Fuck It (Yama Yama)

“That’s not grounds for hating me,” he butts in. “At most, you’d find me to be a mild annoyance. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get laid.”

He flashes that taunting, winning smile, and I drop to the couch in his office, too exhausted to keep up this battle.

Hell, maybe he’s right. I do hate him a little too much for no truly good reason.

He totally squashed all my logic. I blame the sleep deprivation.

He goes back to sketching, and I study his jaw, the way the intentional stubble lines the lower part of it. I blame the drunken state of mind I’m in for the very inappropriate thoughts.

Thoughts that have this morning ending differently when he caught me bent over my desk in nothing but my underwear. Thoughts about him coming up behind me and putting those incredible lips anywhere on my body.

Sleep deprivation, people! Lowers inhibitions just like alcohol.

He’s definitely right about me needing some. So what if the guy hates it? Girls get cheated all the time in the bedroom. Maybe I’m the universe’s revenge for all those women.

I get mine, and they get…frustrated and left hanging.

Maybe I’m taking feminism to the next level…by fluke.

Great. Now I’m pulling an Anderson and trying to twist my failures and shortcomings into something I can dismiss.

“Why the year-long sabbatical from sex? Is it because you cheated? Again?”

He pauses his sketching and looks up at me as the song changes. “Got My T-shirt And My Panties On” starts playing, and I scramble to shut off the damn music on my phone, while a small rumble of laughter escapes him.

As soon as the music is gone, he shrugs. “Mostly. And mostly because I give up.”

“Give up? On sex?” I ask, confused. Is he bad at it too?

He shifts in his seat like he’s uncomfortable. For the first time ever, Anderson Harper looks like a normal human being with some insecurities.

I don’t know why that makes me smile.

“I wanted what my dad has with my stepmom,” he finally admits, though it’s so quiet that I almost miss it. “They’re like this unstoppable team, and no one can fuck with their bubble. I finally realized I’m such a shitty person that the universe has decided I don’t deserve what they have. And my dick seemed to be the main source of the problem.”

I study him, mostly because I’m confused.

“You wanted what they have by cheating on all the girls you were with?”

“I wanted what they had and couldn’t find it no matter how hard I tried, and I kept fucking up everything and fucking over everyone as a result,” he clarifies, sounding suspiciously like a romantic.

But Anderson Harper can’t possibly make any of that sound like romance. Can he? Not even he’s that good.

So why do I still find it a little…sweet?

Damn him and his manipulative ways.

“Anyway, Kasha suggested I take some time off from women in general, and the second I did, things changed for the better in my life. My friendships got stronger. My relationship with her got better—which is the biggest shocker of all.” He laughs quietly to himself.

Kasha is his stepsister, and until the wedding disaster from hell, they seemed to hate each other. Now they’re like real siblings. So I agree that they got better.

“My father and I got closer. My stepmom was always in my corner, just like she’s always in Kasha’s, but I feel like she respects me more these days.” He blows out a breath and gestures to the sketch. “Even my work got better. So yeah. I realized that sex seemed to be at the forefront of all my problems, because it was occupying all the important space in my life. So I gave it up. I’m done with it.”

It’s a little sad to hear. I mean, he’s like twenty-eight. Twenty-nine at the most. And he’s forever finished with sex?

Again, I blame the forbidden-fruit hypothesis for the very scandalous visual in my head. That desk could definitely support our weight.

Just saying.

Sleep deprivation. Totally the sleep deprivation.

“What’s your excuse?” he asks me, cocking his head as he gauges me.

I decide that’s too embarrassing to share. “What did you change on the project?” I ask instead, and he rolls his eyes while lifting the sketch again.

It’s fucking perfect. And I sort of hate that he’s right about the team effort thing. If he hadn’t brought me his ideas, I never would have come up with this idea. And if he hadn’t adjusted it, it would have never been this perfect.

Together, we created something beautiful.

Oh shit. Anderson Harper is my muse?!

Clearing my throat, I nod and say the words aloud. “It’s perfect.”

He grins and winks at me. “I know.”

And he’s back to being the arrogant ass again. Only this time, I smile instead of envisioning ways to murder him.