Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 15 – Harper

FIFTEEN

HARPER

“Here we are,” Wes says as he opens the door to his house—my new house in Evergreen Park. I sort of remember him buying it a year or so ago and Ava talking about it, but I hadn’t actually seen much less been to it before the time I came here to kiss him.

The reminder of that sends a shiver down my spine that I force myself to forget.

I step in, looking around with wide eyes as he closes the door behind us, setting our bags next to the entryway. “Jesus, this place is huge. It’s just you here?” The last time I was here, it was dark, and my nerves were going haywire, so I didn’t take much of an opportunity to take the giant home in, but it’s just that: huge. This entryway alone could probably fit half of Jeremy’s house into it.

“My assistant, Laurel, has an office here, but it’s just me living here. And now you,” Wes says, nodding. “You’ve got your own room, so you don’t have to worry about bunking with me.”

I turn to him, smiling. “Two rooms, huh?” I let out a small laugh. “Just when I was getting used to sleeping with you.” It has to be the jetlag scrambling my brain, making me much more honest than I should be, but I can’t deny that the two nights I spent sleeping with Wes Holden were the best I ever had.

His hand moves to my lower back, a boyish smile on his lips as he pulls me into him, his chest flush to mine. We haven’t been this close since the absolute catastrophe in the hotel room after I made myself come, after he turned me down, and that has been intentional on my part. Because when I’m this close to Wes, common sense seems to abandon ship.

“If you want the real married experience, Harper, I’m more than willing to give it to you. You just have to say so,” he whispers against my lips.

My pulse pounds as I lick my lips, trying to calm my breaths. “The full experience?”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs against my lips. It vibrates against me, and the frequency of it must scramble my brain even further, because slowly, I lift my hand, wrapping it around his neck without the approval of common sense. That common sense has clearly fled the scene as I let my fingers twine into the hair at the back of his head.

“We already practiced this, Wes,” I whisper, referencing that first kiss in this foyer. My pulse is pounding, my breaths quickening at our mere proximity.

“Oh, this wouldn’t be practice, little wife,” he whispers just as quietly, then slowly starts to drop his head to my lips, as if he’s giving me the freedom to back away if I want to. I don’t, not in the least. Instead, I eagerly await his lips on mine.

But then the sound of heels on tile fills the room, and his body goes tight as a blonde walks into the house, a wide smile on her lips.

“Wes, I’m so glad you’re—home,” she finishes, her smile falling just a hair when she takes me in.

“Laurel, hey, how are you?” Wes asks, then steps away from me, a rush of cold making it feel like a loss as he steps to the woman and pulls her into a hug. It lasts for a moment before he steps back, leaving an arm around her shoulders, his smile wide as he looks at me. “Harper, this is my assistant, Laurel. Laurel, this is Harper. My wife.”

She gives me a tight smile before putting a hand out, and the shake she gives me is much too strong to be casual.

I do not like her, and I have no real reason not to, other than she’s looking at me like I’m competition, and suddenly I’m wondering if maybe I am competition. Is there something here I don’t know about? I’d never heard of this woman before in my life, and he surely didn’t mention her the entire time we were away.

“Your fake wife,” she corrects, looking up at him with a smile like she’s in on some joke I’m left out of.

I stand there with an awkward, tight smile, feeling like I want to run, though I’m somewhat appeased when his look goes from happy to assessing, like he’s attempting to read her before correcting her.

“My wife ,” he says. “For all intents and purposes, Harper is my wife. Harp, if you need anything at all, Laurel is your girl. She handles everything around here—shopping, cleaning, my schedule. The whole nine.”

I give another tight smile and nod.

“I’ll try not to make your life too complicated,” I say, expecting her to wave it off and tell me it’s no big deal, but instead, she nods, turning away from me to Wes, whose arm has dropped from her frame when he stepped away, not that I was taking note.

Laurel clearly doesn’t miss that move, her face pulling into a sour look for just a moment before relaxing back into a serene smile.

“I made sure that all of her things were put into her room. Jaime was kind enough to come and help bring her things over.” Wes nods approvingly before she turns to me, that friendly look gone. It’s actually impressive how quickly she can change her face. “Mr. Wilde is the bodyguard for Atlas Oaks,” she says as if she’s filling me in on some information I’m unaware of.

My brows furrow, and I fight my jaw going tight. “Yes, I know,” I say tightly. “I was in his wedding. His wife is my best friend.”

Wes’s assistant cocks her head to the side and gives me the fakest smile known to man. “She is? What a small world. Wes, we have a few things to go over that you missed, and?—”

“We can handle that tomorrow or next week, I’m sure,” Wes says, stepping toward me and putting a hand to my lower back. The simple touch sends a shiver through me, and I fight the urge to let my lips tip up with a triumphant smile.

I shouldn’t like this, his touch, and I surely shouldn’t be feeling possessive over Wes, especially not with what just happened a few moments ago, but here we are.

“I mean, I suppose. But a few are pressing and—” she says.

“Later. I’m jet-lagged, and I want to make sure Harper gets settled.” She goes to speak up once more, but he shakes his head. “Thanks for everything, Laurel. I think you can head out.”

Her eyes send daggers to me, and in my mind, it’s confirmation: Laurel wants Wes and sees me as some inhibitor to that mission.

It makes me furious.

“Really, I—” she starts, but I step closer to Wes, putting a hand to his shoulder, the warmth of him burning to my hand. His eyes move to mine, a bit shocked at the initiated touch, but a smile on his lips all the same.

“Do you mind showing me around our house?” I ask, eyes wide, and I don’t know what kind of phantom has taken over me, making me much more bold and brave than I’ve ever been, but I like her. “I’m so tired from our trip.” I give him a smile, then share it with Laurel. “You know how those long flights can be.”

“Absolutely,” Wes says, then moves, opening the door for his assistant. She glares at me before saying her goodbyes, Wes closing and locking the door behind her. By now, common sense has reentered my veins, and I’m standing a few feet away, feeling awkward and, if I’m being honest, just a bit childish.

“Harper Abbott, are you jealous?” he asks when he turns back to me, reaching for my hand and grabbing it, his rough, calloused fingers twining with mine.

“No, but I don’t like the way she was looking at you when I was right there.” His smile goes wide, and I roll my eyes, trying to tug my hand out from his, but his grip is tight. “It’s common courtesy. We’re married , you know.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” His hand moves to brush some of my hair back behind my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to your room,” he says before leading me up the stairs of the too-large house and toward my room for the next year.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep, and I know, despite every bone in my body wanting to deny it, it’s because Wes Holden isn’t in bed with me. I toss and turn in the giant, luxurious bed, frustrated and angry that I’ve let my fake husband get so far under my skin, until finally, I get out of bed and head to the kitchen for a snack.

Everyone knows a sweet treat can fix almost any ailment.

Fearful of bothering my new roommate, I tiptoe around, trying to find the kitchen for a few minutes before landing in the spacious room, equipped with professional appliances and neat as a pin.

I’m peering into the fridge, wishing I had thought to ask Ava to grab me some snacks for my late-night dessert habit, when a throat clears, and I jump, panicked, before realizing it’s just Wes. He’s leaning in the doorway, handsome as ever, his hair tousled, muscled arms crossed on his chest, and a small smile on his lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I shake my head, moving my hand to my racing heart. “You didn’t,” I lie, and he glares at me. I give him a small, embarrassed smile and shrug. “Okay, maybe a little. But it wasn’t your fault. I was just looking through your offerings.”

He steps closer, looking over my shoulder from behind me before he shifts back, leaning against the kitchen island. “Pretty empty, huh?”

“I mean, you’re a rock star bachelor who hasn’t been home for a week, so?—”

“Not a bachelor,” he says instantly, and my head cocks back.

“What?”

“I’m not a bachelor anymore.” The smile on his lips is near criminal, too handsome for his own good, especially when he’s just a few inches from me. This entire arrangement—living with him, pretending we’re a couple, marrying him —may have just been the worst idea I’ve ever agreed to. He’s far too everything, and I am much too attracted to him to make it through the next year unscathed.

“What do you normally eat for a snack?”

“A cookie. I keep cookie dough on hand to make them whenever I want some at home. I’ll have to stock up,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll make it through one night.”

“Hmm,” he says with a nod, then moves to a cabinet. “I don’t have fresh cookies, but I do have…” He reaches to the very top shelf, grabs a familiar blue, crinkly package, and smiles like he knows he just got an A on a test from me. “Oreos.”

I smile wide in return because he’s cute, and I’m hyped for the impending sugar rush.

“Do you have milk?” I ask the most important question when it comes to the black and white cookies.

“Do you have an allergy like Ava?” I shake my head and smile that he knows something so pedestrian about my best friend. I don’t remind myself Jeremy never remembered Ava had an allergy, always suggesting the worst restaurant options when I ever convinced him to go out with us.

“No, I gratefully can and do eat everything without an issue.”

He smiles. “Then yes. I do.” He reaches into the fridge next, pulling out a fresh gallon, then grabs two tall glasses before pouring each of us a glass.

“Plates?” I ask as he peels back the plastic covering the package, and he shakes his head.

“Oreos taste better when you make crumbs.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I say with a laugh, dipping my cookie in my milk as he stares at me taking my first bite with a smile. I sigh in relief at the processed sugar. My sweet tooth might not be great for me, but there are much worse vices in this world.

“It definitely is,” he says before dipping his own cookie and eating.

“A real wild Saturday night,” I say with a laugh, leaning at the counter.

“Do you normally partake in wild Saturday nights?” he asks, not judging, mostly just curious, like he’s genuinely interested in learning more about me.

I shake my head. “No, no. They’re not really my thing.” I smile at him and, for some reason, continue. “I like Sundays best of all. A good Sunday reset, preparing yourself for the upcoming week? Way better than a party. And you can’t do a Sunday reset when you’re hungover.” Wes chews, watching me thoughtfully, and under his careful scrutiny, I keep speaking. I could tell myself it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion, but I know it’s just Wes, and this strange pull I have to him. “I think the last wild Saturday night I had got me arrested, so…”

“Ah, the glitter,” he says with a laugh, and I nod. “What made you land on glitter?”

“We had a long list of revenge options, but that seemed the most…impactful.”

“A whole list?” he asks with a laugh, and I nod. “Do you still have it?”

I reach for my phone. “I think so, it was in my notes app,” I say, then smile when I find a note titled Ways to Destroy Shithead . I hand it over.

“God, he should be happy you stuck with glitter. Ruin his car?”

I shrug. “He has the ugliest classic car that isn’t even cool, and he brags about it all the time. I’d love to key it or something.” I sigh, grabbing another cookie and dipping it. “Unfortunately, I learned my lesson, so I will no longer be fucking with him.”

“A shame.”

“I don’t know, I think marrying into his favorite band and being temporarily more famous than him is more than enough payback. He always used to brag about how much more clout he had than me.”

Wes shakes his head before handing my phone back to me. “He’s a tool.”

“You’re telling me.” And then, again, because I’m exhausted and I think my brain forgets I’m not with my best friends and venting, I blurt out, “He couldn’t even make me come.”

Wes snorts out a laugh, coughing and choking as I feel my cheeks get hot.

“Well, it seems like you did a pretty good job of that yourself,” he says, and at the reminder of what happened in the hotel room, the burn deepens, my blush spreading to my chest.

“Look, Wes, I know I haven’t said it yet, but I’m really sorry about that. I put you in a really uncomfortable position and?—”

He shifts in front of me, stepping forward and pinning me to the kitchen counter before moving his hands so he’s holding my face.

“Harper, baby, look at me,” he says, and when I do, he keeps talking. “Never—and I mean never —apologize for there being this attraction between us, or for you acting on it.”

My cheeks feel like they might alight, but he keeps going, shifting his body closer to mine.

“Harper, I have jacked off twice as many times since yesterday at the mere memory of you moaning my name through a goddamn door.” Heat floods me, and my mind stupidly tries to figure out when he would have done that. “And each of those heavily featured what was once a far-off fantasy of you offering yourself to me.”

“But you turned me down,” I say without meaning to. “You didn’t want to?—”

Quickly, he shakes his head. “Oh, no. No, no, no, Harper. That’s not what happened, and if that’s what you think, let me set you straight.” He moves, his hands going to my hips and lifting me to the counter so we’re eye to eye. “I want you more than you could ever imagine, but I am not going to let you belittle this thing between us by calling it friends with benefits . I am your friend, and I want benefits , but that’s not all I want. I know you don’t think that’s a good idea, which is why I said I’d be patient. Because I know we’ll be the best idea when it happens. And yes, I said when ,” he says with a smile.

“You’re not ready for that, and that’s fine. You were fucked over, and we threw ourselves into this. I want you to know I’m ready when you are, but take all the time you need. I’ll be here until then. Waiting.” He gently presses his lips to mine, and my body goes slack with the simple kiss, the traitor.

It’s short, but it says everything I know he means before he grabs another cookie and moves on like nothing happened like, he didn’t just shift my entire world on its axis.

Not long after, a yawn leaves my lips, and Wes lets out a deep laugh.

“I should get you to bed. You’re exhausted.”

I shrug, too tired to watch my words. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep in that bed. I kept tossing and turning. I think I got too used to sleeping with you,” I say low, a blush burning over my cheeks.

Wes crosses his arms over his chest, smirking at me. “Is that right, little wife?” I nod, eyes locked on him. “I had the same issue. It’s why I came down here.”

His eyes fire with heat, and a million wisecracks float through my mind, sassy or spicy things I could say to tempt and tease him. I yawn amidst my internal turmoil, and his eyes go soft, his hand moving to fully cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone as he stares at me.

“You’re exhausted,” he says to himself. “You really couldn’t sleep?” I shake my head, too tired to keep the lies in place. He seems to ponder that before answering. “All right.” His hand stays on my chin, keeping my eyes locked on him. “My bed or yours?”

“What?”

“You need to sleep. Maybe a warm body would help. That’s probably your issue.” It’s almost self-deprecating, the look he gives me, removing himself from the equation of why I slept well. “You’d been in a relationship for a long time, you probably got used to it.”

“Wes, Jeremy and I—” I start, suddenly needing to explain, but he shakes his head, a guard going up.

“No, not before you’re about to sleep with me. Don’t bring him here,” he whispers. “Yours or mine?”

My mind weighs my options, already accepting and, admittedly, excited to sleep with Wes. But when I think of lying in sheets and blankets that smell like him, of burying myself in them, cocooning in the smell of him, the answer is obvious.

“Yours,” I say, and he smiles gently before nodding.

“Get what you need from your room, then meet me there, okay?” And without another word or confirmation, he’s walking off, leaving me more confused than ever, a feat I didn’t know could be mastered.

Ten minutes later, in my most conservative yet cute pajamas, face washed and teeth brushed, I’m standing awkwardly in his doorway. Wes is lying in his bed, no shirt but a pair of loose pajama pants low on his hips, lying on top of the blankets and scrolling on his phone. When he notices me, he smiles, setting his phone down and tipping his head to the bed.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you some sleep.”

I do as he asks, settling into the giant bed next to him and taking in as much of the room as I can while he gets up and turns the lights out. When the room is dark, we lay next to each other, an awkward gap between us before he lets out a laugh, shifting and tugging me until my head is on his pec, my hand on his chest, his arm wrapped around my back and holding me close.

It settles instantly, the blanket of calm I felt the morning I woke up like this, a calm I’ve never experienced before in my life. It’s unsettling and beautiful at the same time. Moments pass in silence as Wes’s breathing evens, and sleep quickly and unexpectedly starts to fall over me.

But before I slip completely, I need to tell him.

“Hey, Wes?” I ask softly.

“Mmm,” he hums back.

“I know you said you don’t want him here, but I need you to know. I didn’t sleep with him.” His body goes tighter, a barely noticeable shift, but I track it all the same, and silence takes over the room once more.

I scramble to explain, words falling from my lips, my filter already in dreamland.

“I’ve never been able to sleep with anyone. I’m a light sleeper as it is, I have a hard time falling asleep and…we had separate beds. I couldn’t sleep with him at all.”

A beat passes before Wes’s sleepy rumble fills the room, his hand pushing my hair back, a sigh leaving my lips at the feeling.

“But you can sleep with me,” he says, not a question but a statement.

“But I can sleep with you,” I confirm. With that off my chest, exhaustion creeps up faster, swallowing me whole.

I wake without Wes, and although I’m well-rested, there’s a pit of disappointment in my stomach that I don’t want to admit I feel.

Eventually, I roll out of bed, shuffling down to the kitchen to try and figure out coffee. There's a note on the fridge in messy boy writing telling me Wes is at the studio today and won’t be home until late. I knew they’d be doing a bunch of recording after we got back, finishing up the upcoming album, so I’m not surprised, but the hint of disappointment I’m forced to ignore is a bit concerning.

But most concerning is the way my heart flips when I look in the fridge. There’s a stack of premade cookie dough, a green Post-it on the side.

Some late-night snack options.