18. Harrison
Chapter 18
Harrison
A saying like, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” doesn’t make sense to me. I think it’s better to know what you’re taking on. Some gifts end up being a bigger pain in the ass than an actual gift. I can’t recall a time when I have experienced this myself, but this feels like that kind of situation.
Harlow is unlike any other woman I’ve met. Maybe she’s a little like Cassidy, but not enough to make me feel like they’re kindred spirits or soul sisters or some weird shit like that. It’s their sarcasm, wit, and love for literature. Their no-bullshit, up-front attitude.
Her offer for no-strings companionship was unnerving. Her financial offer was shocking. It’s late and I stare up at my ceiling from bed. My chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths as I remember that ride with her earlier today.
She looked like something out of a magazine in her tight, black riding pants, black boots, athletic granite top, and black vest. She looked good. I’ve seen girls in English riding apparel before, mostly at shows, and not once did it give me a raging hard-on. Maybe some piqued interest in a curvy woman when those tight pants stretched across her ass, and she posted during a trot. Harlow just standing in that outfit had me readjusting myself.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but imagine her in a more relaxed style on the back of my horse. Black denim, worn black button-up and Stetson, a jade, or maybe even citrine bolo tie sitting on her flat chest in stark contrast. Harlow lacks curves, but I can’t get the idea of running my hands over her slender, toned body out of my head. My father has always told us, “A woman is more than just how she appears.” It has to be that unusual personality and aura of hers that draws me in.
Maybe this is what Cassidy and Hunter were talking about?
The fact that I always date a woman of a similar mold seems to only have brought me trouble. On the app, I tried women who may have looked different but, in the end, I put them in the position I wanted. A domestic one. I’m feeling misogynistic, and it doesn’t sit right with me.
Harlow isn’t like the rest of the women I pursue, in every aspect.
She offered me money. For my time.
That has to mean sex, it can’t mean anything else.
She said I didn’t have to sleep with her if I didn’t want to.
I pull my hands from behind my head and push the heels of them into my eyes. All I can think about is her. The worst part of it is, I want to fuck her.
I want to fuck her bad.
The money has nothing to do with it, but if I got some I could pay off the loans I took out for the bunkhouse and maybe even break land for the house .
I don’t even know how much she would be willing to pay.
I could do what everyone keeps suggesting and have my first fling. The erotic thoughts of Harlow plague me daily, and I have no doubt that getting it out of my system would help clear up the mental fog I’ve been feeling.
Working on the farm every day has been a struggle. Avoiding the bunkhouse when I know she’ll be outside is easy enough, but I’m always alert. Listening for the cadence of her light footsteps, listening for her voice, waiting for the chill that runs up my spine whenever she’s close. It all has me on edge.
My lack of experience regarding a fling has me nervous. Are there rules to an engagement like this? Does she stay the night? Do we hold hands as we walk the property? Do I have the liberty to kiss her as I please? None of it makes sense.
Sliding my hands behind my head again, I look around my room. I take in the simple bare walls save for a round, black-rimmed mirror and a half dozen hooks—one holding my cap, another my Stetson, and one more holding a flannel that has another day’s wear ahead.
The main house has so much more to it—pictures along the walls, seasonal decorations, art of some sort. I love art but haven’t put anything up. Especially nothing I’ve done myself. My mother would always hang up my sketches, and it was so embarrassing until I got comfortable in my own style. My main room’s most elaborate decor is three generic prints of plants, but that’s about it.
Would Harlow think my place is stale and uninviting? Would she care long enough to take in the lack of details at my place? Would I only visit her in the bunkhouse ?
Letting out a heavy sigh, I will my eyes shut, waiting for sleep to block out the overflowing thoughts.
“Holy shit, you’ll be her pretty woman!” Hunter laughs.
“I will not. Will you take me seriously for a whole damn second?” I say, loading up my quad for the day.
“Okay, okay.” He pulls his beanie off his head and runs his hands through his hair, giving his head a scratch before sliding it back on. I know he hates knit hats, but he hates cold ears more. He’ll be scratching his head all day.
“So, she said you don’t have to sleep together, but she wants your company. She’ll pay you to what, be around her?”
“Yeah, that’s basically what she said. Something about our tension helping her be more creative.” I emphasize my last word.
“Bad idea. You’ll end up following her around like a puppy and begging to sleep with her. She will obviously say yes, then you’ll want more, and she’ll pack up and leave.” Hunter heaves supplies into the bed of his truck as he packs it up to run errands.
“I will not. I know that nothing can come of it. The cash could be good. I could pay off some stuff, ya know?” I watch my brother’s frame go still at my words. His hands grip the edge of the bed tightly.
“You in any kind of trouble?” he asks sternly. I fear for Blake as she gets older; that girl won’t get a chance to date. He’d make a body disappear with how fiercely he wants to protect us all.
“No, no, but I could just be further along in some plans.” He relaxes with my words and nods. I think he knows this feeling well, wanting to just have a little more.
“Regardless, I think it’s a bad idea. I just feel like this isn’t your style.”
Honestly, I’m a little shocked he’s so against it. Last week, he and Cassidy were talking about how I needed to try something casual and not try so hard to make things work. I saw him go through hell for the girl he wanted. I’m tossing around the idea of something simple for once and he’s so against it.
“I thought you and Cassidy thought I ought to try something casual?”
“This isn’t casual . . . it’s contracted. You can’t do that. The fact that she’s so close makes it worse. I know you and I know your heart. You can’t do a casual repetitive thing. You’re too good for that.” I see the love he has for me in his eyes; it makes them softer.
“Too good?” I mock.
He huffs at me. “Not like you’re better than anyone. Like you’re actually too good. Too nice, too committed, too sincere.”
I know what he’s saying. He’s saying what I already know. What I’ve already told Harlow. I can’t do casual. I’ve never been able to. I also know that I’ve never really tried. Hunter isn’t the only stubborn Hill in this house. I would dig my heels in deep to prove to my girlfriends our relationships were worth saving. I would try over and over to show them that this town had everything we needed.
Maybe I need to learn how to let things go. Harlow is the epitome of that. She has a tentative date to leave this town and not because it’s not enough for her. She’s leaving because she already has a home.
I think I need to try something new, but a deeper part of me has a feeling Hunter is right. This is a bad idea. I don’t need the input of others to make a choice, but I’ve lived in a tight community my whole life. Little is left to oneself around here.
“I know what you mean.” I try to keep my tone lighthearted to ease his worries. Hunter has so much on his mind all the time. It’s just the way he’s wired. He knew what he wanted in life at a young age, and as those dreams evolved so did the added stress. His family has become the center of his world, much like our dad. It’s great to see, but part of me wants him to know we’re more partners than anything, and that he doesn’t need to worry about me too much.
“Good, call me if you need anything.” He nods once before getting into his truck.
“See you later!” Once his truck is down the drive and onto the road, I pull out my phone.
Me: I have a question.
Silas: Go on.
Me: Do you think I could sleep with someone without catching feelings?
Silas: …
Me: ?
INCOMING CALL: SILAS
I’m a little surprised he called, but sometimes when we’re both busy doing things, a Bluetooth earbud phone call is just easier. I toss a few more things into the trailer behind my quad before answering.
“Hey, man.” I lean against the large tires, crossing one ankle over the other .
“What’s going on? You thinking about bagging one of the app girls to get your dick wet?”
I choke on my own spit as I try to swallow. How can people say some of the shit they do and be serious? My brother and I, hell, even Cassidy with us, we shoot the shit. We rip each other up all the time. Silas, who I also fuck around with often, will fire off with something like this and be sincere.
“What? No! The girl staying at my B and B asked if I wanted to hook up while she’s here.” I remember the interest Silas had shown in her, and I wouldn’t make a move in either direction without talking to him first. He hasn’t told me he’s interested in her, but I saw him check her out a few times the night she showed up at the bar. That’s enough interest for one brother to ask another before moving forward. That’s always how we’ve operated.
Silas blows a whistle over the phone.
“You lucky mother fuc?—”
“I haven’t said yes. If you have an interest in her, then I don’t.”
“If I’m interested, you’re not? Listen, man. That girl is hot, and not the kind of hot we see around here often. She’s the kind of hot you’ll think about on your deathbed. You’ll be old one day lying there, basically dying, and your grandkid will ask you something you’ll never regret. Bagging that chick will be the second or third thing that will come to mind.”
“You sound interested, like you want the memories for your own deathbed.”
“I’ve had plenty of casual hookups for my deathbed. There’s going to be a whole replay reel, plus I won’t have any grandchildren to ask. ”
“You seem so sure.” I joke but there’s a stagnant silence on the line when he would usually joke.
“Take the offer. Let the girl rock your world,” he states instead.
“You think I can do it? The whole casual thing?” Pushing myself off my four-wheeler, I scuff my boots against the dirt and gravel.
“No, I think you’re going to get attached or get a little heartbroken. But I think you need to learn how to do it. That way, when the right girl comes around, you’ll finally know what it means when something is real and worth it.”
I roll my eyes. Neither of them thinks I can do it, but at least Silas thinks it might be worth the experience. I could go ask Cassidy, but she’s getting close to Harlow, and I don’t know if she wants her only friend here in her business.
I didn’t mention the cash aspect to Silas. Even Hunter knowing that detail seems invasive. I know for sure having one person in my corner through this whole fiasco is important. Because if what we all think might happen actually happens, I’m going to need them to vent to after it’s all said and done.