Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
HARPER
“Why Ms. Cartwright, are you stalking me?” I can feel the heat rise in my face. Do I admit I stayed up way past my bedtime cyberstalking him? Hell no. I’m taking that confession to my grave.
“You’re hard to miss, Mr. Decker. You’re all over my social media. I can’t get away from you.” Okay. Only slightly true. More like I googled him until my algorithms assumed he’s all I wanted to see. Stupid computers.
“Well, for your information, you can’t believe everything you see on the internet. While I often go out in the company of beautiful women, I haven’t had a relationship in the past four years. Contrary to popular opinion, the internet does not know all.” He seems sincere. “So back to your audition, as you called it. Hit me with thirty seconds of Harper.”
I take a big gulp of champagne, and he goes to refill my glass to find a few drops left in the bottle. Did I drink most of that? Oh, I’m feeling tipsy and giggly. So yes, it’s possible. He casually slides my water toward me, encouraging me to hydrate.
“Okay. First, I’m not usually a day drinker, so this is already out of character.” At the mention of day drinking, I hiccup. He holds back his laughter, and I roll my eyes.
I shimmy in my chair, sit up straight, flash my pageant queen smile, and try to compose myself. I’m going to pull out my Southern accent for this audition. Although I moved to Atlanta in high school, it’s difficult to replace my Minnesota accent. I’m going to try anyway.
Julian pulls out his phone and starts the timer.
“Hi, I’m Harper Cartwright.” I hesitate for a second. I recently had a birthday, but with the move and everything, it was just another day. “Twenty-seven, a fan of most things hockey, except the smelly gloves. I enjoy reading, love animals, would like to get a kitten, but don’t think Noodle would appreciate that. Oh, and I adore otters. Love them! I want to take a cooking class in Italy. Huge fan of anything banana flavored but don’t particularly like bananas. Enjoy live music, but I’ve never been to a big concert venue like a stadium or arena. I want to be good at line dancing, but I’m quick to get offbeat and out of step. Oh, and I’m double jointed.” I reach over and stop his timer. Thirty point two seconds. I sit back and cross my arms, damn proud of that performance.
“Did I pass this round?” Is that what he wanted? Did I share too much? I’m sure I’m boring compared to his life. But based on the growing smirk on his face, I think he’s amused.
“With flying colors, but I have so many questions. A little concerned you stumbled on your age, though.”
I giggle at that. “Yeah, my birthday was last week. With everything going on, I kinda forgot I’ve made another rotation around the sun.”
“Well, we’ll do a belated birthday celebration to make it memorable.”
“Unnecessary. Now it’s your turn.” I reset the timer and hold up his phone. I can’t wait to hear the insight he’ll share. “Go.”
“Julian Barnett Decker, thirty-one, Gemini. Perpetual bachelor, but fine with changing that status. Middle child. I like most sports but grew up playing baseball. Favorite animal is a tortoise. Favorite food is Tex-Mex because I like it spicy.” He wiggles his eyebrows and I roll my eyes at his innuendo. “Not a fan of flying, but I do it anyway. Broadway musicals are dope, and I can’t pass up a good-natured prank. I can’t sing for shit, but that doesn’t stop me from singing in the shower. I’m loyal to a fault, and I’d take a bullet for my family or friends. And you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, and I want to kiss you so fucking bad it hurts.” He reaches across the table and takes his phone from my hand, stopping the timer. He then takes a finger, places it below my chin, and closes my mouth.
All playfulness is gone, and he’s gauging my reaction. Which is stunned. I reach for my glass and knock over my water, breaking the spell. The waiter is at our table in an instant, mopping up my mess.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“It’s okay, ma’am, I’ve got it,” the waiter says. Second time I’ve been ma’amed this week. Ouch. That’s more cold water thrown on me, bringing me back to reality. Because Julian wanting to kiss me is not my reality. It can’t be.
Julian stands next to me, holding out his hand. “Come on, let’s continue this conversation as we walk off lunch.” His carefree, easy-going smile is back, making me wonder if I imagined what he said. And this is why I don’t drink alcohol. Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. And he’s incredibly hot. I can’t stop my overly horny brain from daydreaming about what it would be like if this were real.
We walk out of the café's back door and find ourselves in a sketchy alley, but as I look around, is actually clean and well kept. Not what it initially appears to be. Like this day.
He takes my hand and leads me to the main street. Our hands fit perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. His light squeeze gives me a warm tingling all over. I mean, all my bits are tingling. If he makes me feel this way holding hands, I can’t imagine what else his hands can do to me. I’ll have to save that fantasy for later.
“Did we dine and dash?” I never saw a bill come to the table.
“Which answer would make you more surprised?” The twinkle in his eye is back.
I shake my head in disbelief. Julian keeps me on my toes. He also doesn’t treat me as off limits or a girl who needs to be protected. I like it. More than I should.
We walk to a subway entrance, and he stops and takes a deep breath. “Look Harper, I’m not a fan of you taking the subway, but you’re a city girl now, and it’s part of this life. Let me show you all the right things to do, so you’re not easy pickins.” The butterflies go crazy in my chest as his eyes look me up and down. Those baby blues are filled with a hunger lunch didn’t satisfy. Between his subtle signals and his slight Southern accent, I can’t hide the grin that forms on my lips. Maybe he is the protective type, but hides it well. Points for trying. I assumed that bossy, protective trait was in there somewhere. His restraint in not telling me what to do is another point in his favor.
“Deal. You tell me where we’re going, and I’ll figure it out.” Honestly, maneuvering the subway has been my one roadblock to exploring the city, and I’m grateful for the tutorial. We go down the stairs, and his grip on me tightens. He’s nervous, but for me or him, I’m uncertain.
“Let’s head to Central Park, upper west side,” he says. I pull out my phone, and I hear a slight “tsk, tsk” from beside me. Okay, so don’t use my phone. Got it. I glance at the map and find a line traveling uptown. I head down to find the right train, Julian never letting me go.
He shows me the best places to sit/stand, explains how to hold my bag, and insists I use plenty of hand sanitizer. I snicker at his gentle reminders when I’m not doing something right. Makes me want to be wrong if only to watch him squirm. Teasing him is fun and I’m getting more enjoyment than I should from his reactions.
He’s also peppering me with questions. Favorite color? Favorite book? Sweet or salty? Clothing brand, music genre, last movie I watched, the list goes on. I try to ask him questions, but he won’t have it. This getting to know one another is pretty one sided, as far as I’m concerned.
When we make our way above ground, he visibly relaxes. His constant state of high alert lessens and the wrinkles on his brow recede. Dropping his shoulders, a cocky grin spreads across his face. His disdain for the subway couldn’t be more obvious.
“Do you mind if we duck into my place to freshen up?” I look around, well aware it’s a typical tourist move, and take in my surroundings. Central Park is on one side of the street and beautiful old buildings on the other. He lives here? Not some tall, glass, phallic-looking building. Another assumption corrected.
“Um, are you going to kill me in there?”
“Gorgeous, I’m not sure why you’re so concerned about me killing you when you’ve been killing me all day. Come on.” He tugs my hand toward a building that isn’t tall or shiny. Instead, it looks historic, distinguished. An older gentleman opens the door for us, like he knew we’d be arriving at this exact time. While my building has a doorman, this building feels different, more upper crust.
“Mr. Decker.” He gives a stoic nod.
“David, this is Harper Cartwright. Please ensure she’s on my guest list and has access to my place, even if I’m not home.” David gives a small salute, and I gasp at his request. He looks at me and shrugs. “In case you find yourself lost, need a place to rest, or hide your shopping bags.” The corners of his mouth turn up, and the butterflies in my stomach scatter like they’re drunk on champagne too.
We head to the elevator, where we’re greeted by yet another doorman, or maybe he’s the concierge. The building is in a pricey neighborhood and has more security and staff than I’m used to. “Frankie, did you catch the game last night?”
“Sure did. You were so right about Kline. I don’t know how you do it, but you’re always right.” He shakes his head in awe.
Julian laughs it off. “Frankie, this is Harper. She’s a good friend, new to the city. She’s got open access to my place anytime she needs it.”
He clicks his heels together and gives a slight bow. “Yes, sir.” He tips his hat to me in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Harper. Welcome to New York.” He pulls out a business card and hands it to me. “Please call me if you need anything. Transportation, restaurant recommendations, theater tickets, you name it. I’m your guy. Unless you want sports tickets.” He points his thumb at Julian. “Then he’s your guy.” They both laugh. Clearly, Frankie has profound respect for Julian and will go to any lengths for him. While it speaks highly for Frankie, to me, it says more about Julian. It’s the way he treats people. They aren’t beneath him or employees, but friends.
“Thanks, Frankie. I appreciate it. I can’t have enough friends in this city.” While tucking his card into my purse, the elevator doors open. We step in and are alone in the quiet, and it puts me on edge. I’ve gotten used to the city noise now, and silence is almost painful. So is the tension. Being alone with him is a bad idea, especially with my lowered inhibitions. Julian pulls out a card and the elevator rises. We both look straight ahead, lost in our thoughts.
When the doors open, we step into a brightly decorated foyer. Julian guides me into the apartment, and I’m amazed once again. First, that the elevator opens directly into his apartment. Second, the open, relaxed vibe is not what I expected at all. The white, modern kitchen opens into a central sitting area. The large denim sectional is casual, hip. Shelves overflowing with books cover one wall. The fireplace is in the corner, and there’s an oversized chair and blanket waiting for someone to curl up with a cup of hot chocolate. There is one hall to the left of the room, another to the right.
“The guest bathroom is down that hall. I’m going to freshen up and need to make a quick call. You okay for a few minutes?”
“Yeah, fine. Thanks.” I’m still fixated in one spot, taking it all in. Julian is not what I thought at all. I’m not getting playboy vibes. He’s kind, thoughtful. Unexpected. Just like this day.
Julian goes down the other hall and calls out, “Feel free to look around. I know you want to.” His laughter fades as he gets further down the hall.
I find the bathroom and freshen up. Under the guise of getting to know him, I snoop in the guest bedroom, and it’s nice, cozy, almost feminine. The framed photos that adorn the dresser catch my attention. Julian’s family and friend group is tight and elite. Lawson and I call it the Decker Connection. It’s like six degrees of Kevin Bacon but with Deckers. I can see the group evolution in these pictures. As time passes, new faces are added in each picture.
I lift the first framed photo and examine the details. It’s Julian, his brother Alexander, and sister Ashleigh as kids. I assume it’s their parents with their arms around them, embracing them with love and protection. They seem to be at a beach with the dunes filling the background. Everyone’s attention is on Ashleigh and they’re in various stages of laughter. They all look so happy and carefree. The image resonates deeply, reminding me of a similar family photograph I've packed away in a storage container. I wipe an errant tear and place the picture on the dresser and scan the others.
There are the college pictures with the addition of Chance, and Alexander’s best friend, Trevor Lewis, owner of the Savannah Pajamas Baseball team.
The most recent picture appears to be from Alexander’s wedding. The Decker Connection is much larger now and includes Cole Davidson, Ashleigh’s fiancé; Cole’s sister Darcy; her boyfriend, Matt Hartman; Alexander’s wife, Dani; and their son, Tyler. Julian and Trevor have their arms around Emma, Ashleigh’s best friend. There’s another Decker wedding coming up, and I’m curious about the new Decker Connection picture. Who will be in this one?
I continue my snooping and sneak a peek in the closet. It’s filled with women’s clothes and I noticed girly stuff in the bathroom. Yep. Figures. Julian would have women here all the time. The idea of Julian and me fades and I’m filled with disappointment. I need to get real. Of course we can’t be a thing, not with his constant stream of women. He says he hasn’t dated anyone in four years. Doesn’t mean he’s living the life of a monk, now does it?
I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl, although I wish I was. Others make it seem easy. Just sex. No strings. I tried it once and was a total basket case afterward. The constant post sex analysis and emotional torture I put myself through was too much for me. I promised myself never again. I’m a relationship girl through and through, even though there haven’t been many. One thing I’ll say about my brother and his friends, they’ve taught me I’m a woman of worth, and I deserve all of a man, not merely the parts he wants to share, especially his penis. But call me curious, because I can’t seem to stop my mind from wandering to all of Julian’s parts.
Like any red-blooded woman with eyes and a libido, I’m drawn to Julian. You’d have to be dead to be immune to his magnetism. I need to shut down my foolish imagination. I’m not living in a romance novel where the playboy changes for the small-town girl. But a girl can dream, can’t she? Sure, but she ends up devastated in the end. Oh, what am I thinking? He’s not really interested in me. Is he?
We’d never work because he’d need to drop the facade and be completely honest with me. I’m convinced he uses his charm as a defense mechanism. Call it my intuition, my Spidey sense. Something’s off. I don't know what he's hiding, but he's not telling the whole story.