“Well, well, aren’t we eager.”
I growl a sound before we both stand to head off to get ready for our forced bonding session.
2
STONE
Ihear someone walking toward the bench swing. I’ve been waiting for her with my arms crossed as I admire the lake, lost in thought.
“Yoo-hoo. I’ve arrived for my taste of misery.” Harlow waves a hand in front of my face, and a prickle spreads along my body.
My train of thought about why I’m in a fog of peculiar confusion over a woman is broken. I wasn’t expecting Harlow today, with her manicured nails, bouncy strawberry-blonde hair, and tight jeans and heels. She’s every bit a reminder of the women who used to throw themselves at me when I played hockey. Except… she has a bite to her personality and seems to be able to stand her ground.
She surprised me by arriving at our welcome session in comfortable clothing, albeit glitter on her sneakers, and without a care in the world that she’s in yoga pants. A hint that maybe she isn’t her alter ego. But Harlow simply seems different to what I anticipated when I saw her name on the list. Sure, she’s a little uptight. Yet, there does seem to be a casual persona hidden underneath, and it has me curious. I’m also not one to deny when someone is attractive.
I smirk when she mentioned misery. “The feeling isn’t mutual.” I stand taller, and my eyes lock with hers with a seriousness that feels sincere. I wonder if I have a glimmer in my eyes due to interest. Maybe she feels a small jab at her chest, and it’s not as annoying as it should be.
“What does that mean?” Her voice scrapes from her throat because her breathing changes, shaking off her disapproval of me.
I need to take the high road, otherwise this will be a strenuous afternoon. Fine, I’ll be the one to admit defeat. “We got off on the wrong foot. Speaking of feet, I might be blinded by the glitter on your shoes.”
“Don’t care,” she volleys.
I clear my throat, ready to continue. “We’re just opposites. We have a long walk ahead of us. No point in making it more difficult.”
Yay me for taking the mature road.
She doesn’t seem to be expecting it or that I don't play the game of life as everyone would anticipate. She regresses and drops her shoulders, maybe realizing that I have a point. But just then, a woman comes jogging up to us as she leaves the gym at the spa.
Oh shit, Florence.
Florence flicks her dark hair behind her shoulder and throws on an overdone smile then arches her tits out that are barely contained under her tight running t-shirt. “Stone, I thought that was you. Good to see you. Did you get my text the other day?”
Glancing to my side, I see Harlow’s eyes bug out slightly.
I awkwardly scratch my cheek. “Oh, did you text?” I lie.
Florence touches my upper arm, giving my muscle a squeeze. “Totally. We should meet up soon for an after-dinner drink.”
“Uh, I’m kind of busy the next few months or years.” I remain composed.
Florence doesn’t get the hint and just giggles before she waves goodbye to continue her run.
Harlow stands there, entertained with crossed arms. “Wow, she’s perky. Sounds like someone is getting some action. Playing the field. Keeping a woman on the backburner. Probably adding her as a notch on your belt,” Harlow lists.
I flex my jaw side to side, realizing this isn’t helping the situation. “For your information,” I say tightly, “in her wildest dreams would it happen. I’m new to town. It’s not my problem the single women here are piranhas.”
Harlow studies me for a second. “Trust me, my image of you hasn’t changed… yet.”
“Ah, so there’s hope.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re right, this is going to be a long afternoon. Fine. Call it a truce, and we’ll start over.”
I nod once, thankful we’re moving on. “Hi, I’m Stone. The hockey player you think can’t write.” I offer her my hand.
She looks down and slowly hesitates but gives in. “Hi, I’m Harlow, the supposedly superficial woman you assume can’t write.”
“Seems like we have a lot in common then.”
