When I’m really angry, I remind myself that at least Warren was a good father to Charley. He was a good provider for her and she never suspected.
If you ever need anything, please tell me.
Yours truly,
Isabella
7
Passing Strange
Leo
Hard and fast rules are meant to be broken. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to justify having Harper in my apartment watching television.
“Is the volume too high?” she asks.
I shake my head and glance over my shoulder at her. “No. It’s fine.
Even though I say this, Harper points the remote control at the TV and lowers the volume. “I can turn the closed caption on.”
She turns the sound even lower and places the remote beside her on the sofa.
“Harper. Please quit worrying. You can’t even hear it now.”
“I can read lips.”
I give up arguing with her. She’s as stubborn as Josie. My fingers rest on my keyboard and I urge them to move, make magic in the form of a story.
Nothing.
I’ve always guarded my writing time. By habit, I rise early and work on Mr. Expose blog entries. Then I contact blog advertisers, conduct billing, create ads. In the late evenings, I work hard on my real passion—my novels.
I ask Josie not to interrupt. The guys don’t drop by. I’ve never even allowed a girlfriend to cut into this ritual.
But now, Harper’s on my sofa watching television while I work on my current manuscript. This is the third night in a row for her to sit in my living room and watch a movie. She rarely says a word while I bang away on the keyboard. I only offered because she won’t buy a television for some reason, and I feel sorry for her.
It’s how neighbors behave. Cordial, friendly, comfortable.
And everybody likes Harper—Josie, Dane, and my landlords. Grandma Lulu likes her so much that she’s asked me to bring her again. I reminded Lulu that Harper is only a friend. Nothing more. Because I’m not interested in her for more than a platonic relationship.
All utter bullshit and dressed up excuses.
Each day when I see her, I want to know a little more about what’s inside her head.
Yesterday, Harper borrowed Cormac McCarthy’s book, All the Pretty Horses. When she returned the hardback today, we discussed it—the story, characters, the language. Even Josie, who is a serious reader, doesn’t discuss novels with me…unless she’s going on and on about who should star in the movie adaptations. Dane probably hasn’t read a book since middle school.
I admit it. I love talking to her. She’s a mix of smart and kooky. Sexy and sheltered. She amuses me. It doesn’t hurt that she’s hot, with a frail but fierce Emma Stone look.
I swivel around in my desk chair to face her. “Want a soda or water? Coffee?”
Her gaze flicks over to meet mine. “I’m fine.”
“I’m getting something for myself. What’ll you have?”
Her phone buzzes and she examines the display. She answers cheerfully. “Hi Josie.”
While she listens to whatever Josie says, Harper traces an invisible pattern on her bare thigh and pulls the hem of her shorts down. “Oh,” she says in a low voice as if I can’t hear every word. “I’m at Leo’s watching TV.”
She stares and her lap while she listens and tugs again at the hem of her shorts. A nice pink bubblegum blush tinges her cheeks.
I stop watching her because it’s driving me crazy that I can’t hear what Josie’s said to make her embarrassed. Time to grab my drink.
I’m standing with my back to Harper when she touches my back. She moves like a sneaky cat.
Harper holds out the phone. “She wants to talk.”
I take out a soda and hand her one. “Thanks,” I say, taking the phone. “Hey, Josie.”
“Watching TV? How come you don’t watch TV with me?” Josie asks in a teasing tone.
“I’m working. She’s watching a movie.” I pop the tab on my can.
Harper makes her way back to the sofa. I’m distracted by the way her khaki shorts cling to her perfectly round ass. She’s thin, but her ass is this masterpiece that would fit in my hands—
“Did you even hear what I said?” Josie’s impatient voice interrupts my fantasy. “Your mind is somewhere else, isn’t it.”
It’s like my sister has ESP. Which is creepier than hell when it comes to some things you don’t want your sister to know. “What do you need? I’ve got to get back to work,” I answer in a rough, no-nonsense voice.
“I said, since you’re obviously not working, can Dane and I come over?”
“You’re with Dane? You guys went on a date?”
“No. I helped him close tonight.” Her tone challenges me to ask anything else.
“Oh,” I say, not in the mood to antagonize her.
“I had a drink at Dastardly’s and then helped him close. Let us come over. It’ll be fun. When’s the last time you had fun?”
Harper is watching me and when I catch her, she looks back to the television.
I sigh. “All right. You guys can drop by.”
“Good. See you guys in a few,” Josie says with barely contained glee.
“Bye.” I walk over to hand Harper the phone. “Josie’s coming over. And Dane. I should’ve asked if you can stay a while. I’m sure she’s coming to see you.”
Harper takes the phone from me and our fingers brush. A frisson of electricity passes between us that jolts me into needing more contact. I’m suddenly like a junkie, wondering if it’ll feel that good a second time and with more skin. Lots of skin.
I back away and return to my desk. What’s wrong with me? It’s true I’ve been without a girlfriend for almost a year. That doesn’t mean I’ve been celibate. It doesn’t mean I’ve been satisfied either.
Hooking up is what it is…a brief meeting of two lonely bodies in the night. The problem is that one-night stands always leave me thinking about my ex-girlfriend later. I’m not ready to be relationship screwed again, so I end up avoiding a second time around with anyone.
Tori. She couldn’t tell the truth if the fate of all mankind depended on it. Each time I see her name on my cell phone display, I cringe. She won’t accept that it’s over between us, and I’m not opening that door a crack in case I’m weak enough to walk through it again.
I sit at my desk, staring at my computer and wondering if there’s a possibility of something between me and Harper. She’s visited daily to borrow books, and now watch TV. But I’m not sure if she’s into me or not.
I decide to give up on getting any work done and wait until Josie and Dane arrive. The television shares a wall with my desk. My desk is at the wrong angle to see the movie well, something I did on purpose when I arranged the furniture in this room.
Harper’s so into the scene that it’s like her body’s been dragged inside the movie. Her hands ball into tight fists in her lap and send distress waves across the room. My desire to comfort her drives me to my feet.
“Which movie is this?” I stand and move to the center of the room, my arms folded.
“What Dreams May Come. It’s an old one.”
“I don’t remember it. Robin Williams, huh. So, what’s this about?”
“He died and then his wife commits suicide. He’s searching for her in hell,” Harper says in a tight voice without ever looking away from the screen. The movie is doing a number on her emotions.
I’m thinking about her phenomenal ass and conversation skills, and she’s thinking about her dead husband.
Perfect.
“Harper?”
She glances over at me, then gives a slow blink as if to ground herself in this time and space. “Yeah?”
It bugs me that she’s watching this movie and it’s putting her head in a place from her past. I want her emotionally here in my apartment, not back in Washington. It’s selfish, I know. But I am always honest with myself. Lying to yourself is the ultimate betrayal, a foolish indulgence which only gets you into more trouble. I smile so she’ll focus on my face and remember she’s sitting in my living room. “I think Josie and Dane will be here in ten minutes or less. Want to help me see if I have something to eat?”