Harlow

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“What do you mean he refused to sign the papers?” I pace back and forth in my brother’s living room, with my cell phone pressed to my ear. “Can he even do that?”

“Technically yes, but I can’t see it lasting for long. He’s just trying to test you,” my lawyer, Regina, reassures me.

“Test me?” I stop mid-stride and look up, catching sight of a sleek black motorcycle circling into the parking lot through the open double windows of my brother’s apartment.

“I’ve seen it a million times. He’s trying to wait you out.  He’s hoping you’ll change your mind.”

“That will not happen,” I grind out.

“We just need to be patient on this. We’ve got one hell of a case if he wants to try his luck. I can’t see him pushing this to the point where it goes to court. He’ll settle eventually, and when he does, you can put this whole mess behind you.”

“Eventually isn’t now. I want this over with.”

“I know you do. But sometimes things don’t always go as smoothly as we’d like. Trust that I know what I’m doing. I’ll get this closed for you as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“I know.” I blow out a breath, running a hand through my messy ponytail.

I’ve spent the entire morning scrubbing Winston’s apartment from top to bottom and was heading toward the shower when Regina called with the update on my divorce. My brother isn’t as bad as I’m sure some bachelors are, but he certainly isn’t the cleanest person either. I swear I scrubbed two inches of toothpaste out of the bottom of his bathroom sink.

“I have a phone call scheduled with his attorney for Friday. Hopefully, by then Mr. Montel will have been able to talk some sense into his client.”

“And what happens if he still doesn’t sign?” I ask, my eyes still locked on the motorcycle as it pulls into a vacant spot before the driver quickly climbs off.

“Then it goes to court, and we air all his dirty laundry. Something tells me he won’t let it get that far.”

“I think you’re right there,” I agree, knowing Alan and how much importance he places in what others think of him. The last thing he’ll want is his wife in a courtroom telling anyone and everyone that will listen about all his infidelities.

“Just work on getting yourself settled, and I’ll take care of Alan Nagle.”

“Thanks so much, Regina,” I say, stepping closer to the window to get a better look at the motorcyclist right as he slides off his helmet and rests it on the seat of the bike.

“No problem. I’ll touch base soon.”

“Okay,” I murmur, having stopped listening the moment I realized the man beneath the helmet is none other than Miles Hollins.

I haven’t seen him since that night at the tattoo shop three weeks ago and even though I have no idea why he’s been on my mind a lot more than I’d like to admit.

Regina says something else seconds before the call disconnects, yet several moments later I’m still standing with the phone pressed to my ear, watching Miles climb the outdoor stairwell toward the apartment.

The closer he gets, the harder my heart pounds in my chest and for the life of me, I can’t understand my body’s reaction.

I lose sight of him seconds before a hard knock sounds against the door.

Looking down, I’m painfully aware that I’m still dressed in my ratty plaid pajama shorts and gray tank. My hair is tied up from cleaning, and I don’t have an ounce of makeup on.

Shit.

I freeze in the middle of the living room, not sure if I should answer the door and face Miles looking the way I do or if I should pretend that no one is home. I mean, it wouldn’t be completely untrue. Winston stayed the night at Stella’s and since I’m sure that’s who he’s here to see, not answering would be acceptable, right?

The second knock sounds and even though I’ve already talked myself into not answering, for some reason I cross the room toward the front door just the same.

Seconds later, I’m standing face to face with Miles, who in the late morning sunlight looks even more attractive than he did three weeks ago.

“Hey,” I get out breathlessly, wedging my body in the open door frame.

“Hey.” Miles slides his dark sunglasses off his face and gives me a quick once over, making me feel squeamish under his gaze. “Winston here?”

“No, he’s at Stella’s.” I tuck a stray strand of hair that’s fallen loose from my ponytail behind my ear, wishing I had at least looked in the mirror before making the impulsive decision to answer the door.

“I knew it wouldn’t last long.” He smiles to himself.

“What wouldn’t?” I question, not hiding my confusion.

“The latest breakup.”

“Breakup? Haven’t they been together for a couple of years?”

“Yes, but they break up about once a month. It usually only lasts a day or two. This time I think they set a record though. Four whole days.”

“They’d been broken up for four days?” I ask, more to myself than to Miles. I’m just trying to figure out how I missed that or why Winston never said anything.

“In case you’re wondering why he didn’t tell you, it happens so often he’s gotten past the point of sharing the information. As I said, it never lasts.”

“Then how is it you know they broke up?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest, feeling next to naked in my thin tank top. Especially when his gaze dips downward, for a long moment.

“Because I’m the one he drags out for a drink after every one of their big blow-ups. He spends about two hours complaining about how impossible his girlfriend is, gets it out of his system, and then waits for her to call. They’re beyond predictable at this point.”

“Interesting.” I clear my throat. “Well, as I said, he’s not here. I can let him know you stopped by when he gets back.”

“No need. I was just heading over to your dad’s shop for a bit. Wanted to see if Winston wanted to come with.”

“You’re going to see my dad?”

“Yeah. I try to stop out at least one Saturday a month. Sometimes we just bullshit, sometimes he puts me to work.” He shrugs, a smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t know that,” I admit, having realized over the last few weeks that there’s a lot I don’t know about where my family is concerned. “I was actually thinking about stopping by there later today.”

“Oh yeah?” He rocks back on his heels, shoving  his hands deep in the pockets of his dark jeans. “You wanna ride over with me?”

“Huh?” I stutter, caught off guard by the offer.

“To your dad’s,” he clarifies, clearly finding humor in my reaction. “If you’re heading out that way, you can ride over with me if you want.”

“Oh well, I can’t right now.”

“Why not? Too busy cleaning up after Winston’s slob ass.”

“How did you know I was cleaning?” I ask.

“Because I could smell the bleach and Lysol before I even knocked on the door.”

“Oh.” I laugh lightly. “Well, he certainly isn’t the cleanest of people to live with.”

“I’d guess not.” He chuckles. “Are you almost done? I could wait. I really don’t have anything going on this morning.”

“You don’t have to do that. I have to shower and get ready first.”

“So go do it then.” He steps forward causing me to instinctively step back, giving him room to enter the apartment.

His hard chest brushes past me as he steps inside and his incredible scent suddenly engulfs me. It takes me a good ten seconds to shake off the fog that settles over me.

“Please, come in,” I grumble semi-playfully, closing the door behind him.

With Miles here, the apartment feels half the size, and I shrink under the incredible set of hazel eyes I find locked on my face when I turn back toward him.

“Place looks good.” He smiles, looking around the room.

“Well, it better. I’ve been going at it for nearly two hours.” I huff, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

“It shows.” His smile widens as his gaze comes back to me. “You gonna go get ready now or...” He lets the question hang.

“Um, yeah, okay. I guess,” I stutter, shuffling both my feet without actually moving an inch forward. “You gonna just wait out here?”

“Pretty sure I know how to make myself at home.” He chuckles, snagging the television remote off the coffee table before flopping down on the couch.

“Right. Okay. I won’t be too long.” I take off toward my room, not sure what the hell I just agreed to or if I actually agreed at all.

——

When I reenter the living room about a half an hour later, Miles is in the exact spot I left him in. He’s flipping through channels but immediately stops when he senses my presence.

Powering off the television, he drops the remote back onto the table before looking in my direction.

“Feel better?” he asks, his eyes doing one long sweep down my body.

Even though I’m fully clothed in jean shorts and a dark blue shirt, that one motion makes me feel like I’ve been stripped bare in front of him.

“Much.” I clear my throat and shuffle toward the kitchen.

Because I didn’t want to keep Miles waiting too long, I decided to let my hair air dry, so I’d have time to apply a little bit of makeup to feel half human.

Since I moved back here almost a month ago, I swear I’ve spent more time in pajamas moping around than anything else. I finally decided that next week it’s time to put myself back out there. I can only hide out in my brother’s apartment for so long.

I need my own place. I need my own life. And to get that, I need a job. I may not have much work experience, but I still have a four-year degree. That has to get me somewhere. Or at least, I hope it will.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you know. I wasn’t planning to go over until later anyway.”

“I know. Maybe I just wanted a chance to spend a little time with you.” His statement causes heat to flush my cheeks, but I hide it by ducking into the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

“And why on earth would you want to do that?” I regain my composure before turning to face him.

Lord help me, I don’t know what it is about him that’s caused me to become so flustered. Ten years ago I couldn’t stand the sight of him. Fast forward to today, and the sight of him makes my knees go weak. Could he be any more attractive?

“Because your brother is my best friend and your family is like my family. Makes sense that we at least try to be friendly.”

“You say that like it’s such a chore.” I pin my gaze on him as he stops on the opposite side of the island from me.

“Ten years ago it was a chore. If I remember correctly, I couldn’t walk into a room without you staring evil daggers at me.”

“I never did that,” I object.

“You did,” he cuts me off with a light chuckle. “ We didn’t much care for each other in the past. But I’m not the same person I was back then, and I’m willing to bet you aren’t either. Who knows, maybe you’ll actually like me if you take the time to get to know me.”

“Not likely,” I deadpan before a quick smile flashes across my face. “But I’ll let you try to convince me otherwise. If nothing else it will be fun to watch.”

“Alright, smartass, you ready?” Miles grins, pushing away from the kitchen island as I come around it, his gaze dipping to my feet. “Nope,” he answers the question for himself. “You need to go change your shoes.”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” I look down at my cute strappy sandals.

“I’m not putting you on my bike with those on. My luck you’d lose a toe, and then I’d really be on your shit list.”

“We’re taking your bike?” I blurt, for some reason not even thinking about the transportation part of this little field trip of ours.

“Yep. Now go put some real fucking shoes on, would ya?”

“I’m not getting on your bike,” I interject, fear settling deep in the pit of my stomach.

“Why the hell not?” He cocks a brow.  The humor is clear in his expression..

“Because I don’t want to die,” I say dramatically.

“Wow. Okay.” He shakes his head and laughs. “For one, you aren’t going to die. And for two, how do you know you won’t enjoy it once you get on? Have you ever ridden before?”

“No,” I stamp out like it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing. Now go. Change your shoes. I’d like to get there while there’s still some daylight left,” he jokes, considering it’s only just after eleven in the morning.

“I’m not getting on your bike,” I continue.

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I already told you. Dying,” I half laugh. “I’ll call an Uber and meet you over there.”

“You’re not calling a fucking Uber.” He takes a commanding step toward me. “I don’t know what happened to you in Arizona, but the Harlow I used to know wasn’t afraid of anything.”

I open my mouth to argue. To tell him he didn’t know me well enough to know that about me, but I snap it back shut when I realize he’s right. Ten years ago I would have jumped on that bike without a second thought.

In this realization, I give him the meanest look I can muster before spinning on my heel and stomping to my room to change my shoes.