First Comes Love (Love Comes To Town)

Movement on my shoulder has me glancing Harley’s way. Despite her slight shifting, she’s still as contentedly asleep as ever. Somehow looking at her pretty sleeping face is like a visual stress ball: I can’t stay frustrated staring at it.

I turn away and try to look to the clouds. There’s something prickling at the edge of my mind, something that has to be dealt with, sooner or later.

I leave it for later.

**

When I wake up, it’s hours later.

“God,” Harley groans, rubbing at her neck. “Is your brain made of stone? I don’t know if my neck’s ever going to recover from how heavy your head is.”

I shrug, smirk. “Didn’t know the mystery pillow was your head until I woke up.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t under the impression this was a fair transaction—your shoulder was supposed to be my pillow, end of story.”

God she’s cute when she’s pretend angry. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

“Take me home.”

Her words are jarringly serious in our joking exchange. Her mouth falls open, as if she’s as surprised by this admission as I am.

“Wow, that came out weird.” She laughs. “I just mean—”

“I want to,” I blurt out. Then I frown. “I’ll make sure the cab gets you home safely.”

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t know why I said that. I think I’m just tired, and half-delirious, and—”

“I want to.”

“Greyson—”

“If you keep trying to argue, I am going to buy you four ice cream sundaes in the airport.”

“Four?!? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even want one.”

I feel like a boy, delighting in her outraged grimace. “Too bad.”

“But that’s so wasteful! All that trash and the ice cream won’t even be eaten—”

I just shrug. “Told you my terms.”

“You’re a jerk,” she snaps.

“A jerk who’s seeing you home safely tonight.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“Seem pretty distressed right now.”

Her hand jabs out to give me a playful slap. I catch it at the same time our eyes catch. “Careful.”

Next second, I’m bringing her hand to my mouth, then her head to my mouth. Then I’m undoing my pants, sliding myself inside her…

“Hello, Earth to Greyson, we’re supposed to put on our seatbelts.”

Harley pokes me again, then juts up her chin in the direction of where the captain probably just gave the instructions I didn’t at all hear thanks to my fucking-Harley-on-a-plane-fantasy.

Fuck.

“Right,” I grumble, putting it on.

The important thing is: I won. This time, at least.

By the time we get off the plane, out of the airport and outside to the cabs, Harley is already trying to get her own.

“I’m a big girl,” she tells me as she jumps inside a cab. “I can make it home by myself. I have plenty of times before.”

“It’s 4 AM,” I tell her as I follow her inside, “I’ll see you home.”

As the cab pulls away, Harley rolls her eyes at me. “Really, this is silly.”

I just shrug.

The cab takes us down streets that are empty and forlorn-looking. Probably I just need sleep. Both of us do.

Back in our bed at Nayara Springs, we did sleep, just… half the time when I woke up, with Harley naked beside me… how the hell was I not supposed to get a hard-on, start kissing her? And when she started nuzzling me back, rubbing herself against me, how the hell was I not supposed to start fucking her?

“Almost there,” Harley says suddenly. “Thanks again. I guess I’ll… be seeing you?”

At the Storm Media office. Tomorrow. Right.

“Take tomorrow off,” I say.

A week would be better, and as much for me as for her. I need to get my head screwed on straight. Give myself a chance to get caught up. But I know Harley. She’ll want to get to work straightaway.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“Do I have to order you?” I give her a hard look.

“No, boss.” Her mouth forms a mocking pout and I have to clench my teeth so I don’t give her a punishing kiss.

Even in the dark, the shape of her is like a beacon.

“Careful Ms. Davis,” I find myself saying.

“Or?”

Or I’ll yank down your shorts and take you, right here, right now.

Fuck if I’m not about to do it, hard-on pressing against my pants, reaching for her…

The car pulls over, and the cabbie says, “This it?”

“Oh.” Harley exhales, peels her gaze off me to look at the red-stone building outside. “Yeah. It is.”

Her smile is uncertain as she opens the door, riffling through her purse. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got this.” I hand the cabbie the money then step out after her.

She’s so flustered that she doesn’t even notice that I’m out here, carrying her bag, until we’ve walked halfway to the door.

Before she can speak, I put a hand on her arm. “I meant what I said about making sure you get home safely.”

“Please.” Harley’s laugh is half-hearted, her smile unsure. “The schizophrenic ladybug-killing hobo who lived outside our building moved on, like, months ago.”