“I’m not pouting.” Since bitching about his day or having a heart-to-heart with his girlfriend was firmly on his not in this lifetime list, Adam flashed her the dimples. Double barreled with all the pearly whites showing. It had been called sexy, mesmerizing, endorphin inducing. “Here’s a grin. My way of saying fair is fair, and if I lose the pants, you lose the top.”
“We don’t have enough Scotch, remember?” She narrowed her eyes and studied him, really hard. Until he was afraid she was seeing more than he wanted her to—and he began to sweat. Then she pointed to his lips. “Yup, that smile’s missing the whole let’s get drunk and screw vibe you normally put off, and you’re looking a little soul battered.” Her face softened. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
He shrugged as if he had not a clue as to what she was talking about. But the sweating didn’t stop, because if there was one thing Adam had learned over the past week it was that Harper was a master of the unsaid. She could read body language and translate silence like a professional interrogator. So when she gave a disappointed smile, then bent over to grab a different pair of boxers, he knew she was letting him off the hook.
Which was what he wanted, right? No complications, no confusion, just a whole lot of chemistry mixed with a I’ll rub your back, you rub mine pact.
Only now, he was here and everything felt complicated, and he was more than confused. In fact, his heart was racing and his face felt hot, and—Jesus Christ—he was nervous.
It wasn’t the studio lights, or the too-metro-to-be-manly underwear, or even the elaborate Calvin-Klein-meets-Hugh-Hefner man cave she had created from fabric, a leather chair, and raw talent.
It was the unimpressive shirt, the bare feet, and the genuine concern that had his brain checking out. And that smile. One flash of those teeth and he knew he’d come here tonight needing something. He wasn’t sure what, but Adam didn’t do nervous.
And he sure as hell didn’t do needy.
“I was just wondering if you gave Chantel my measurements,” Adam said, toeing off his boots and bringing this party back to where it should be.
Fun with a side of flirt.
“She sent a few different sizes. I’m sure it will be fine,” she said.
“Size fifteen is usually a special order,” he said.
Her expression went from confused to understanding as she recalled his offhanded remark the other day in front of Clay about ring sizes.
“We’re not using any accessories,” she said, “just pajamas and underwear.” She held up his first outfit again.
He grinned big and bad. “Sunshine, when I said my ring size was a fifteen, I wasn’t talking about my finger.”
Adam didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him.
Noted—and understood. After the day Harper had had, it was probably a good thing. She was still reeling from her accidental matchmaking disaster, so partaking in a kumbaya moment in the middle of her grandma’s shop wasn’t a smart idea. Even if Adam did look as if he could use a real friend.
Only Adam didn’t do real—he did frat-boy-meets-beefcake. Which worked for her since Harper never did the sorority thing, and she wasn’t a big fan of red meat. Plus, they weren’t supposed to be getting to know each other better. Sure, he’d walked in looking sexy and strong and strangely lost—and Harper, being Harper, momentarily forgot the deal—but he wasn’t looking to be found.
And she wasn’t looking to add one more platonic guy to her collection. Only instead of taking a step back, like she should have, she stepped forward and into him, ignoring every warning bell blaring in her head. His face creased with confusion and a vulnerability so genuine that she wrapped her arms around his waist and just held on.
Adam might not want to talk about whatever was bothering him, but it was obvious he needed a hug.
She felt him freeze and everything in that moment stilled, as if the gesture were so foreign he wasn’t sure what to do next. It was a strange reaction for a guy who had canoodled with half the town’s female population.
Harper knew all too well that canoodling and connecting were two vastly different things. Mastering one didn’t mean receiving the other, so she rested her head against his big chest, right over his heart, and waited. Waited for him to give in, to take what she was offering.
Support and understanding.
She felt him let go, release a breath that seemed to go on forever as his body pressed in closer and closer around hers. When he didn’t have anything left, he rested his cheek on the top of her head and locked his hands behind her back.
Neither of them moved. They didn’t speak or think. Just accepted the give and take of energy as it passed between them.
A minute or fifteen might have passed before she realized that her eyes were closed, that his arms were holding on to her as if they were the only things keeping him grounded, and Harper wondered what would happen if she never moved, if she decided to stay right there. In his arms. Forever.
Reminding herself that connection and commitment also weren’t exclusive to each other, she gave a final squeeze and stepped back.