I nod, thinking about Parker and how long I put up with his excuses. “I get it. I let my ex hang around too long, hoping he’d change.”
Harris looks at me, a softness in his eyes. “Sometimes we want to believe in people more than they deserve.”
I swallow, that simple truth hitting me square in the chest. “Yeah.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “But you’re here now. You let him go.”
“And you let her go.”
We sit like that for a moment, the weight of it lifting slightly, replaced by something warmer—something that feels like a fresh start. Then his lips curve into a small smile.
“For the record,” he says, his voice lower now, “I think you deserve someone who’s in it foryou. Not for what you can give them or how they look standing next to you.”
My throat tightens, but I manage a soft smile. “Same goes for you.”
“You’re so fucking cute,” Harris murmurs, leaning toward me, his lips a breath away from mine.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth blooming low in my stomach. “Thanks.”
He waits for me to say more ...
Grins when I don’t.
“You’re a sassy thing.”
I am.
No denying that.
“You can lower your walls, Lucy. I’m not going to disappoint you.”
My heart stutters, and for a second, I can’t speak. The way he says it—like he means every word and he’s willing to prove it—makes my defenses flicker.
“I know,” I whisper, my voice softer than I intended.
“Do you?” His hand gently cups my cheek, and I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment to soak in the warmth. When I open them, he’s watching me closely, gaze so intense it feels like he can see straight through me.
I shake my head. “No.”But I’m going to throw caution to the wind and take you at your word.“What if you get more than you bargained for from me?”
He grins, but there’s nothing cocky about it. “Do I look like I can’t handle more than I bargained for?”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to keep the squeamish flutters out of my stomach.
Impossible. Harris is irresistible. “How was practice today?”
His massive shoulders shrug as he slides closer to me still. “Let me put it this way: If Annabelle wasn’t desperate, I’d be out on my ass and out of a gig.”
“That bad?” Aren’t men born with a wood-chopping gene?
“Thatbad.” The thing is, he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered.
“At least you’re not embarrassed.”
He leans toward me, voice dropping, making my pulse race. “What’s the point of being good at everything when you can be bad and have a little fun?”
I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “You make it sound like being bad is your goal.”
“I’m not much of a masochist. I like winning too much to not at least give it effort.”
