“Pity sex?”
“I haven’t gotten laid in over a year. And Gina says you could handle some jumping because you have big hands.”
I’m taken aback. She hasn’t had sex in over a year? And her sister and mom want her to sleep with me based on the size of my hands? Not the worst conversation they could have had.
“Trust me, there would be nothing remotely described as pity if I took you to bed, Harper,” I reply, awkwardly shifting the pickup into park with my left hand since she still holds my right.
“You’ve been my white knight tonight.”
“And you’ve been your sister’s. Gina’s knocked up, huh?”
Her eyes widen, and she pulls her hand away as she turns to face me. The seatbelt catches her, but she rests her hand on her forehead. “Who told you?”
“You both did when you started taking shots for her.”
“You can’t tell anyone. No one else knows.”
“Who am I going to tell?” Seriously, I’m the best person to confide in. I don’t gossip. I barely talk unless necessary.
“That’s true. That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Ford. You’re not into the gossip scene.”
I get out and move to the passenger side. I unbuckle her seatbelt, trying to help her stand, but her legs wobble beneath her, so I scoop her up instead.
“Which is the opposite of me. I can’t seem to escape the gossip mill,” Harper continues, oblivious to the fact that I’m carrying her like a bride into her house.
At least she’s coherent enough to direct me toward her bedroom. I set her gently on the bed and help remove her boots, savoring the feel of her calf in my hand.
“You’re so handsome,” she murmurs, her eyelids fluttering. “I like the beard, but I was kind of sad when I saw it.”
I lean closer, bracing myself on either side of her hips. “Why’s that?”
Her fingers glide along my jawline. “Because you have a sexy jawline. One guys would kill for. But you’re hiding it with a beard. Though the beard looks rugged and sexy, too.”
“So, would you prefer I shave it or keep it?”
“I like both. Maybe you should shave half your face and leave the other half bearded.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “That would look ridiculous.”
“You could pull off anything. You grew up good, Crawford Stokes.”
“You, too, Harper Wallace.”
Standing up, I know she’ll regret this night in the morning, so I head to the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water and search the bathroom for aspirin. She’ll need both.
“Do you need anything else before I get your equipment?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed and gazing down at her beautiful face.
The dress she wore—a navy blue wrap with tiny white flowers—hugs her curves in all the right places while still allowing her to move freely as she photographs events. The neckline dips just enough to be alluring without revealing too much, and the hem swishes around her knees when she walks.
Honestly, she could make a paper bag look amazing with those blue eyes and that smile, and I wish she weren’t so drunk right now so I could tell her exactly how beautiful she looks tonight.
“No, you’ve given me more than I could ask for.”
Sitting up, Harper leans in. She’s going for my cheek, but I turn my face just enough. Her lips brush mine, warm and soft. We both freeze. Her breath catches. My pulse hammers in my ears. One second. Two. Neither of us pulls away.
She presses forward again, this time with purpose. Her fingers find my collar, gripping tight. The sharp bite of tequila lingers on her tongue as it meets mine. My hands shake slightly as they find her waist.
My chest tightens with a feeling I’ve carried since high school. Since that night at the gazebo when I held her hair back instead of making a move. Her lips fit against mine like they were madeto be there, and I memorize every detail: the small sigh in her throat, the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, the faint scent of her floral perfume mixing with alcohol.
