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  I shift my gaze to his thick brow and deep-set eyes, noticing a sizable U-shaped scar on his left eyebrow. The itch in my fingers grows stronger. I want to touch it, to know more. A scar like that has to have a story. I lace my fingers together, resisting the urge to run my fingertips over the since-healed wound, letting my eyes do the touching. Moving downward over the smooth line of his nose—the end tapers, making a flawless transition to his upper lip.

  Oh, his lips. Perfect. Speaking, kissing, smiling, his mouth is the one part of him I’ve gotten to know the best in the last forty-eight hours. I lick mine, still enjoying the lingering feel of his mouth. Outlined in a dark shadow of fine stubble, his lips are slightly parted. I could so easily climb onto his lap and resume what we’d started earlier. Where my fingers begged to touch him a moment ago, now my lips have joined the party. Everything about this man reduces me to a quivering mass of desire. With Thor, it’s hard not to have sex on the brain. And having not been laid in years, Thor makes it really difficult to forget that.

  A subtle bounce of the bed pulls me from my lusty fantasy, my eyes are drawn toward Thor’s lap, specifically, the tapping of his thumbs against his thighs. Concentrating on the movement, I can almost feel the gentle beat all the way to my core, like he’s transferring his nervous energy to me.

  This time, I give into the desire to touch him, resting my hand on top of his. He stops. A beat later he doesn’t lift his head, but rolls it in my direction, his thoughtful stare boring deep into my eyes. Without breaking his gaze, he pulls his hand from beneath mine and takes up the pen and pulls the notebook from my lap.

  I’m scared to breathe. If even a molecule of oxygen escapes my lungs, he’ll turn away and the spell between us will be broken. I’ve never felt chemistry like this. Ever. The need to kiss him is stronger than the urgency to draw a breath.

  Thor blinks, and his eyes search my face. One breath. Two breaths. Then he looks down at the paper and taps the pen against the underlines I made.

  Scratching furiously, he writes, Why not now? Looking up at me, the intensity in his eyes is almost too much. I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me.

  His shoulders slump and he writes more. Because when I kiss you, I feel it right here. He beats his fist against his chest, right over his heart. And that scares the shit out of me, he adds to the page.

  Okay, Thorin Kline, you’ve got my attention. All my swoony, melty attention. Seriously, I think my inner vixen just signed Aww!

  He licks his lips and leans forward. An unsettled energy pours from his gaze, like there’s a war raging inside him. I want to tell him, to show him that there’s nothing to be scared on of.

  I tug the pen free from his grasp and write below his words. Scared of what?

  Taking the pen back, he scribbles, I’ve been with a lot of women, Harper, and never wanted anything more than a good time. But when I kiss you, there’s something there…I do want something more. And I can’t want more.

  Ugh! This conversation is going nowhere! Shaking my head, I sign, “Why?” again. He’s not making any sense. Frustrated, I yank the pen from his grasp. Why can’t you want more? I kinda figured you haven’t lived the life of a priest for the last several years. I’ve had other boyfriends, myself. But, is that a reason to not give us a chance? Because we’ve been in other relationships? That’s stupid. I also know that our timing sucks, your band is about to take off and I’ve got clinicals and graduation coming up, but I’d really like to try. I’m not going to deny that I’m attracted to you, because I am. I know we only just met, but I very much want to see where this goes. I leave everything on the page, dropping the pen on the paper.

  Thor takes his time reading my thoughts, his eyes moving from side to side, touching each word. Setting the notebook down, he shifts his body around, motioning for me to do the same. We sit cross-legged, facing each other. Thor fits his hands beneath mine and squeezes as I look up, my eyes landing on his moving lips.

  “…scares me, Harper,” he says.

  Dammit! I missed the beginning of his sentence. I watch his perfect mouth, waiting for more, hoping to fill in the blanks. What scares him?

  “I don’t do the relationship thing.”

  I catch every word this time. My heart sinks, pulling my mouth into a frown as it plummets into the pit of dating hell. I knew last night was too good to be true. The first person I’ve connected with in a long-ass time and he has commitment issues. Just my luck.

  I glance around, searching for the notebook—I’ve got questions for him—but, Thor tightens his grip on my hands, forcing me to look at him.

  “I want this,” he says, the corner of his mouth pulling into a playful smirk. “I want to give us a shot.” He nods.

  “Really?” I sign, mouthing the word around a growing smile.

  Thor lets go of my hand and mimics the sign. “Really.” He moves his hand to my face, his fingertips brushing along my cheek. Pushing my red curls behind my ear, he gently guides me forward.

  Staring into the ocean depths of his eyes, desire crashes over me. I give in, closing the distance between our mouths. The second our lips touch, Thor brings his other hand to my face, deepening the kiss, but keeping his gaze locked on mine. My heart pounds in my chest, there’s something sinful and erotic watching and participating in a kiss, simultaneously.

  When lips touch, eyes close. That’s what’s supposed to happen. Not this time. Thor’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, teasing mine, all the while, our eyes silently beg for more, pushing and steering the both of us into uncharted territory…into a relationship.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thor

  I’ve had a girlfriend for two whole weeks. How I’ve managed not to fuck this up is beyond me. Everyone who knows me, knows I don’t do relationships, so I’m driving in the dark here. And swinging the Charger into a parking space at the YMCA is the first stop on my relationship map. I’m in over my fucking head, but when it comes to Harper, I can’t say no, even if it involves playing my guitar to a bunch of kindergarteners.

  I don’t know a damn thing about kids. Never been around ’em. How the fuck am I supposed to entertain them? I kill the engine and pull the keys from the ignition, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. How is it that I’m more nervous to play a concert for a handful of twerps, than I’ve ever been playing in front of a packed club? “Shit,” I groan, leaning over the seat and grabbing my guitar case. Harper King has got me wrapped around her slim little pinkie.

  Walking across the parking lot, I push open the door and immediately, my eyes fall on Harper. I’m drawn to her like a heat-seeking missile. Separate us in Time Square on New Year’s Eve and I’d still find her in record time.

  Kneeling beside a blond-haired little boy, she’s signing animatedly. The little guy nods his head, understanding whatever it was that she said, and throws his tiny arms around her neck, pulling her into a fierce hug. Harper returns the boys affection, a tight-lipped smile on her face. Whatever their conversation had been about, it impacted them both.

  Another little kid, working over a cupcake at the table, stares at me for a beat, then stands and runs over the Harper, pulling on her shirttail. Harper and the blond boy pull apart and she turns her attention to the kid covered in frosting. The cupcake kid points and Harper twists around.

  When her sea glass green–eyes land on me, her shoulders fall back, and her face lights up with a brilliant smile. My ego just got a hell of a lot larger. Fuck yeah, I put that smile on her face.

  Harper ushers the frosting-coated kid toward the restroom and makes her way to me. Watching her walk, the sway of her hips, I have to keep my thoughts in check. I’m here to give a music demo, not a biology lesson. But damn, I can’t take my eyes off her. I don’t remember ever having a teacher that looked like Harper, if that had been the case, I might have paid more attention in school. Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” echoes in my head. Damn right I am.

  Harper waves and stretches her arms out wide as she comes c
loser. Setting my guitar case on the floor, I’m ready when her arms go around me. I pull her into a tight hug, taking everything she’s giving. She fits me like no other person ever has, her body filling all my hollow spaces. And fuck, she smells good. With her head tucked right under my chin, wafts of coffee and something flowery and girlie floats up from her hair.

  I take in another breath just as she pulls away. Dammit! I want more. I’m beginning to sound like a looped track, but I can’t help it. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this girl. Still smiling, she takes her phone from her back pocket. While she types, I pull my phone out, waiting for her message.

  Harper: Hey! Glad you’re here! How’d rehearsal go with the new drummer? She brushes a few errant curls behind her ears and shifts her weight between feet. She’s always so chill; what’s got her so fidgety?

  Me: Yeah, no problem. Happy to do it. Everything all right? You okay?

  As she reads my text, two kids come running up behind her, throwing their bodies around her legs like magnets to metal. Caught off guard, Harper sways, arms out wide, stumbling forward.

  “Whoa, Red! I’ve got you.” Harper grabs my upper arm, her fingers pressing into my biceps, doing all she can to not face-plant in front of the kids. I dig my fingertips into the crooks of her elbows to hold her up. The kids stare in shock, mouths in perfect Os, not quite sure how they managed to nearly take out the teacher.

  Finding her feet, Harper whirls around, giving the kids a stern look. She’s signing fast and hard, hands smacking together in loud pops. No fucking clue what she’s saying to the roughhousers, but by their downcast expressions, it can’t be good.

  The boys make fists and rub them in a circle on their chests. I know this sign. It’s the one I’m actually good at. Dropping down to their level, Harper gives the kids a tight-lipped smile and pulls them in for a hug. She’s so good with kids, why is she in pharmacy school and not teaching? I scratch the back of my head, filing that thought away for later.

  Standing back up, she’s already typing out a message before she turns around and faces me.

  Harper: Sorry about that. Those two have been told to stop running all afternoon. Follow me, I’ll show you where you can get set up.

  Flashing me her come-hither smile and tacking on a wink for good measure, she starts walking, motioning for me to follow her. Red, I’ll follow you anywhere. And kids or not, I can’t help it when my eyes zero in on her ass as I trail behind her. Those skinny jeans are hugging her in ways I only hope to one day.

  Harper takes me to the far side of the room where an adult-sized, navy-blue plastic school chair is front and center on a multicolored alphabet carpet. Instantly, I’m sent back to second grade, images of Miss Carmike sitting in her blue plastic chair. My butt always claimed the letter “X” on the alphabet carpet. Damn, I loved second grade, Miss Carmike was the fucking best. I never wanted to go home.

  Harper taps my shoulder, pulling me out of my second-grade time warp. Scooting the chair back an inch, she gestures from me to it. Catching her drift, I sit and place my guitar at my feet. I give her a reassuring wink just as she bends down, kissing my cheek. It’s a quick peck, but enough to take my mind off the task at hand. Children, Thor. There are fucking children in the room.

  Shaking off my naughty thoughts of Harper and what she can do with those lovely lips, I lean over and unlatch my guitar case, taking Lizzy from the velvet-lined interior, cradling her in my arms. I settle myself on the chair and get to work tuning her up.

  While I pluck away at the strings, in twos and threes, the kids start gathering on the carpet at my feet. One little girl in particular catches my eye. She situates herself, crossing her legs, and stares up at me with the saddest dark brown eyes.

  I know this girl. Not really, but I know that look in her eyes, like a puppy that’s been kicked one too many times.

  She watches my fingers moving over Lizzy’s strings, shifting her eyes from my fret hand to my strumming hand. Her head starts to bob with the beat of the song while her lips pull into the ghost of a smile, like she’s trying to remember how to do it.

  This kid…

  A hand touches my shoulder, and I stop playing. Looking up, Harper stands beside me. She gives me a smile, then turns her attention to the ten kids who are all waiting for me, the rock star, to wow them.

  Harper signs fast. The kids smile and wiggle, excitement taking over. What is she telling them? It’s not like I’m SpongeBob, or whoever gets kids excited these days.

  The group raises their hands, shaking them wildly just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Fishing it out, I glance at the text message. Relax! They don’t bite…well, not as hard as Lizzy, anyway. ;-) Just tell them a little about the band, how the guitar works, and play a song or two. You’ll be great and the kids will love it! I’ll be here to interpret, just look in my direction when you speak.

  I glance over my shoulder. A huge, crooked grin lights up her porcelain face and she pats me on the back as she sits to my right, angled enough to see me and the kids.

  What’s the most fucking terrifying thing on the planet? Ten kindergarteners. No question. Twenty pairs of innocent eyes staring up at me like I’m some kind of role model.

  Never in my life have I been thought of as a role model. If Griffin could see me now, he’d shit himself.

  “Okay,” I mumble, pocketing my phone. “I can do this.”

  Slipping Lizzy back into place on my lap, my left hand grazes over the strings, strumming, while my right hand holds down the chord. With any concert, no matter how big or small, when my fingers find their home on the strings, I know I can tackle any problem. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Lizzy, I might have never gotten through school myself.

  My eyes roam to the back row of kids, to the little brown-eyed girl. I focus on her. Maybe Lizzy can help her too.

  “Thanks for having me, kids.” I clear my throat. “I’m glad to be here.”

  Harper beams at me, signing my words for the group. It’s her smile that reminds me why I’m here…seeing how happy I’ve made her. I don’t think I’ve ever been the reason for someone’s happiness. It’s awesome and head-trippy.

  Confidence bolstered, I dive back in. “This here is Lizzy.” I hold up my guitar, facing it outward so each of the kids can see the front. “Who wants to hold her?”

  Ten heads turn to Harper. They watch her hands, then snap their attention back to me, hands fly upward, waving in the air, all saying, Choose me. I keep my eyes on the brown-eyed girl in the back. She doesn’t raise her hand.

  “Okay. How about you”—I point to one of the boys that almost knocked Harper over earlier—“and you…and you.” Two girls sitting front and center pop up from their spots on the carpet and join the little boy at my side.

  Passing Lizzy to the little guy, I help him get his fingers settled on the strings, and motion for him to give the guitar a strum. He follows my lead, dragging his hand downward over the sound hole. Lizzy responds with a weak, tinny sound. The kid repeats the motion with more confidence this time, grinning toothlessly at the girls beside him.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harper holding up her hands and shaking them, just like the kids did when she introduced me.

  Bobbing his head, the little guy strums my guitar like he’s Paul McCartney playing Shea Stadium with Beatles. I hate to be the one to squash his rock-star dreams, I’ve been where he is; it’s a feeling like nothing else, but I have to give each kid a turn.

  Tapping his shoulder, he freezes. Biting his lip, the little man opens his eyes and glances around the room. The kids raise their hands in silent applause and Little McCartney hands Lizzy back to me, taking a bow.

  For fifteen minutes, I cycle through the group, giving each kid their turn at being a rock star. When it’s the brown-eyed girl’s turn, I point, waving for her to join me. “Come on up, little lady.”

  Harper walks over to her, crouching low, signing. The girl shakes her head, letting her scraggly, dark blond hair
fall in front of her face. Glancing back in my direction, Harper frowns and shakes her head too.

  Oh, hell no. I know that look…I’ve worn that look. I refuse to let this pint-sized darling be scared of me. I’m not the person who’s broken her spirit, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want to be the one who fixes it…even for just a little bit.

  Getting up from my seat, Lizzy in hand, I step through the mass of kids, careful not smash tiny fingers under my giant feet. Coming up beside Harper, I lay my right hand on her back, and sit down, crossing my legs. Crammed between Little McCartney and the next Eddie Van Halen, I smile at the little girl on Harper right. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  Harper signs my words, adding something at the end. I recognize the letters “Z” and “Y.” She must be fingerspelling Lizzy. The little girl watches from beneath long, tangled strands of hair, inching her way closer to Harper’s side.

  As a peace offering, I hold the guitar out to her. “It’s okay, cutie. Go ahead, give it a try.”

  Harper takes Lizzy from my hands and passes it to the girl. The other kids watch as the girl brings her head up all the way, showing off her big, brown, gorgeous eyes. Brushing her tiny hand over the blond wood, across the strings, she almost smiles. Almost. It’s still there, I can see it in her eyes, it’s just buried under all the shit she has to endure at home. I want to fucking punch the asshole that makes this sweet little girl cower behind her unwashed hair. Thank fucking God she has Harper and a safe place to come after school…that’s more than I had when I was her age.

  The girl hands the guitar back to Harper. Turning her head in my direction, Harper’s green eyes shine and she smiles gently—soft, like a flower petal. With just one look, she makes me believe I’m some sort of superhero. How did a screwup like me end up with her?