I tell him about getting her letter, our first meeting where I thought her dog would attack me, finding out she lives next door, and that she was incredibly close to my brother.
“She knew him better than I did,” I explain.
I don’t tell him about going with her to AA, just as I don’t tell him about Brooks being an alcoholic or gay. But I do tell him I kissed her, and she wasn’t happy about it, and fuck… this is embarrassing. Now I’m regretting being so vocal.
Gage looks at me with his mouth slightly agape. “You don’t have any game, do you?”
“I wasn’t trying to romance her,” I snap, irritated that he’s amused.
“Then what were you trying to do, Don Juan?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I was doing. I was acting on instinct.”
“Bad instinct.” Gage snickers and then holds his palms up in apology as he takes in what I’m betting is a murderous expression on my face. “Okay, joking aside… what’s the real deal with her? Do you like her?”
My voice is as dry as a sunbaked desert. “I’m not going to ask her to go steady, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know what I mean, smart-ass. Is there a spark between you? You said she kissed you back for a moment.”
“Yeah, but… then she stopped it.”
“Okay,” Gage says, as if he’s got a plan in mind. “First, you need to let go of your pride and ego for a minute and focus on the fact that she actually kissed you back. That means she’s attracted to you. No matter how it ended, for a moment, you were both on the same page. You flipped the page and she didn’t, so now you have to figure out how to go back and do a reread.”
My brows knit together. “Are you talking about kissing or going to the library?”
Gage laughs and moves around the rack, taking his place behind the bar so it’s chest level. He rests his forearms there. “You know what I’m talking about. There’s interest, going both ways. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
That’s a good question. I’m not big on relationships. I’m not morally opposed to them, but it’s hard to have one when your career involves so much travel. I’ve never really connected with a woman who would be worth the effort.
And admittedly, the last few years, I haven’t wanted to open myself up to anyone. Parental abandonment issues fuck with your sense of trust.
But Harlow is different from any woman I’ve met in the near or distant past. I like her. She also had a relationship with Brooks, so I know inherently she’s trustworthy.
Or at least Brooks felt like she was, and I trust my brother’s judgment.
Well, I mostly trust it. The fact he started buying into our father’s lies makes him a little squirrely, but Harlow seems genuine.
Still, his journals were filled with not just his opinions about her but stories as well. Everything I took from them said she was kind, funny in a smart-ass way, and a free spirit. She loved deeply and was loyal. She and Brooks went on adventures together, even sometimes vacations. She went as his wingman to gay bars, and they watched sappy movies together.
She’s got a wild side, too, which I liked reading about. One entry I liked a little too much. She and Brooks went to a gay bar where they had a male wet T-shirt contest. Even though she would’ve been of absolutely no interest to the male bar patrons, she entered the contest, just to be funny and share the experience with Brooks.
Of course, now I can’t get the image of Harlow in a wet T-shirt out of my head.
Gage snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me blink away images of what fantasy Harlow might look like.
“Where’d you go there, Skippy?”
I went to places I’ll never admit. I ignore the nickname, resist calling him an old man, and instead ask for advice. “I probably screwed things up with Harlow. Not just the kissing part…I might have landed myself on the outs with her, even as a neighbor. Not sure how to fix it.”
Gage doesn’t hesitate, spreading his hands on the bar and then ducking under so it rests across the back part of his shoulders. He looks me straight in the eye. “You need a big fucking gesture.”
“Like what?”
“Something more than flowers,” he advises and then straightens his legs to lift the weights clear of the J-hooks.
I move to stand behind Gage as he does his first set, prepared to spot if needed. But I think about what kind of grand gesture I could make that would convey a significant apology.
Once Gage finishes, he backs up to ease the weights onto the hooks. I ask him, “Want to grab a beer later and you can help me figure out just how grand this gesture should be?”
“I’d love to, man.” Gage moves out from the rack so I can take my turn. “But Baden has a friend moving from Phoenix to Pittsburgh, and I promised to help him unload boxes and move some furniture around for her later.”
“Need any help?” I ask as I position myself, ducking to put the weighted bar across my shoulders.
“Nah. He said it shouldn’t take more than an hour. But I can help you with some ideas in between sets.”
I nod, prepared to start. “Just as long as it doesn’t involve me cooking—I’d probably poison her. Otherwise, I’d love to hear your ideas.”
I dip into my first squat as Gage laughs from behind me. An idea springs to mind that would definitely be grand, but I’m not sure it will work. I’ll need to make a call before the next set to be sure.
CHAPTER 17
Harlow
Huffing with frustration, I delete the sentence I just typed. The laptop resting on my thighs is getting hot, an indication I’ve been sitting here too long. It sucks because I have no productivity to show for it.
It’s not unusual for me to work from home at night. In fact, I do most nights. But usually, it’s going through emails I couldn’t get to during the day and calling clients.
Easy stuff.
Not tonight, though. I have to finish a memorandum of law that I was supposed to do at the office today, but I was far too distracted.
I suppose that’s what happens when a hot-as-hell hockey player surprises you with a world-spinning kiss, and sadly, you have to push him away.
Because it was for the wrong reasons and not the right time.
Had Stone kissed me without pain in his eyes, I would have let it go on.
Had he sought me out of pure desire, I would have given in.
But he wanted me as an escape.
A balm.
A distraction.
That was not something I was willing to be for him.
“Damn it,” I mutter as I swing off the couch and put the laptop on the coffee table. When I stand, so does Odin, who’s been curled up on the love seat across from me. He steps off the small couch, leaving behind a smattering of hair, but that’s part of loving a Bernese Mountain Dog. I keep coverings on my throw pillows and couch cushions and wash them regularly, but it’s never occurred to me to not let him on the furniture. He sleeps in bed with me at night too. While all the Alston dogs throughout history have been well trained, they’ve been true family members and have no barriers within the house.
Usually not a problem, but it is annoying that Odin is obligated to follow me into the bathroom every time I go.