She’s quiet for a while, then she whispers, “Do you ever miss it?”
I nod. “All the time. I miss the people—the sense of belonging. The mental discipline. The Marines made me who I am today.”
“Mmm.” She snuggles in against my body, wrapping an arm around me as she tips her chin up. “I love who you are today,” she whispers, and I’m looking into those beautiful green eyes with their little gold flecks and realizing nothing is under control anymore.
I’ve overstepped every boundary and lost sight of my own responsibilities. She’s leaving tomorrow. There’s a crazy stalker somewhere in this city who’s obsessed with her. And still, all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and make love to her all over again. Show her how good she makes me feel and give her everything she deserves.
Instead, I joke, “You’re not so bad yourself.” She smirks, and the expression is so sweet, I can’t help myself. “Actually, you’re incredible.” I bring my thumb to her full lips, brushing over them gently.
“My real name is Lisa,” she whispers.
I grin. “Lisa, huh?” I’m studying her face, trying to see her as a Lisa, but it’s tough. She still looks like a Harper to me.
“Lisa Johnson.”
I chuckle. “Really? Lisa Johnson?”
“Mm-hmm.” She beams up at me.
“Wow.” To think: Years ago, little Lisa Johnson was riding a school bus right here in Cupid City. But I bet even back then she was a firecracker.
“It’s OK, though,” she says. “I like it when you call me Harper. It used to feel fake when people would say it, in the beginning. But not anymore. I think Harper is who I am now.”
I smooth a hand over her long, damp hair, letting my fingers trail over her breast. “Well, I think you’re incredible, Harper Slade.”
She grins, bringing her face up so I can kiss her sweet lips. “Is Chase your real name?”
I snort. “Uh, yup. It’s not Baby C, if that’s what you were thinking.”
She laughs. “Just checking.” Her fingers trace along my jaw. “It’s Chase Corbett, then?”
“That’s right.”
She nods slowly, and I bend to kiss her once more before wrapping her in my arms.
“I listened to your music.” I kiss the top of her head.
She chuckles. “Yeah, I know. Are you secretly a fan?”
“I am now.” I feel her grin against me, and I’m remembering her voice in that first verse. “You’re like nothing I’ve ever heard before.” I trail my hand down her arm, then over her hip. “Your voice is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
But now I’m curious. “Do they let you write your own songs, or?—?”
“Yeah, I write them.” She tips her chin to look at me for a moment. “They’re all mine.”
“Wow.”
She wrote that incredible song. She’s not just unbelievably talented; she’s brilliant.
“What about the guitar? Do you play that too? Or is that someone else on your album?”
She laughs. “What is this, twenty questions?”
“I’m curious.” I want to know everything about her now.
“Yeah, I play. That’s me.”
