Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
HARLOW
Combing through the rack of dresses at my favorite buy, sell, trade shop, I hear the sound of a motorcycle cutting its engine.
Instinctively I look out through the window, knowing I will see fucking Carbon—that asshole.
Yup, there he is. He hooks his helmet to his bike, then strolls all casual-like up to the store, pulling the door open.
His eyes move around the room, landing on me, his brow gives a slight taunting twitch before he turns towards the men’s section.
The rest of my shopping trip, we basically run parallel to one another, weaving through the racks, pulling things out, making a pile, then going to the dressing rooms. I step out at one point wanting to see a pair of black cropped pants in the trifold mirrors.
I step up onto the block they have and twist looking at myself.
“Just like Audrey Hepburn,” his voice drifts to my ears.
Looking up, I catch his eyes in the mirror, he holds a couple hangers with pants on them, all are dark denim, black, or gray.
He turns away, heading for the front counter, I make my way back to my dressing room.
Finding myself hurrying to get dressed in my floaty red skirt with black low front tank, I shove my feet into my shoes and yank my leather jacket on.
I collect the two piles, rushing out of the dressing room.
I deposit the ‘no’ pile on the rack, then rush to the counter just as he is collecting his receipt.
I try to look casual as I hand my things over to be rung up. He gives out a little chuckle, without even looking my way, he heads out the door. I gust out a breath, “Asshole.”
The clerk looks at me with shock. I hold my hands up. “No, not… I’m sorry. I just… it’s stupid. That guy…”
She blasts a smile at me. “He’s so fucking hot. Right?”
I grumble, “Yeah.”
“I was surprised to see him in here today.” We both look out the windows, watching him shove his purchases into the saddle bags on his bike.
“Why is that?”
“He was here yesterday. Though, he was getting some shirts yesterday, so just kind of weird he didn’t get pants too.” She flips her hands out like ‘whatever.’
I could tell her why he came in today, but I won’t.
It isn’t her business that my brother has him following me.
If he isn’t then a prospect is. I don’t get why, but it is frustrating.
For a full fucking year, he just shows up places, like here, the coffee shop, or the grocery store.
I know he lives on the other side of this damned city, so he is going out of his way.
The fact that he is following me isn’t what frustrates and annoys me, it is that my brother is clearly behind this. No, Carbon isn’t following me because he wants to be, he is following me because my stupid brother told him to keep an eye on me.
I just wish for once Carbon would give a shit about me.
He doesn’t hide that he is following me, he makes no attempt at pretend.
No, he looks right at me, does whatever he is going to do, then takes off.
Huh. Well, I guess he isn’t exactly following me.
More like he just randomly shows up or has a prospect show up wherever I am.
For sure every time I deviate from my usual, come to think of it, the only time a prospect shows up is when I deviate from the usual and it seems to line up with him being busy.
Whatever, he’s still an asshole.
The next afternoon, I am at my favorite coffee shop, sitting at a table sipping a cappuccino when Carbon walks in.
I grumble ‘asshole’ under my breath. He doesn’t even bother looking my way, which just serves to annoy me more.
He orders, then stands to the side, his back to me.
I take the opportunity to let my eyes scan over his stupidly good-looking backside.
I hate that he does it for me. It just isn’t fair.
My eyes take in his ass while my mind and heart definitely appreciate the way his coarse slacks hug at his ass.
His worn in Docs look perfect with his whole aesthetic.
He bends down fixing his lace that seems to have come undone, I keep my eyes on that pert ass, when he snorts a laugh my eyes dart to the side of his leg catching his eyes on me as he bends down.
Fuck.
A throat clears, my head twists and I see a tall, lean muscled man standing there, he has short cropped blond hair, brown eyes, and some thick black rimmed glasses. “Mind if I sit?”
I look around noting that there are empty tables, so he is clearly seeking me out. My eyes glance over at Carbon, whose eyes are glued on me now, along with a deep scowl on his face. I smile up at the stranger. “Sure.”
He pulls out the chair and smiles at me as he holds his hand out. “Austin.”
I take his hand. “Harlow.”
“Harlow, I like that.” His eyes move over me, “What do you do Harlow?”
I motion to my tattooed arms. “Tattoo artist. You?”
He smirks. “I’m something very boring and so generic in the Silicon Valley. I’m a computer software engineer.”
I laugh, totally playing soft for this man because I can see I have Carbon’s full attention from the corner of my eye. “Yeah, that is pretty generic for here, but I doubt it’s boring.”
His face lights up and it is so adorable. “Thank you for not glazing over or immediately rushing to get me to leave.”
“Does that usually happen when you mention your job?” I ask, genuinely curious now.
“Yeah. Sadly.” He adjusts the sleeve of his black sweater, pushing it up close to his elbow, he then does the same with the other sleeve. My eyes move over his ink.
“Where do you go for ink? That looks like Mad Max’s work.” If he tells me it isn’t, I will be shocked.
He chuckles. “Nailed it.”
Carbon suddenly comes into view just beyond Austin’s shoulder. He drops down into a chair staring right at me, pretending to not notice him, I blast a pretty smile at Austin. “Austin, I just want to be sure I am not misreading this, are you hitting on me?”
He looks amused and pleased. “Hell yes. I am not going to lie, I have seen you here before and I regretted not coming over to say hi. So, when I saw you today, I felt like it was a sign.”
“I’m glad you did. What do you like to do for fun?” I question, keeping my eyes glued on Austin, but still able to see the fury playing out on Carbon’s face because of how he has positioned himself.
“I am afraid I am terribly boring in life, not just in work. I don’t do much, but I do like to go to small venue concerts. Ah… and I really like beer—surprising, I’m sure.” He gives me the cutest smirk.
I laugh. This guy is kind of lovely, I bite my lip as I decide maybe I should try dating again.
I sure as shit am not getting anywhere with the object of my obsession and likely will get my ass handed to me later today after he tells my brother about Austin hitting on me.
Fuck them, I am a grown ass woman and can do what I want, even if they don’t trust me.
“I happen to like small venue concerts and beer.”
He yanks out his phone, opens an app, then surfs through. “Any particular music?”
“I have pretty broad tastes.” I shrug.
“Tomorrow night… are you working late? I know tattoo artists tend to work evenings,” he hesitates.
“I am free after seven,” I tell him
“Easy, this doesn’t start until nine thirty, hear me out, it’s weird. Maybe…” He chuckles. I motion for him to go on. “At the Green there is a 90’s rock covers night…”
“That sounds fucking awesome.” I genuinely am down for that.
He beams at me. “Awesome, if we go early, since it’s just a pub thing, we can make sure we get some stools or something.”
“Alright, I’ll meet you there, say eight?” I suggest.
“Can I get your number?” He holds his phone out.
I take it, dropping my number into it. He shoots me a quick text. “There now you have mine. I should get back to work, but I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to it too.” I wave as he looks back after pushing through the doors.
Carbon drops down into the chair Austin vacated. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Hi Carbon, I’m great, thanks for asking. How are you?” I let my frown deepen across my face. “Fucking asshole.”
“You are not going out with that guy.” He presses his hands on the table, leaning across, he keeps his voice low, “You don’t even fucking know him, he could be a fucking?—”
“What? He could be a what? You are talking to me like you know me. You don’t. You have never once fucking tried to get to know me,” I snap.
“I fucking know you,” he grits.
I throw my head back and laugh, then cut it off abruptly. “That’s fucking rich.”
“Your full name is Harlow Lilian Hoss. While yes, you like a broad selection of music, your bread and butter are nearly any and all rock, but fuck do you love anything angsty or sad.
You never tell your nail technician what you want her to do to your nails, preferring to let it be her choice, though she gets your aesthetic, which is why you can trust her.
You are obsessed with romantasy books, particularly all things fae.
However right now you are on an Orc kick, I think some people still count them as fae.
“You hate chocolate, but you love chewy gummy candy, bonus if it’s sour chewy gummy candy.
You hate tomatoes, not because you don’t like the taste, but the texture skeeves you out, that is why you like them chopped into bits for salsa or cooked into things.
Cucumbers are the only food you won’t pick off of something, but instead will send the meal back, unless it is only touching one small part of the food, then anything touching it gets removed with it because for you, cucumbers are insanely strong tasting, and you fucking hate them.
“How am I doing?” he sneers at me.
“Superficial shit, things you learned from stalking me.” I swallow hard not liking where this is going because it is beginning to make me feel raw—exposed.
He nods. “I wanted to avoid the rest because so much of it isn’t pleasant, but here we go.
Your mom is an epic level cunt. She used to slap you around, drag you by your hair, and call you names.
She made you feel unworthy of love. Your dad…
well the man she claimed was your dad, was a perverted sick motherfucker.
He used to make you uncomfortable, checking you out, which always felt like shit because he was supposed to be your dad, and dads don’t do shit like that.
“Then there was fucking Bobby. Until he turned on you, that piece of shit made you feel less alone because all the assholes you were in school with were completely unable to see the incredible person you are.
They were all so obsessed with fitting in that anything even slightly different—a.k.a.
, interesting—was terrifying and threatened their ability to blend.
“But you don’t blend. You never did. You never could, because shit as dynamic as you could never just blend.” His finger stabs against the tabletop to press his point.
“But fucking Bobby, that weak willed piece of sh?—”
“Stop.” I turn my face away from him as that damned burning sensation builds at my eyes. “Please.”
Fingers wrap around my chin, pulling my face back to force me to look at him. The burning in my eyes forgotten as my whole body lights up under his touch. “That asshole you said you would go out with, just like Bobby, and any other piece of shit from your past, none of them are worthy of you.”
I try to slap his hand away hating and loving in equal measures how he is looking into my eyes and making me feel seen. His hand stays gripped, but it feels fucking good, not harsh. I focus my eyes on his nose. “You are the worst of them all.”
“I am,” he agrees, making my eyes flick back up to meet his. “I am the absolute worst.”
“Why are you doing this?” My voice sounds weak and I fucking hate myself for it.
He gusts out a heavy hard breath. “Torture.”
I roll my eyes. “Just leave.”
Releasing my chin, he pushes to his feet, grabbing his coffee, he walks out.
Just like that.