“How does my lovely baby sister feel about following me to the mechanic and then driving me home after I drop off my truck?” He widens his eyes in that way he knows always makes me laugh.
I purse my lips to hide my smile. “It’s the middle of the workday.” I know his schedule can be wacky, so he’s most likely off work today, but that doesn’t change the fact thatIshould be working.
“You make your own schedule,” he retorts.
Normally, I’d push back a bit more, but honestly, getting out of the apartment sounds like the best thing in the world right now. Anything other than staring at that stupid, blank screen and that stupid, blinking cursor.
“Fine,” I agree, turning around to grab my phone and purse from the kitchen counter.
“Nice,” Harrison hisses. “I owe you one.”
“You do,” I agree, slipping on some tennis shoes before stepping outside and then locking my front door. “In fact,” I say, spinning around to face him. “You could finally bring over that old TV of yours you’ve been promising me.” I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
Harrison makes a slight grimace before giving in. “Fine. Seems like a fair trade.”
I grin triumphantly as we make our way down the stairs of my apartment complex to the parking lot below. “Luthor’s Auto,” Harrison calls over his shoulder as he heads to his truck.
I nod in acknowledgement before hopping into my SUV and following him out of the lot. The trek to Luthor’s is across town but only about a fifteen-minute drive. Cedar Ridge is small. I pull into one of the front parking spaces and turn off my car as I wait, pulling up my phone to scroll aimlessly while Harrison gets everything squared away inside.
After about ten minutes, I glance up, wondering what could be taking him so long. I have half a mind to go in there and investigate when I get a glimpse of Harrison through the front windows. He’s leaning over the reception desk, chatting amiably with a young woman—presumably whoever is in charge of scheduling. Although by the looks of it, I think they’ve moved past auto talk.
I lean forward on the steering wheel, watching as the woman flips her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder and Harrison grins.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Not that Harrison is a player by any means, but he’s never exactly had a hard time with women.
It’s a wonder that, coming from the same household, one of us turned out so normal while the other turned out … sexually stunted, I suppose I’d call it. And I’ve never been able to figure it out. It’s not like our parents raised us overly religious or anything or were super cautious about our dating lives. In high school, I just had no interest in boys. Same in college. I always figured it would change, and eventually it did, but by that time, I was in my early twenties and suddenly I felt so far behind.
It’s not that I’d ever been saving myself for anyone. It’s just that it … never happened.
I bite my lip, watching as Harrison hands his phone over the desk, and the woman beams, obviously putting her contact in.
How is it so goddamn effortless for everyone else but me?
And suddenly it hits me with a clarity I rarely feel. The answer to my problems. The only way forward. I’m twenty-six years old, and I’m done with being a virgin. Something has to change, and it needs to change now.
How, exactly … I will figure out later.
Harrison walks out the front doors of the auto shop with a smirk on his face, and he climbs into the passenger seat of my car.
“About time,” I tease, starting the engine.
“I think I’ve got a date this weekend,” he says in reply.
“Congratulations.” It’s both a bit of a tease and a bit sincere. He hasn’t had a real girlfriend in over a year, and despite how hard he might try to hide it, he’s always best in a relationship. He’s a girlfriend guy. And deep down, I know he really wants to start settling down. He’s twenty-nine, after all. “Now, let’s go get my TV,” I say with a grin.
Chapter four
Graham
I kick my boots off by the front door of the apartment, beelining toward the kitchen. It’s only mid-afternoon, way too early for dinner, but I’m always starving after work. I skim the fridge shelves, trying to choose between leftover spaghetti or nachos when the front door opens and voices ring through the living room.
I turn just in time for Harrison to ask, “What’re you doing home?”
I shrug, grabbing the tub of leftover spaghetti. “Was a slow day, and Tate said I could take off early since I worked last weekend.”
Just then, I notice Harrison’s little sister, Delilah, next to him. “Hey, Dee,” I say.
“Hi, Graham,” she greets before shooting an indignant glare at Harrison. “Graham could’ve taken you!” she says.
