I’m nervous to see what’ll happen if I let go, so I take no chances.
“Is this still okay?” I ask timidly, loosening my iron-clad grip.
She beams up at me. “For the tenth time, yes. I enjoy holding your hand. You have my permission to hold it whenever we’re together.”
I like the fucking sound of that.
There’s a lot I want to do with her—things we’ve alreadydone. Kissing. Teasing. Fucking. But this small, intimate gesture is equally satisfying.
Kevin wasn’t against me pursuing a relationship with Harriet. He did caution me to take it slow, something I didn’t argue with. There’s work to be put in from my end, but to allow ourselves this moment, without fighting our quickly escalating feelings, makes me feel lighter.
We amble down the sidewalk, in no hurry to return to my truck and end the day.
“For the record, going slow is probably the right move for us. We’ve gone about this backward. I want to get to know you better.Morethan a friend this time.” She smirks.
The usual coil of discomfort still lurks, though less so since speaking to Kevin. This is the part I struggle with, opening up and sharing a side of myself I’ve tried so hard to forget. It won’t happen overnight, but hopefully, with his help, I’ll get there.
This part of the journey makes my skin crawl with discomfort, knowing I will eventually have to tell her about my PTSD and the events leading to it. Not spilling all my truths to her now isn’t from lack of trying. Avoidance is a common side effect, something I’m seeking to overcome.
My biggest fear: Harriet wants nothing to do with me after hearing every detail of my past.
I shove it aside, living in the surreality of the now.
“Are you asking me to go steady?” I gently knock my shoulder into hers.
“Steady? How cute. I forget you’re a senior. Are you going to make me a mixtape?”
I tongue the side of my cheek. “Is this the type of sass I can expect?”
“Maybe you should do something about it.”
The street isn’t busy, and I hook an arm around her shoulder and lower my mouth to her ear. “What would youhave me do? Fuck the sass right out of you and show you how to be a good girl?”
She gasps. “Jesus, Warren. Warn a girl.”
Her quickly reddening cheeks warm my lips as I press a chaste kiss to her jaw—which is exactly when a nasally, pompous voice interrupts us.
“This has to stop happening, babe.”
I’m annoyed I remember his name. Peter stands in front of us, every bit like a bad smell. There’s a petite brunette on his arm, so engrossed in her phone, she’s unaware they’ve stopped walking.
“Are you stalking me?” he asks arrogantly.
Harriet sniffs the air and acknowledges him with a stiff tone. “Peter.”
The woman pales when she finally looks at us. “Oh. Harriet. Hi.”
“Ah, yeah, I forgot you know each other,” Peter says dismissively.
“Of course I remember Irina.” Her smile is sickly sweet. “Hard to forget the woman I caught sucking you off under your desk.”
Well, shit. My girl’s got fire.
Irina, I presume, gasps loudly while Peter has the audacity to laugh. “Always so bitter. It’s good to see you trying to move on. Though I hope for this guy’s sake”—he jerks his chin at me—“you’ve learned to get over silly little mistakes. Take my advice. You need—” His eyes grow wide as they lower to Harriet’s stomach. “Holy fuck. You move quickly, don’t you?”
I bristle at his disdainful tone. “Watch it.”
Harriet prods me in the side, either telling me to let it go or giving me permission to flatten the prick. She ignores his comment and moves to walk past him. With my arm still slung over her shoulder, I follow.
