Everything.
I glance at him, his expression open and curious, and for a second, I consider brushing him off. But something about the way he’s looking at me—earnestly, as if he actually gives a shit—makes me pause.
I go for honesty.
“I’m ...” I clear my throat, searching for the right words. “Trying to figure out how this works.”
“This?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Thisfling.”
“Fling,” he deadpans, lips twitching. “You’re so cute. Who said this had to be a fling?”
He’s teasing me. I can see it in the way his eyes are crinkling at the corners.
“Um—the fact that you live inArizona?”
He laughs softly, the sound low and rumbling, and for some reason, it makes my stomach flip. “Fair point,” he admits, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “But that doesn’t mean this has to be meaningless.”
I narrow my eyes at him skeptically. “You’re telling me you think a few days of ...whatever this ismeans something to you?”
He is so full of shit!
Harris’s head tilts as he considers my question. “I’m saying it could. If we want it to.”
I’m thrown off by his candor.
He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like the logistics don’t matter. Like I’m not here and he’s not there and it wouldn’t be a massive pain in the ass totry.
“Harris,” I start, trying to inject some logic into this before we get swept up in a discussion about it. “I repeat: You live in Arizona. We barely know each other. This hastemporarywritten all over it.”
“And?” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Why does temporary have to mean it’s not worth it?”
I blink, pizza halfway to my mouth.
I stare at him, my mouth opening and closing as I try to come up with a rebuttal.
The truth?
I don’t have one.
Chapter 12
Harris
Is there any realm of possibility where you want to spend the night with me?
I’m in the bathroom again, taking a piss, practicing the line because Lucy isn’t a normal woman—she’s complicated. Not easily swayed. And cool as fuck.
I have to wonder: If she knew who I was—one of the douchey football players that’s invaded the town—would she be tripping all over herself to get in my pants?
Probably not.
Lucy’s not the type. She’s too sharp for that, too good at calling out bullshit. She’s the kind of woman who wouldn’t let a guy like me coast by on charm alone—not without putting up one hell of a fight.
And honestly? That’s part of her appeal.
I flush, wash my hands, and catch my reflection in the mirror.
