And that dynamic, as it turned out, had the potential for a little more than friendship.
FORTY
EMMA
JUNE
“Can I cook for you?”
That was Harlan’s request when I asked what he needed the night before Game 7 of the final round of the playoffs. Now, I found myself sitting pretty on his patio, shoes kicked off and my feet tucked up next to me. He sent me outside with a crisp glass of rosé and told me to let him work. He wanted me to grade a final exam for him, celebrating the end of our formal lessons. They were really supposed to end in May, but he needed more time to squeeze in the material.
And there was the issue where sometimes, we’d start a lesson and Harlan would end up on his knees with my panties moved to the side before we could get all the ingredients out. Those lessons ended in overpriced delivery service or us scooting down to the pub in his neighborhood, all lovestruck and melty. Because of him and the summer heat, I’d almost exclusively worn dresses outside of work.
Summer. I was still working for the Rusties in the summer, because they actually made it to the Cup finals. The mood wasboth high and intense among the team. They played to a full seven game series in the conference finals, and several of the guys were playing through some tough injuries.
To keep the mood up, I kept a steady supply of all their favorite little treats for pick-me-ups. Sometimes, it made me feel like a witch, possessing the power to alter their mood with just a couple bites, and maybe a high five or hug here or there.
Granted, if Harlan caught me hugging any of his teammates, he’d cut in and demand a longer, more affectionate hug. I gave him shit for needing to mark his territory.
Presently, my fire-hydrant-pisser of a boyfriend emerged from his house with a tray held high over his head. He lowered the tray to my side, revealing a chilled plate of some sort of shrimp salad.
“Chef, today I’ve prepared a pickled shrimp appetizer. It was marinated and garnished with dill and parsley fresh from the estate grounds.”
I grinned at his little schtick. “Thank you, Chef.” I picked up one of the cocktail skewers holding the shrimp and took a bite. “Mmm. Very light and fresh. And I love the precise plating. It could be a sloppy mess, but it’s nice and tidy without being dry. You’ve studied well.”
“Thank you, Chef. I’ve learned from the best.”
I looked up at him. “Have some with me?”
“I suppose I can spare a few minutes.” He set the tray on the table and picked up a skewer for each of us. We tapped them together. “Cheers.”
My eyes were drawn to his lips. I wanted to crawl in his lap and suck on that delicious bottom lip, but I’d already decided I’d let him make the first move with sex. The next day was arguably one of the biggest of his life, and I wanted to do whatever he needed to get his head in the game. Hence why I didn’t questionhis wanting to cook for me. I knew it was a tactic to keep him from obsessing over the game.
I giggled remembering what he said. “Did you really call your tiny garden the estate grounds?”
He lifted a brow. “Why wouldn’t it be an estate?”
“Estates have fountains and swans and shit. A pool with lions shooting water out of their mouths at the minimum.”
He twisted his lips, looking around. “This place really could use a pool.”
“I don’t know where you’d fit it on this postage-stamp-sized lot.”
“Maybe we’ll just have to move,” he said.
The humid air must have intensified in that moment, or perhaps that was the tension of what he said.
We.
We’ll just have to move.
As it stood, Harlan and I didn’t live together. I stayed over a fair amount, but I still had and loved my house with Liam.
And if Liam stayed, I’d stay too. I wouldn’t force him to go live at Jeff’s bustling house full of kids. I could hang on a little longer.
In the worst case scenario, Liam would stay, and Harlan would go. It was entirely possible. He was a hot commodity given the amazing season he’d had and how he’d gotten even stronger with Cordero mentoring him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I know we put the kibosh on talking about it,” he said.
