I swallow, nodding. “I know.” I want to tell him about what Monica had said, that she disapproved of the idea of us together, but decide against it. We already seem to be on the same page. “I can keep a secret if you can.”
He gives me a wry smile. “You know I can. I’m a vault.” He pulls up his pants and buckles his belt. “It’s not that I’m ashamed, though. I don’t want you thinking that. It’s not about Eddie or Monica either. I . . . I just need some time to . . .”
“I get it,” I say quickly. “You don’t have to explain. I know you have a job to do, and I know things might get complicated. But we’ll figure it out. Right?”
He nods. “We’ll figure it out.”
And I’m going to have to trust him on that.
Sixteen
“Piper.” my mom’s impatient voice breaks into my head. “Can you please pass the sugar?”
My head slowly swivels toward her, and I blink.
There’s cornstarch in her hair as she stands at a saucepan on the stove, wearing an impatient look on her face.
I absently reach for the bag of sugar beside me and pass it to her.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re supposed to measure it. One cup. Where is your head at?”
Where is my head at? Good question.
It’s been one hundred percent compromised by Harrison.
Specifically, what Harrison and I did on that dryer.
It’s been about twenty-four hours since Harrison and I consummated our strange relationship in the laundry room, and I haven’t recovered even a little.
After he left, I spent the rest of the day in a daze, hiding from my mother like I was sixteen all over again, having lost my virginity to my loser of a high school boyfriend, Mark. I felt like if she took one look at me, she would know. I mean, when I looked in the mirror, I thought it was painfully obvious. My lips were swollen (the ones on my face, but also . . . ), my eyes were bright, my cheeks flushed. I looked like I was brimming with life.
I had all night to replay it over in my head, bringing out my vibrator to give myself an encore. I won’t lie—I’d used it many times with Harrison in mind, but now that I had the real thing to compare it to, my old fantasies didn’t stand a chance.
Today, the feelings from last night are still coursing through me. My mother hasn’t noticed anything is off, well, aside from my silence, but she doesn’t know it’s because Harrison has become the subject of each and every thought I’ve had. I can still feel his rough stubble between my legs, still see the way his face contorted with pleasure moments before he came, the look in his eyes afterward as he gazed at me, a peace to them I’d never seen before.
It was everything I’d wanted and more.
But I was at a loss as to how we were supposed to move on from here. He said we’d find a way, he said he wouldn’t leave it at just that, just that moment. I’m unsure of how we’re going to keep it going. Will we see each other once in a while? Is that sustainable? Is it even fair?
I’ve never had a purely physical relationship with someone. I’ve been a serial dater in the past, always monogamous but always quick to rush into a relationship. I form attachments easily, especially after sex. I don’t know how to deal with my growing feelings for Harrison, nor how to proceed when everything is so . . . secretive.
The funny thing is, Harrison really doesn’t seem to care either way. I would have assumed he would have been the first to make this all stay hush-hush, but his fear is more to do with him, and what he can give me, rather than his job or his relationship with Monica and Eddie.
It’s my relationship with Monica that has me worried. I know she warned me about this on the boat; I know that a relationship between Harrison and I would cause me to break a girl code. And as someone who has struggled to make friends, I don’t want to do anything to put our friendship in jeopardy.
At the same time, it feels wrong to have to hide it from her.
Same goes for my mother. There’s no way she’d understand, but for totally different reasons.
My mother is watching me like a hawk right now as I awkwardly dump sugar into a measuring cup and hand it to her.
“What is with you?” she asks as she pours it into the saucepan and stirs with a whisk. “You’ve had this look on your face all day.”
“What look?”
Please don’t say pathetic puppy dog eyes.
“I don’t know. Daydreaming. You’re somewhere else. Don’t tell me you’re bored.”