His forehead wrinkles. “Do I dare ask what pegging is?”
I laugh, shaking my head in mock sympathy. “Oh, you poor innocent man. I have so much to corrupt you with.”
“I wouldn’t mind being corrupted,” he says quietly, his voice gruff, eyes glinting with the kind of heat I felt this morning.
“Well, I tried to do that this morning,” I remind him.
“I’m going to blame your dog for that one.”
“Can I help you?”
We both look up to see the store owner smiling expectantly at us.
I gesture to the romance. “Just showing a friend your most awesome romance section.”
“You know, we have some other books that may be more of interest to you,” she says to Harrison in a knowing voice.
“How do you know I didn’t find exactly what I’m looking for?” Harrison says to her, standing his ground. He takes the book from my hand and shows it to her. “A riveting story about loss and love and pegging.”
The owner purses her lips together and backs up slowly while I turn away, choking on my laughter. Oh, she definitely knows what pegging is. Perhaps she’s not as anti-romance as she seems. I file away a mental note for a future podcast theme.
I grab a few more books for Monica from the shelf, still giggling, while Harrison flips through the pages of the pegging book. I have no doubt he’s looking for a sex scene, and I know he’s found one when a hint of pink starts to creep up his cheeks.
He clears his throat and hastily puts the book on top of the stack I’m holding. “I think I see where you get your, uh, voracious appetite from.”
“Are you complaining?” I tease, walking past him.
“Not at all,” he says roughly as he follows me to the till. “Just wish we had more opportunities.”
You and me both.
But the truth is, Harrison and I don’t have a lot of time to be together, and definitely not alone. After we buy the books for Monica, we pick up some groceries, and then we’re heading back to the compound so Harrison can go back to being a bodyguard and I can go back to trying to work on some lesson plans for the fall.
It’s a fruitless effort, though. He says goodbye to me in my driveway, and even though no one is watching, we keep our distance from each other. Then I go to my bedroom, lock my door, and decide to spend the afternoon pretending he’s with me.
Eighteen
“You know, I wouldn’t mind if Mr. Cole came over more often,” my mother says, her voice casual and high pitched for extra innocence.
I glance over at her, my brow raised in surprise.
We’re sitting on the deck sipping iced blueberry tea. It’s only ten in the morning, but it’s a scorcher already. A couple of hot days in a row is pretty rare here, even in July, but it’s been a consistent heat wave all week long.
There’s no way Mom hasn’t caught on, I think to myself.
“Why would he come over?” I ask, trying to sound blasé.
“I don’t know, Piper.” She says this in a way that suggests she very well does know. She takes a satisfied sip of her iced tea. “He’s here to do laundry quite a bit.” Her eyes twinkle at me. “And I know my pie is good, but it’s not that good.”
Don’t fall for it. It’s a trap.
I shrug. “I’m sure their machine will get fixed one of these days. And it is that good. You could open up your own bakery by now.”
It’s been a couple of days since Harrison stopped by the house and then took me into town. I would have loved to have seen him that night, but figuring out how to be with each other without raising suspicion has been a pain in the ass, plus his schedule doesn’t leave a lot of freedom.
Yesterday he came by again, except he wasn’t alone. Monica came with him, apologizing for their taking over our laundry room and to invite us again for dinner on Friday. Harrison then went down below to do more laundry, but with Monica and my mother chatting in the kitchen, it wouldn’t have looked right if I had suddenly left them to go check on the laundry or something.
The dinner is tomorrow. At any rate, I don’t think I’ll be seeing Harrison today, but you never know. My stupid, stupid heart is holding out for the best, even if I berate it for being so hopeful.
“You know,” my mother goes on, “I was wrong about him.”
“What do you mean?”
My mother? Admitting she was wrong? What is this world?
“At first I thought I knew who he was. I had him figured out. I thought I knew his type because I’d seen that type so many times before. You’d bring them home all smitten, and they were the type of boys to make my skin crawl. I’m sure you thought I was being paranoid and judgmental, but I knew none of them were good enough for you, Piper.”