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  I have to end things. I can’t put her in the crosshairs. The damn fairy tale was nice while it lasted, but it’s time to live in fucking reality again. She’s too good for me.

  *

  “That her again?” Griffin asks, pulling a beer out of the fridge.

  I nod, trading my phone for my guitar, plugging into the amp. “Grab me one, will you?” Adjusting the volume, I strum a chord.

  “Here.” Griffin shoves the Budweiser in front of my face.

  Yanking it out of his grasp, I raise an eyebrow and pull the tab. “Switching things up?” I take a long swig. It’s not the microbrew Griffin usually has on hand, but it’ll do.

  “All there is, man.” Griffin takes a drink and sets the can on a stack of Sports Illustrated magazines. “Dad’s garage. He stocks the fridge how he wants.” Grabbing his bass, Griffin throws a punch into my shoulder. “What the fuck did she do to piss you off?”

  I dampen my strings and glare at him. “Nothing. She did nothing. Just had a moment of weakness. I slipped up. I should have never chased her down. It’s what happens when I let a pretty face seduce me. Lessoned learned.” I’m sick of talking. There’s nothing to be done. Harper’s safer with me out of the picture. Thanks to my dad’s timely reappearance, I’ve got my head on straight again. Fairy. Tale. Fucking. Over.

  I take another long drink and set my can down so I can pick out a rhythm on the strings. “We gonna play, or what?” I shout over my guitar. I like getting in touch with my feelings as much as the next guy, but I don’t have all night for a Dr. Phil session with my roommate. I want to practice and stop in at Ma’s place before I head home

  Griffin adds his bass to my guitar, and just like old times, we rock out. Countless hours in his parents’ garage, or mine—when Dad wasn’t home, of course—we’d hone our craft and learn to play off each other. Jam sessions are the fucking bomb.

  After our drummer, Adam, broke his wrist, Griffin and I haven’t had any time to squeeze in an extra practice. All our free time has been caught up in finding a temporary replacement for Adam. But this, pounding out a month’s worth of stress, it’s exactly what Griffin and I need before heading into the lair of the corporate music machine next week. A return to our roots. Just Griff and me. How it all started.

  “Sweet riff,” he shouts, pointing at me. “Keep it going, I want to try something.”

  Like I did at the pool last night, my fingers rip over the strings. I keep my muscles tense, my biceps strain, burning as I give my guitar a workout. The tune seethes with anger, driving and hard, yet, buried beneath the hatred and discordant tones, a rhythm emerges…the ghost of a melody.

  Griffin hears it too, adding a groovy bass rhythm. We play off one another for what seems like eternity, our song shifting and changing, following an unknown path.

  It’s cathartic, my temper mellowing with each note. And as I complete the cadence, slow my strum, and dampen the strings, all my anger and anxiety are spent, for the moment.

  Griff stops playing and tweaks a knob on his amp. “We were in the zone. That rocked. Think we could do it again?” He glances in my direction.

  “He’s back,” I blurt out. Griff should know. In case something happens to Mom, or I get pulled away from the studio. I’ve got to be upfront with him. “I was with Harper yesterday when Mom called. The douche bag was pounding on her door, trying to bust his way inside. No sign of him for nine months and now he’s back like a fucking plague.”

  “Shit.” Griff lifts the shoulder strap of his bass over his head and sets it on the couch. “Your mom all right?”

  I nod, picking up my beer. “Peace of mind is rattled. I got there before anything happened. Made him get lost.” Taking a long drink, I’d love nothing more than to get piss-ass drunk and forget the last two weeks ever happened. Mom and I both got lazy and complacent as fuck.

  “That why you’re ghosting her?” Griff asks. “Also explains why you just pounded the shit out of that song, which was awesome, by the way.”

  “Harper and I haven’t been together that long, man. Two weeks and some change. It’s better this way. If we’re not together, I can’t fuck things up. Like you said, I pounded the shit out of that last song. What will stop my temper from pounding the hell out of her?” Leaning back in my chair, I prop my feet up on the little table beside the couch. I know Griff’s dad wouldn’t care, not with the countless rings covering the surface, each marking the spot a cold one kept him company during a football game.

  “Bullshit. You know as well as I do, you’re nothing like your old man.” He drains his beer, squeezing the can into a twisted heap of aluminum. Chucking the empty in the direction of the recycling bin by the door, he bricks it, and the can goes skittering in the opposite direction. I’m glad he plays the bass better than he sinks shots from less than five feet away. Griff is to organized sports what the Pope is to the dating scene.

  “You don’t know that. There was a time when that d-bag didn’t beat the shit out of his family. Mom loved him. Sad thing is, I think she still does. After the hell he’s put the both of us through, she still fucking loves that prick.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around the enormity of that statement. How? How could she still love him? Beating her was one thing, but how can she still love him after he beat the shit out of me, too? I love my mom, and I will always be around to protect her, but where the fuck was she when I was little and needed protection?

  “I can see it in her eyes when I mention getting a gun, or bring up a restraining order. God forbid, an actual fucking divorce. She’d rather live in fear, than get him out of her life for good, and it’s because she’s still loves him.” I crunch my empty beer can and fling it toward the bin. Two points to the guitar player.

  “There’s nothing rational about love, man. It’s not an on-off switch.”

  I hit him with a pissy scowl. Somehow, I think we stopped talking about my mother and moved onto his complicated love life. He’s been in love with his best friend, Jillian, for years. Everyone who knows the two of them can see the attraction, yet, they ignore it and spend their days in denial. And let’s not talk about the weird-ass relationship he’s got going with another chick. You’re the master at the on-off switch, brother.

  Griffin runs his hand through his hair and stands, walking over to the fridge. He pulls out another beer, pops the top, and drinks deeply. Hauling it away from his mouth, he stabs me with a heavy look. “You have to call her.”

  I raise a questioning brow. “My mom? Why?”

  He cocks his head and glares. “Your girl. What’s her name?”

  “Harper. And why should I call her? The point is to stay away, so I don’t end up using her as a punching bag.”

  “Do you like this chick?” he asks, plopping on the couch with his beer.

  Walking around the other side, I flop onto the other cushion, propping my feet up, one on top of the other. Staring at my filthy work boots. I nod. “Yeah. But I haven’t figured out why she wants me. She’s out of my league.”

  “That’s when you know it’s something. When you figure out you’ll never be good enough for her, but she doesn’t see it that way. Give it a shot, dude. See where it goes. Trust me, you’ll only regret it if you don’t.”

  Regret. It’s already digging its claws into my gut. I haven’t talked to Harper since I ran out on her.

  “Shit.” I wipe my hands over my face. “Fucking relationships, man. Makes me crazy. Why I’ve avoided them all these years.”

  “She’s worth it?” Griffin asks, turning to look at me. “Worth all this frustration? All the crazy?”

  I don’t even hesitate. “So fucking worth it.”

  “Then you have your answer. You and Harper are not your parents. You guys do you. Don’t let someone else’s relationship bullshit dictate yours.”

  Maybe I can make this work. I want to. I’ll just have to keep my family shit under wraps. The less Harper knows about me, or where I come from, the better. The safer she’ll be.r />
  And Griffin’s right about knowing what I have with Harper is something different…special. With every woman I’ve been with, never once have I thought of them above myself. It was always, “What can she do for me? How can she get me off?”

  With Harper, it’s the complete opposite, and I’m left hoping and praying I’ll get the chance to show her exactly what I can do for her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Harper

  Are you busy tonight? I leave for New Hampshire tomorrow. I’d like to see you before I go. Pressing send, I let my head flop against the back of the couch. This rerun of Parks and Rec can’t even hold my interest, and I love that show. Come on Thor, give me something.

  For three days, I’ve mulled over reasons why he ran out of the Y and has evaded my text messages with veiled excuses why he can’t (or doesn’t) want to see me.

  I understand that life is complicated right now. I get it. But, I wish he’d let me in. He’s always so guarded, keeping me at arm’s length every time I ask him about what’s going on in his life.

  It’s hard to keep my mind from traveling to darker thoughts. He can’t deal with your deafness, Harper. You’ve read too much into the way he feels about you. He’s not attracted to you. He’s ghosting you. It’s over.

  My phone vibrates in my hand. Lifting my head, I glance down at the message. Thor: On my way over.

  My heart shifts into overdrive. Holy shit! I wasn’t expecting him to actually come over. Giddy, I throw my classic car blanket off my legs and run to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, I stare at my reflection. My hair is sticking up in every direction—red curls with minds of their own. Under my eyes, mascara and eyeliner smudges set against my pale skin make me look like a corpse, or an extra on The Walking Dead. I’m a mess.

  Turning on the water, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and try to tame my curls. Two out of three isn’t bad—Thor will just have to live with my hair channeling its inner Carrot Top.

  Decent enough for a Thursday night at home, I go back to the living room and await Thor’s arrival. I’m surprised to see Chloe and Megan sitting on the couch. Chloe pulls on her knee-high black leather fuck-me boots.

  “Where are you two going?” I gesture to Chloe’s outfit—a fitted black dress and killer boots that add at least six inches to her five-eleven frame. “You look stunning!”

  Chloe pulls the zipper on her boot and stands, smoothing out the wrinkles from her dress. “Megan is in town visiting a friend. She asked me if I wanted to go clubbing with them. Want to come with us?”

  I shake my head. “Thanks, but T-H-O-R is coming over.” I’m glad Megan’s here. Since Chloe and Trey broke up, all she does is bake and watch Netflix. Chloe needs her sister right now. “You and Megan have fun. Be safe.”

  Megan stands up and holds her arms out wide. “It’s been a long time, Harper.” I read her lips.

  “It has. Chloe’s missed you.” I see Chloe’s lips moving, interpreting my response, as I pull Megan in for a hug.

  Stepping back, I ask, “What club are you headed to?”

  “The Cave,” Megan says.

  Chloe bites her lip. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

  I cringe. “That place is rough.” I never did like going to The Cave. The place is aptly named, most of the guys that frequent that dive are cavemen. And it’s always in the news for all sorts of awful crap. A shiver runs up my spine at the thought. “Why are you going there?”

  “To check out this new female alt-band, S-W-Z-Z-I-L-E S-T-I-X. Heard of them? They’re really great.”

  I shake my head. The only band on my radar at the moment is Mine Shaft, and whatever the hell is going on with their lead guitarist. “Why would an all-girl band want to open at The Cave? I hate that place.”

  Megan taps my shoulder. “Chlo and I will stick together, Harper. Don’t worry.”

  I move my hand up and down, pointing out their gorgeous outfits, impeccable makeup, and beautifully curled hair. “I do worry. You’re both too gorgeous for that place.”

  Chloe grabs my arm, yanking me close. “We’ll be fine.” With a quick, tight hug, she lets go and grabs her black clutch off the couch. “I’ll text if we need anything.”

  “I’m not going to pretend that I like this, and you better text me if anything goes wrong. Please, be careful.” Chloe and her love of new bands is going to get her into trouble one day. The Cave is the last place two women should be going to alone. It sucks that the world is like that, and it worries me that Chloe isn’t more responsible when it comes to self-preservation.

  In my peripheral vision, the LED light above the front door flashes, and I pull away, looking over my shoulder. Bobby runs to the door, sniffing and pawing, tail waving like a white flag.

  Chloe taps my shoulder and spells, “T-H-O-R?”

  I nod.

  “Finally got ahold of him?” Her eyebrow quirks up in question.

  “Yeah. But I still don’t know what’s going on with him. Hoping we can resolve things before I leave in the morning.”

  The light blinks again.

  Chloe walks to the door and bends down to pick up Bobby before pulling it open. Thor’s on the porch, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark jeans. Chloe waves him inside and turns around, depositing a wriggling Bobby in my arms. Megan walks over and stands next to her sister, not even hiding the fact that she’s checking Thor out. Both girls’ eyes flick to mine; Chloe’s are wary. She mouths, “Good luck,” giving me the “be careful” look we’ve perfected over the years. Megan’s eyes scream, Yum!

  With a tight grip on the dog, I flash Chloe the same look as she grabs her sister’s hand and drags her out the door.

  Thor waves to Megan and Chloe on their way out, then turns his attention to me. Lifting his hand, he makes a fist, circling it over his chest—a silent apology. He takes two steps and scratches Bobby behind the ears before putting his hands on the backs of my arms, staring into my eyes.

  More than anything, I want to step into him, snuggle up to his warmth. But, my heart is too invested at this point and I need to guard it. Taking a step backward, I set Bobby on the floor and grab my phone off the end table beside the couch. Thor crouches down to pet Bobby while I type. When I’m finished, I hold out the phone.

  Grabbing it he reads as he stands. Thought you might have wanted to end things.

  Thor’s eyes land back on me, ice-blue and intense. His shoulders move up and down with each breath and he shakes his head, stepping closer, he invades my personal bubble. Both hands on my cheeks, he leans down and kisses me, hard.

  My eyes widen, caught off guard, but the second Thor pushes his tongue into my mouth, every nerve ending in my body blazes to life. I close my eyes, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him back.

  Wild, our lips move in a frenzy as our hands grope one another. Raking my short fingernails over his close-cropped scalp, Thor bites my bottom lip, drawing blood. A metallic tang lingers in my mouth and his tongue roams deeper. He cups my ass, pressing me against his hard-on. I want to climb him, meld my body to his.

  Unrelenting in his desire, still caught up in his touch, he walks me toward the couch and we collapse together. I open my legs to accommodate his body, wrapping them around the backs of his thighs, locking him to me.

  Thor tears his mouth from mine, licking and kissing his way over my cheek…along my jawline…my neck. Goose bumps rise on my skin when the tip of his tongue glides over my skin, leaving a cold trail in the wake of his hot breath. I shiver, feeling a vibration on his mouth, humming over the skin on my collarbone. I love that, the hum in his throat, sending those vibrations up to his mouth and over my skin.

  Oh God, Thor, don’t stop. I lift my hips, a hint that I want so much more.

  He moves his nose along the path of kisses he just left on my neck, working his way back up. His tongue laps at my earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth with a sharp nip. My hips buck beneath him, and I exhale.

  Thor captures my breath with his mouth,
tightening his lips over mine, and I spiral into a haze of lust. Our bodies move in sync, a blessed rhythm. I meet him thrust for thrust as he grinds his hardness between my legs like we’re naked, not fully clothed. And I can’t help mourn the fact that we are fully clothed, goddammit!

  Tugging at the hem of his shirt, I take the initiative to put an end to the “fully clothed” conundrum. My fingertips meet skin and I sigh, opening my mouth wider. Thor takes advantage, his tongue stroking mine, drinking me.

  Yanking the shirt higher, I pull hard, wanting it gone. Catching my drift, Thor breaks his mouth away, rips the shirt over his head, and crashes his lips back on mine. He doesn’t miss a beat and my hands revel in the feel of hot, sweaty flesh and rippling muscles beneath my fingers.

  Thor kisses me like I’m air—greedy, wanting, and strong, like each kiss is another infusion of life-preserving oxygen. Running my hands down his spine, I reach the small of his back, working my fingers under the waistband of his pants. Thank God his belt isn’t very tight, both of my hands slip inside. I keep going, working my way downward, sliding my hands along his skin…under his boxers…caressing his ass.

  Squeezing, guiding his rocking hips, I tilt my head, offering my neck to him again.

  I’m waiting, panting, anticipating the next bite or suck, but nothing happens. He stops grinding.

  Oh my God. Why did he stop? My eyes flick open. Thor’s looking down at me, his mouth pink and swollen, but smiling. He brushes my hair off my cheek and tilts his head.

  Drawing my brows together, I mouth, “What’s wrong?” along with the signs.

  He shakes his head, his eyes thinning to narrow slits, scrutinizing me even more. Adjusting himself so that his weight is held in his hands, he pushes up, forcing my hands out of his pants. Thor sits up, pulling me with him.

  Looking around the room, he points to something on the floor and gets up to retrieve it. Turning around, he holds up his phone, and flops back down on the couch. Unlocking the screen, he opens the Notes app.