as his bride-to-be had at hers and if all Wade’s plans for the night turned out the way he’d hoped.
I wonder if he’ll be back before I go to sleep.
If we’ll talk through the wall the way we did the night before. I kind of hope so, because it was surprisingly nice getting drowsy to the sound of his voice.
He has a really nice voice.
Okay, definitely still tipsy.
The door to our suite unlocks and I sit up, a frisson of excitement sweeping over me. After a quick knock, Wade lets himself in and—
“Whoa, are you okay?” I ask, stumbling out of bed as I take in the train wreck that is my fake boyfriend. His hair is standing in total disarray, there are lipstick smudges on his face, and his button-down shirt is hanging open… no buttons to be found.
Wade throws the slide lock and slumps back against the door with a long breath. Tired eyes meet mine, and when he brings up his hand in the universal stop signal, I see his sleeve is literally torn at the cuff.
“I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”
“It looks like…” Like maybe someone needs to call the real police.
“Someone told the dancer at the club I was a hockey player.”
Huh? And then it hits me.
Ooh… The “sports celebrity” thing is real.
“She’s a Slayers fan? Or just a really hardcore Wade Grady fan?” I whisper, trying to shut down the pinch of jealousy I’m experiencing at the sight of all that lipstick.
Wade lets out a dry laugh. “She’d probably never even heard my name before. I only started getting real ice time in the games this past season. But knowing I’m a pro, sometimes people get caught up in it.” His eyes cut to mine, his smile coming back online. “Present company excluded.”
“No, I’m impressed. I am.” Fine, not so much about the sports. But in other ways.
“You’re killing me, Harlow.” He pushes off the door and walks through to my room with a weary laugh. “I want you to know, this isn’t what I was going for. I asked her to back off. Tried to be nice. Told her I had a girlfriend.”
At my shocked cough, he shakes his head. “What? For the purposes of this week, I do. And so we’re clear, I would never disrespect the woman I was with by flirting up or encouraging this kind of crazy shit.” He holds up his arm, examining the torn fabric, and mutters a curse.
Then he’s shouldering out of his shirt, and I’m trying not to notice the muscles across his chest flexing and shifting as he frees one powerful arm and then the other.
“I really appreciate that.” I do. “But, um…”
His head comes up. “Yeah.”
I can barely say it out loud. “I put… twenty dollars in Officer Johnson’s man thong thing.”
Wade blinks. Shakes his head and blinks again before barking out a laugh so loud I’m afraid he’ll wake the whole hotel.
“I feel bad,” I gasp, laughing too. Okay, not that bad. “You were such a good fake boyfriend while I’m this, this tart.”
When he finally catches his breath, he sits back on the desk across from the bed. “Hey, how’d it go with the bachelorette party anyway? You girls have fun?”
I start to answer but, with the way his arms are braced at his sides with those massive legs stretched out in front of him, I’m getting lost in the deep-cut ridges of his abdominal muscles.
So many.
He asked me about the party. Right.
It takes me a second to get my eyes up past his neck, and when I do, I find Wade watching me with one raised brow and a smile that says I’m so busted.
I sigh, holding up my hands. “Okay, I’m impressed. For real.”
He grins. “Finally.”
Taking a last look at the shirt, he tosses the wrecked garment in the bin beneath him. “The party, Harlow.”
Yes. Right.
“It was so much fun. Thank you for the nudge, by the way. I would have been fine with a night here in the room, though. So if anything comes up that you need to do on your own, don’t worry about me. I mean that. But tonight was a really good time, and I’m glad I got to go.”
“Just tell me Janie’s stripper didn’t get as handsy as ours did. If my brother’s taking a swing at me tomorrow, I want to be prepared for it.”
“He didn’t.” I laugh and, peering up at him, get caught in that smile. “No offense to Walt, because he seems like a really nice guy. But I’m having trouble imagining him coming after you.”
Wade has several inches on his brother and a couple dozen pounds of muscle, at least. The bulk of which I’m still getting an eyeful of.
“If you’d seen us growing up, you wouldn’t doubt it. That little fucker fought dirty.”
And now I’m imagining the two boys Grace showed me picture after smiling, innocent picture of going after each other. When I finally stop laughing, Wade’s eyes are still on me.
And I like it. I like the way he smiles at me and the way he laughs with me and the way he looks at me like he likes me.
Tracing a square in the pattern of the bedspread, I put my thoughts back on track. “Okay, so dirty fighter aside. What reason would Walt have to come after you?”
“I might have helped Janie’s mom out with the entertainment.”
My jaw drops. “You hired Officer Dwayne DeLong-Johnson? That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. But it definitely makes more sense than Mrs. Hamilton scouring the exotic dancer listings on her own. FYI, she couldn’t stop giggling the entire time he was there. Her face was tomato red, but she was delighted.”
Pushing off the desk, that hooked grin in place, he heads for the bathroom. “Nice. I’m glad Janie had a good time.”
He leaves the door open and turns on the sink, so I follow him back and prop a shoulder in the doorway. “Janie did too, but I was talking about her mom. And yours.”
Rocking back on his heels, he cackles. “Tell me there are pictures.”
“Oh, there are pictures, all right. I’m pretty sure Janie has video too. Play your cards right, and maybe she’ll share them.”
Still grinning, he runs a washcloth under the tap, soaping it up before he goes after the lipstick marring his jaw and forehead.
Catching sight of a few pink smears he probably can’t see, I step into the room, take another washcloth from the rack, and reach around Wade to get it wet. After the last two days, I’ve gotten so used to intentionally touching when we have an audience, I don’t even think about the fact that my hand is pressed to the bare skin of his side until I look up and find him watching me in the mirror.
“Sorry,” I breathe out, pulling my hand free. Suddenly, the laughter is gone, leaving only the awareness of how small this room is and how close we’re standing.
“There’s some on your neck and back too… If you want me to get them.”
He nods, and I try to focus on wiping away the evidence of some other woman on him, but my gaze keeps slipping back to the mirror. To the too-blue eyes still watching mine, impossible to read.
I want to say something. Break the silence. But that easy conversation between us feels further out of reach as the seconds stretch.
“There, you’re all cleaned up,” I finally manage, still clutching the washcloth.
Wade turns, his big body swallowing up the space in the small bathroom in a way it hadn’t when his back was turned. He reaches for a bit of my hair like he did at the gas station—God, was that only yesterday?—and wraps it around his finger before smoothing it back over my ear.
The air feels thin, warm.
His knuckles graze that sensitive skin along my neck.
Forget thin. The air is gone.
Or maybe I’m just holding my breath. His brows pull forward, those blue-sky eyes turning midnight as they track the path his fingers just followed, then slowly shift back to mine.
Something cold splatters against the top of my foot, shocking the air back into my lungs on a gasp.
I’m clutching the wet cloth in my hands hard enough to wring the liquid from it.
When I look back to Wade, whatever I thought I saw is gone and all that’s left is the easy smile.
He takes the washcloth from me, setting it at the back of the sink. Then wrapping his hands around my shoulders in a gentle hold, he guides me backward until I’m outside the bathroom. “Thanks for getting the lipstick off. Hit the sack and I’ll try to be quiet when I’m done showering.”
And then he closes the door.