Wade
All yesterday I waited for a sign that Harlow was seeing me differently. That with time to think, she might realize she wanted more. That this thing between us was too good to cap off at one night. That a connection like ours couldn’t be ignored.
Nothing.
By the end of the night, my ego was walking with a limp, complaining about the cold. My lifetime sentence to the Friend Zone about to be handed down, I was trying to be cool, because I didn’t want to be the dickhead making everything weird. I didn’t want to be the reason we couldn’t be friends… because if that was all I could have, I’d take it.
But then we got back here.
And she got weird.
It was nothing I could put a finger on exactly. More like a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before.
A possible weak spot to exploit.
Except I didn’t want to put a move on her only to have her freak out and push me away after. I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want to lose her.
And that’s when I remembered the dumbest, most asinine advice I’ve ever gotten.
Be the bunny.
Now it’s morning and I’m in bed, thumbs grudgingly moving over my phone.
Me: Asshole.
Axe: So it worked.
I want to be mad, but damn. The look on her face last night.
Me: I thought you were fucking with me.
Axe: Yeah, I was.
I blink. Blink again. Nope, that’s a twitch.
Axe: But the more I thought about it… laughing to myself for hours and hours and hours… I realized it might actually have some merit.
Me: Say goodbye to your teeth.
Axe: Nah, these chicklets are safe. You love me. And it worked.
Me: Yeah, it worked.
Axe: Not that well, if you’re texting me at five in the morning. Unless her head’s bobbing under the sheet. In which case, bad form, man.
Me: I’m alone. Don’t be a dick.
Me: I didn’t try it until late last night.
Axe: Ahh. Operator error.
I roll my eyes and send him a picture of my middle finger.
Axe: Are we done here… or were you seeking more of my wisdom?
I don’t want to do it. But damn it…
Me: Have you got any bunny tips?
Axe: Hold on, let me ask Dina.
What? Two seconds later, I know.
Axe: This is D
Axe: Tp1 wrk yr mouth
Axe: lots
Axe: mve it
Axe: tuch it
Axe: bite it
Axe: open cls it evn if u dnt tlk
There’s no way… except this is Axe and so yeah, it’s entirely possible the person texting me is some bunny named Dina… and that until seconds ago, she was bobbing under the sheet while he texted with me.
Christ.
Axe: Tp2….
Harlow
What is wrong with me?
One night. That’s all I wanted.
Some fun with a man as serious about keeping the complications out of his life as I am about keeping them out of mine.
It should have been perfect.
Six times should have been enough.
So why is it that every time I cross paths with Wade today, instead of seeing the man I respect and enjoy as much as any friend I’ve ever had… all I see is my own personal walking, talking Tumblr fantasy come to life?
It’s not him. I mean, of course it’s him. But he’s not doing anything different.
He’s still pulling the same boyfriend moves. Still attentive and friendly. Still making me laugh and smile.
But somehow, everything feels different.
From the second I peeked into the front room of the suite this morning and found him reading in bed, bare-chested, hair in such sexy disarray it was impossible to see it without imagining my fingers in it, my brain has been off.
Twitchy.
Twisting every innocent act into a moment rife with dirty potential.
It started with the bare chest and bed head, but then there was that whole business with his fork. The man was eating. But every time I caught a glimpse of his tongue touching the tines of his fork, dragging slow over the stainless… ugh!
His hands on the steering wheel. Yes, I know what he can do with those hands, but was the way he brushed his fingers across the leather always so pornographic?
And now, as we walk over to the pole tent set up in Janie’s parents’ front yard… He’s held my hand a hundred times since we arrived. So why am I just now noticing that slow, circling rub he does over my knuckle?
Why, when we’re surrounded by a few dozen people, am I noticing his breath against my skin when he leans in to drop a kiss at my temple? Did it always linger for that drawn-out beat? Long enough for my eyes to lift and meet his, for me to remember the rough, shuddering rush of it against my neck and ear?
And what about the heat of his body when he’s behind me, hands resting over my shoulders while we chat with Janie’s sister beside the pool? Did Wade standing so close always spark this low electrical charge between us, like a current that tingles and pulls and scrambles my mind so all I can think about is what it was like having him behind me Saturday night? The power of his arms holding me tight against him, the scrape of his teeth at that spot beneath where his thumb rubs small circles now… the steely thrust of his body working deep and deeper into mine until— “Wade.”
The hands at my shoulders still and the conversation I wasn’t following stops, confirming that sort of needy, breathless gasp wasn’t isolated to my head.
“You okay, Harlow?” Wade asks, shifting me to the side so he can see my face. And yeah, that knowing smirk has flames licking up my neck and into my cheeks.
I fake-cough a couple times for my fake boyfriend and step out of his hold. “Sorry.” Cough. “Think I need some water.” Cough, cough. “Something in my throat.”
His smirk ratchets up a notch. God, did his mouth always have that naughty slant?
I blink, shake my head, and escape to the thankfully empty kitchen for the water I don’t need.
But if I thought I was getting a reprieve, I was wrong. Because sure enough, a minute later, Wade follows me in. And there’s something about the way he closes the sliding glass door behind him—slowly, eyes locked with mine—that sets off another nervous flutter of wings.
He’s just closing the door. Right?
And that smile. Okay, the objective part of me knows Wade’s smile has been a class-five panty-melter from the start. But it didn’t melt my panties.
Not right away.
I swallow. It does now.
Because now I know exactly what’s backing it up.
“Feeling better?” he asks, strolling around the island and stopping in front of me. Too close.
Those big hands he’s had all over me, inside me, move to my face. Rough fingers tip my head back with a touch so gentle, I have to remind myself not to lean in closer.
“You okay?”
“Y-yes. Yes. Needed some water. That’s all.”
“Sure.” He’s not fooled. His eyes hold with mine for another beat before he lets me go. But he doesn’t move out of my space. “I’ll have some too.”
Reaching past me to grab his own glass, he rests a hand at my waist. His chest brushes mine, his head turning so he can drop a low, rumbly “’Scuse me” at my ear.
The air is thin, my skin hot. My voice unsteady as I ask, “What are you doing?”
Hip propped against the counter, he fills his glass from the tap.
Relaxed.
Unaffected.
“Faking it with my fake girlfriend. Same as for the last few days.” That smile tips to a new degree of naughty and his voice goes conspiratorially low. “Except for those few hours when I wasn’t faking anything at all.”
Wade
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
But hell, if Axe is right and working my inner bunny gets Harlow thinking about my body, which leads to Harlow wanting me to get naked, and that leads to Harlow wanting me to order dinner in for a night of watching movies in my arms when we’re back in Chicago, then… yeah, I’m on board.
I’ll lean into the eye contact, run my hands through my hair, and find a reason to touch my bottom lip over and over—which feels fucking ridiculous, but I gotta give Dina credit, that shit works.
As evidenced by my mom having to say Harlow’s name three times to get her attention when we first got here.
I maintain a steady flow of tips 1 through 17, mixing it up to keep things fresh. Figure out what works and what can’t really be adapted for my purposes.
Tip 6. Nope.
Tip 12. Never.
Tip 13… Hello, little stutter Harlow just gave up followed by the breathy sound of my name. While we’re alone in the kitchen. Yeah, this isn’t for a crowd.
Riding my high of success, I pull out Dina’s signature move. Tip 3.
Hooking my thumb in the pocket of my jeans, I lean back against the counter and go for it. Cocking my free arm behind my head, I stretch. Hard.
It actually feels pretty good and I’d bet I do some porn-free version of it without thinking twenty times a day. Just not while I’m subtly nudging my jeans down and arching enough to ensure I flash my happy trail when my T-shirt rides up.
Yeah, I’m that guy.
I’d be ashamed except it’s hard to be humiliated when Harlow does that double take, her eyes snaring on the stretch of skin I’m “accidentally” showing off.
I’ve got that hard-cut vee thing going and the accompanying eight-pack because I’m fit as fuck and work my ass off for my career. But it’s nice to see it paying off in other areas of my life as well.
Confident my jeans are low enough, I pull my hand from my pocket and go for the gold, adding a modified Tip 7 and doing this lazy, totally calculated back-and-forth rub across my abs. In its purest form, one would run their fingers over the swells of their tits. I’ve seen this one in action plenty of times and it’s another move that gets results.
Jackpot!
Harlow’s mouth drops open to a gratifying degree.
I give my ego a mental fist bump. We’re blowing it up when I see the change.
She blinks. Lets out this delicate noise that’s something between a laugh and cough. And then her eyes narrow as they coast up my chest, past the whole tight T-shirt show, to where they lock with mine.
“Wade.”
Uh-Oh. That was not her nice “Wade.”
My arm is down in a flash and then my arms are crossing. Shit. Is that a breeze down south?
Worried I’m not only busted, but worse, I look like some toddler with my shirt riding up my belly, I unravel my arms, smooth it down, and adjust my jeans.
“Yep?”
“Can I speak to you a moment. In private.”
Considering we’re standing alone in Janie’s mom’s kitchen, I’m assuming private means really private, where no one will accidentally walk in on us and hear my fake girlfriend reaming my ass out for violating the boundaries of our fake relationship.