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Her mouth dropped open, her upper lip curled in the slightest sneer. “Awfully arrogant, aren't you? Assuming I'd want to call you my boyfriend after one measly kiss?”

He blinked, surprised at her tone. She didn't sound like the Harper he knew. Not even close. “Isn't that what you—”

Harper interrupted him with a very firm shake of her head. “No, West. I never said I wanted to be in a
relationship
with you. You haven't been home in almost eight years. I hardly know you—or should I say the you that you are now.”

“So what are you saying? That you want to
hook up
with me?” He started to chuckle, the idea so unfathomable, he could hardly wrap his head around it. Harper Hill didn't hook up with anyone. He couldn't imagine getting her into his bed, fucking her brains out, and then never really talking to her again. One, she wouldn't stand for it. And two . . .

Well.

Maybe he
could
imagine getting her into his bed. And fucking her brains out. All night long. Enjoying every single minute of having her naked and beneath him, sweaty and clinging to him while she cried out his name as he pounded deep inside her. Okay, yeah, he could definitely imagine that. But could he see himself walking away from her afterward?

No. He cared about her too much—as a friend. And that was why friends with such a long, shared history couldn't hook up. Too much other stuff had the potential to come between them.

For one, his sister would probably kill him if he hurt Harper. Her grandma would kick him out of his condo for screwing around with her granddaughter. If his parents ever found out, they'd be horrified. The entire town would gossip about them. His brothers would think he was crazy.

This could never work. Ever.

“If you're going to just stand there and laugh, I definitely don't want to hook up with you.
Ever
.” She bent and grabbed her purse off the floor, slinging it over her shoulder almost violently as she turned her back to him. “Thanks for the pizza. Good night.”

“Harper,” he started, but it was too late. She slipped through the door and slammed it behind her, leaving a fragrant cloud of her scent surrounding him. A delicious mixture of her lotion, shampoo, and perfume. “Damn it,” he muttered, pacing around the front entryway, growling with frustration when he heard her car start outside.

Not the way he wanted to end his evening with Harper. He'd fucked it up royally.

But what else was new?

S
ATURDAY NIGHT
. H
ARPER
desperately needed a break, a way to escape her thoughts. Bad enough she was working on such a tedious project at her grandma's restaurant. Cleaning out old filing cabinets was not exciting in the least. Worse? With nothing much to focus on, her mind was always filled with West. West smiling at her when they agreed on a paint color. West goading her into eating more pizza dipped in disgusting, delicious ranch. West telling her he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her.

West actually kissing her . . . only to ruin it by opening his big mouth and saying the stupidest stuff imaginable. She'd run out on him and hadn't looked back. He'd hadn't called her, texted her, nothing. It had been nothing but radio silence.

Granted, it had been only twenty-four hours since she saw him last, but still. It felt like longer. Much longer.

So when Delilah texted asking if she wanted to go out to dinner, Harper immediately said yes. She waited for her friend at the restaurant now, a tiny, trendy place with beautifully simple menus that elegantly described salads and sandwiches and served chilled glasses of wine. The sort of place that appealed to tourists, where locals rarely stopped in to eat, it was the perfect setting for Harper's much-needed escape.

Wren wasn't able to join them since she was sick with a raging case of horrific stomach flu. No one wanted to be near her, so she was holed up in her tiny one-bedroom cottage trying to recover. Harper felt terrible even thinking this, but she'd never been so grateful for someone getting sick. Without Wren there, she felt free to confess what happened between her and West last night. Yeah, it was risky telling Delilah, but Harper felt like she was going to burst if she didn't tell someone that she kissed West. That she was in lust with West and couldn't stop thinking about him. That she had a wicked plan forming in her brain that involved him and she needed someone to tell her if she was being crazy or not.

She was being crazy. She had to be. But for once in her life, she sort of didn't care. She wanted to run with it. Go against type and surprise everyone, especially herself.

Oh, and West. Definitely West.

“Sorry I'm late!” Delilah sat in the chair across from hers, a big smile on her face as she pushed her long, dark hair away from her shoulder. “I got held up by one of the moms. She wanted to complain about her daughter's lack of focus.”

“And that's your fault how?” Harper asked, setting the menu down.

Delilah shook her head. “Who knows? They love to blame me for everything. The reason that girl can't focus is because she's a spoiled brat who gets to do what she wants whenever she wants it. I try to get her to listen to me in class, but forget it. She's too busy mouthing off or spacing out. Or giggling with her friends.”

“I already ordered you a glass of wine.” As if on cue, the waiter appeared, setting their glasses on the table in front of them. “Want to get an appetizer?”

“The goat cheese and apple one sounds great,” Delilah murmured, her gaze glued to the menu.

The moment the waiter took off with their appetizer order, Delilah set her menu on the table, blowing out a harsh breath. “Oh my God, that was totally awkward.”

Harper frowned. “What was?”

“Our waiter? I went on a date with him once.” Delilah held a hand up in front of her and examined her fingernails.

“You did? What's his name? How was it?” How did Harper not know this?

“His name is David and it was . . . not great. Oh, he's a nice guy and we had an okay time, but he wasn't doing it for me. Not my type.” Delilah flicked her thumb against her middle finger, her nails clicking together.

“Who is your type?” Harper braced herself. If she said someone like West, she would die. That would end her plan to tell Delilah about her issues with him.

“I've sort of been all over the place when it comes to dating, but I think I've finally figured him out.” Delilah splayed her fingers, ticking off her dream man's qualities. “Tall, with a take-charge attitude. Quiet. Strong. Calm. Protective. Responsible. Good in bed.”

They both laughed over the last one. “That's a given,” Harper said in agreement.

Delilah grinned. “Kind. Handsome. Maybe even a little standoffish sometimes, though never mean. I've come to realize I have a thing for the still-waters-run-deep sort of guy.”

Harper knew without a doubt her friend was describing Lane Gallagher. He was all of those things and more.

The waiter came back to their table and took their order, making conversation with Delilah and allowing Harper the opportunity to watch her squirm. She didn't squirm often. Delilah was always so confident, so at ease with talking to anyone. Talking with the waiter she had no interest in, she looked like she wanted to slide under the table.

“I thought he'd never leave,” Delilah whispered the moment he was gone.

Harper grinned and took a sip of her wine.

Delilah's eyes narrowed as she studied Harper. “What's up with you? Don't tell me Roger's trying to get you back.”

“I haven't even heard from Roger since I moved out.” He'd mailed her last paycheck, but otherwise, there'd been no word from him. Maybe he was mad. Maybe he was already over her.

“Do you regret breaking up with him?”

“No.” Harper shook her head. “It was the best thing for me to do. He wanted to settle down, but all I was doing was settling. It wasn't fair to him.”

“So now you're a free woman, yet your grandma is your roommate and you're working at the BFD.” Delilah shook her head. “Honey, you need some excitement in your life and quick.”

Here was her chance to spill her guts about West. Taking a deep breath, she decided to go for it. “Actually, I have had a little excitement in my life lately.”

“Found a love letter written to your grandma among the boxes of receipts?” Delilah raised a brow.

Harper stuck her tongue out at her, making Delilah laugh. “No. Something happened between me and . . . someone else.”
Chicken. Can't even say his name out loud.

Delilah leaned forward, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Ooh, don't hold back! Tell me who it is. And what exactly happened with you and this mysterious someone. I want all the dirty details.”

Harper actually blushed. Damn her pale skin. “There are no real dirty details.”

“Then why the blush?”

“You'll never believe who my someone is.” Harper pressed her lips together, nerves eating at her insides. Maybe she shouldn't tell Delilah after all. She might flip out. She might try to convince her she was making a mistake—and maybe she was. She probably was. Okay fine, she
totally
was, but nothing could change her mind. The idea of letting West go filled her with panic. Yeah, he'd been a jerk last night, but he'd been honest.

And now she was contemplating taking him up on that honest offer and seeing where it might take them . . .

Okay. Maybe that wasn't the smartest choice, but it was definitely a selfish one. And since when had she ever been selfish when it came to being with a guy? She was a giver. She always had been. With Roger, she'd deferred to him on everything. Every choice, every matter, every meal, every TV show. It was all for Roger, never for her.

Well, she was done. Now she wanted to do something for herself. And she was considering doing . . .

West.

“Let me guess.” Delilah's gaze never wavered from Harper's. “It's West.”

Harper's jaw dropped open. “How did you know?”

The smug look on Delilah's face was obvious. “I saw the way he looked at you at the supermarket. I'd recognize that look anywhere.”

Harper leaned back in her chair. “What do you mean?”

“He looked like he wanted to gobble you up. And in the best possible way too.” Delilah smiled. “So, what happened between you two? Does Wren know about this?”

“No,” Harper said quickly. “Wren doesn't have a clue and you can't tell her. She will flip the heck out.” She proceeded to give Delilah all the details, right down to what West said before she left the condo.

“And I haven't heard from him since,” Harper finished, shaking her head.

“It's only been a day,” Delilah pointed out. “Oh, and he's an idiot. I just needed to state that for the record.”

“He's a total idiot,” Harper agreed. “But he's a sexy, sweet idiot and I think I want to go talk to him. He's off work tonight. Tomorrow night too.” Imagine the many things they could be doing for the next two nights . . .

Okay, seriously. Did she really want to fool around with West? Have a no-holds-barred fling with him? One night together and then they could walk away. No attachments. No obligations.

She couldn't believe she was considering such an arrangement, but her life was already in complete upheaval so what the hell.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, that's where I think I need advice.” Harper chewed on her lower lip. She'd never been as open about her sex life like Delilah and Wren were. “I need some more . . . excitement in my life.”

“Of the sexual kind?”

Harper nodded. “And I want to see if West is up for the challenge.”

“I'm sure he is.”

“Maybe so, but maybe not with me?” Harper sighed. “All that talk about him feeling unworthy worries me. Like he'll never make a move on me because he thinks I'm long-term material when he's looking for a short-term girl.”

“And you want to be his short-term girl?”

Harper nodded. She wasn't ready for any sort of commitment, no matter what West said. She wanted something fun. Hot. Mind blowing.

Passionate.

The secretive smile curling Delilah's lips made Harper smile in return. “Then I know just the thing for you to do to blow his socks off. Even if he's not wearing any socks.”

They both started to laugh.

“I'm serious though. You'll need to be bold,” Delilah said.

“I can do that.” Harper nodded, excitement bubbling up inside her.

Excitement accompanied by a very fine case of nerves. Bold had never been her thing. She was a linger-in-the-background type of woman, always had been.

But when it came to West, he made her want to do something crazy. She just wasn't sure if he was interested in her type of crazy.

“Like, really bold. I'm talking about throwing it all out there. Letting him know exactly what you want from him so he won't misunderstand your intentions.” Delilah watched her. “Once you start, you can't stop.”

She smiled, pushing past her normal anxiety. “Trust me, I'm up for the challenge.”

W
EST WAS FUCKING
exhausted. He'd spent most of the afternoon into the night painting the kitchen and dining area. The painting part wasn't exhausting though. It was all the prep. Taking down the pictures on the walls, taping off the baseboards and the ceilings, cleaning the walls, laying out the drop cloths to protect the floors. That shit took forever.

And he was over it.

He'd taken a shower and had only bothered to slip on a pair of basketball shorts. He was sprawled out on the couch, watching TV and nursing a beer. All alone on a Saturday night; how pathetic could he get?

Not much more pathetic.

Holden had called him, asking if he wanted to meet at a bar, but West turned him down. Lane had a day off too, but once they were done with Home Depot, he'd gone home and locked himself away in his tiny house, like he might melt if he got caught outside after sundown.

Not that West wanted to hang out with Lane. And he was too damn tired to keep up with Holden tonight. He'd rather stay home and watch shitty TV, nurse his emotional wounds, and hope like hell work would pick up soon so he could at least keep himself busy and not think about how he'd blown it with the girl of his secret dreams. It was late, past ten o'clock, and he should've just gone to bed but there was no point. He was wide awake, and he'd already jacked off in the shower so he would've just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

No thanks.

A knock sounded at his door, startling him, and he climbed off the couch to go answer it, pissed that it was most likely Holden ready to convince him he should go out to the bars. He didn't bother looking through the peephole, just unlocked the door and swung it open, launching right into a speech for his little brother.

“I already told you I didn't want to go out tonight,” West said, the rest of the words stalling in his throat when he saw who was standing on his front doorstep.

It was Harper, wearing a black trench coat on a warm June night, her long auburn hair extra wavy and flowing past her shoulders, a secretive little smile curving her very red lips.

“You did?” She blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sexy innocence. “Maybe I should go then?”

She started to turn and he grabbed hold of her arm, halting her progress. “Don't go.” He sounded eager. Way too eager. Clearing his throat, he started over. “Sorry. I just thought—I thought you were Holden.”

“Oh.” She turned to fully face him once more and his gaze dropped to her feet, which were in the sexiest, shiniest black high-heeled shoes he'd ever seen. “So you don't mind that I stopped by?”

He looked up, their eyes meeting. “Not at all.” What was she up to? Her eyes were heavily made up, as were her ruby red lips. And her hair was downright wild . . . all he could think of was fisting it in his hands and tugging her head back so he could plant a long, deep kiss on those juicy lips.

“It's sort of late.” She blatantly scanned his mostly naked body, her glossy lips parted, her pink tongue touching just the corner of her mouth. Her gaze lingered on his chest and arms, cataloging his tattoos. She seemed fascinated with them and he was half tempted to flex his muscles just to see if her eyes grew hungrier . . .