26. Harper
TWENTY-SIX
Harper
Harper’s Pool House
2:04 PM
For a moment, I lie still, piecing together the disjointed memories of the past eighteen hours—my overnight shift, the gym, coffee with Jonah, the amazingness right here in this bed.
The thought suddenly makes me pulse between my legs. I reach down, still nude, and feel the wet folds between my legs.
As consciousness slowly returns, so does the delicious ache between my thighs - a vivid reminder of this morning's activities with Jonah.
God, just thinking his name sends a shiver through me. I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me. The way he'd looked at me with such raw hunger. How his hands roamed my body, leaving prickly little edges of fire in their wake.
But what really makes my breath catch is remembering how he'd taken me from behind. The primal urgency of it all as he'd positioned me on my hands and knees. I can almost feel the ghost of his fingers digging into my hips, pulling me back against him.
"Fuck," I whispered, heat already building low in my belly.
I shouldn't be thinking about this. About him. But I can’t help myself. The memory of Jonah sliding into me, stretching and filling me so perfectly, is utterly intoxicating. I bite my lip, recalling how he'd started with slow, deep strokes that had me trembling and begging for more.
My hand drifts down my body without my brain directing it. It slips beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. I’m already insanely wet. My folds are slick and swollen as I trace light circles around my clit.
A soft moan escapes me as I remember the exact moment Jonah picked up the pace. The beautiful sound of skin slapping against skin. The way he gripped my hair and pulled my head back as he pounded into me makes me yell out.
"Harper," he'd groaned, his voice husky with desire. "So fucking tight. So perfect."
I whimper, increasing the pressure of my fingers. In my mind, I can hear the litany of filthy praise he whispered. How good I felt. How beautiful I looked, spread out for him.
My hips rock against my hand as I slide two fingers inside, imagining it’s Jonah's thick cock instead. I curl them, finding that spot that makes sparks dance behind my eyelids.
"Jonah," I breathe, lost in the fantasy.
I can almost feel his solid warmth pressed against my back. The rasp of his stubble as he nips at my shoulder. The rumble of his voice in my ear.
"That's it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” I hear him say.
A desperate keen tears from my throat as I work myself faster, chasing that high. In my mind, Jonah's thrusts grow more erratic, and his grip on my hips bruises the tender skin.
I imagine him pulling me upright and putting my back flush against his chest as one large hand splays across my stomach. The other would snake around to rub my wet entrance in cadence with his thrusts.
"Come for me, Harper," he'd growl. "I want to feel you fall apart."
The coil of pleasure in my core is wound impossibly tight. I’m so close, teetering right on the edge.
"Please," I whimper, not sure if I’m begging the Jonah in my head or myself. "Please, I need-"
The dam finally breaks. Waves of ecstasy crash over me as I cry out Jonah's name. My body shakes, my muscles clench around my fingers, and I ride out an intense orgasm.
Slowly, reality seeps back in. I lay there panting, my skin flushed and tingling in the aftermath. As the haze of arousal faded, I felt a twinge of guilt. This thing with Jonah was supposed to be casual - fun and uncomplicated.
But there’s no denying it now. The way my body responds to even the memory of him, how my heart races at the thought of his touch... I’m in way over my head.
I groan and throw an arm over my eyes. What the hell am I doing? I don’t do players. I certainly don’t fall for cocky surgeons with commitment issues.
And yet here I am, aching for Jonah in a way I'd never experienced before. My carefully maintained control is unraveling, and I have no idea how to stop it.
I sit up and stretch my body. I'm invigorated by my walk down memory lane from earlier.
I pick up my phone off the nightstand to check the time. I slept longer than I thought, and I can feel the dull ache of exhaustion from my shift still clinging to me.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and rub my eyes, taking a moment to steady myself. My bed smells faintly of sex and Jonah—warm and woodsy, mixed with chlorine and the trace of my orgasm from this morning. It’s both comforting and disorienting, like waking up from a dream that sticks to me and lingers.
Pulling myself together, I shuffle into the kitchen for water. The house is quiet. The stillness presses just enough to make me wonder where Jonah is now. I'm almost certain I heard him swimming this morning.
He must have taken off at some point after that. I do the math, and I think I slept for at least three or four hours.
After finishing the glass of water, I check my phone. A text from Mason greets me and makes me smile.
Late lunch? I know you worked last night, but if you get this and you're up for company, holla.
I grin despite myself and shoot back a reply.
Always up for your company. Where you thinking? I'm game for anything.
Well, good morning, sleeping princess. Excellent timing-I'm starving. Usual spot in 30?
See you then.
Shaking off the lingering haze of sleep, I head to the shower.
Whatever this is with Jonah—whatever we’re building—it feels real, and it's deepening. That’s the part that scares me.
I told myself I wouldn’t cross that line unless we both meant it, unless we were both willing to see where it could go. But now, I can’t stop wondering if he’s ready to follow through or if he’s going to pull back when it gets hard.
He apologized this morning after pulling back the other day. I was certain I felt it, and he confirmed I wasn't crazy by addressing it. I appreciated it and realize that is more than he's probably ever done.
But with everything on his plate—Lila, his family, the weight he’s carrying—I worry he won't have much left in the tank to give.
Yet, here I am, wanting more anyway.
For now, I need Mason’s sarcasm and a giant sandwich to distract me.
Chez Fonfon
3:06 PM
By the time I meet Mason for a late lunch, I’ve talked myself into a semblance of calm. The patio at the restaurant buzzes with conversation. Mason’s already here, sipping a mimosa and looking like he stepped out of a magazine ad—tailored navy trousers, a crisp white shirt, and sunglasses perched on his head.
“Well, well,” he says, grinning as I slide into the chair across from him. “If it isn’t the woman of the hour.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, pulling off my sunglasses and setting them on the table.
“Start what?” he asks innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eyes says otherwise. “I’m just saying, you look... well-rested. Glow-y, even. Like someone who had a very interesting night.”
I roll my eyes. “Mason. I was working the emergency room night shift. Of course, I had an interesting night.”
“Any hostage take-overs or matchmakers posed as Jane Does?” He asks with a smirk. I just stare at him without dignifying his snide question with an answer.
“So, tell me. How’s Dr. Hotshot these days? You still riding that hunk of burning love?”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “You have such a way with words.”
"It comes naturally. Seriously, though. Last we talked, you said he was dealing with an Armageddon with that crazy sister. Have things calmed down? Are you two weathering the storm okay?"
"Baby steps. We’re still seeing each other, but he is a little hot and cold. Which is to be expected, so I'm not stressing too much. But I do worry all of this on top of having a quasi-recurring situation with a woman, moi, could be a lot for any playboy."
“'A quasi-recurring situation' is how you define whatever it is you're doing with him? You, my dear, do not have a way with words,” Mason says, waving at the waiter for another drink.
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “Well, what would you call it? We aren't committed. He’s never really settled for more than one fling, as far as I know. I'm leaving in less than two months, but I did ask him not to treat me like a fling. That sounds like quasi-recurring, to me.”
“Sure, sure,” he says, propping his chin on his hand. “Except, but it sounds like a military installation, not a romantic relationship.”
I pause, realizing he’s right. Damn him. “Semantics. I would like to define it more romantically, but I'm being realistic. Can we just move on from what I'm calling it? Hell if I know what it is.”
“Yes, of course,” Mason says, waving his hand as if to say, “obviously.”
“But isn’t daydreaming and overblowing it half the fun?”
“It’s not fun,” I say, resting my elbows on the table. “It’s... a lot. We’ve been friends for years, and now, suddenly, it’s different. I don’t even know what this is. And he doesn’t, either. We haven’t talked about it since that first or second night stand. Since we slept together again for the first time.”
“Yet you keep ending up in his bed,” Mason points out, arching an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m helping more than you think,” he says, leaning forward. “Listen, babe, you’re overthinking this. Shocking, I know. But if Jonah’s showing up, if he’s letting you in—even a little—that’s not nothing. You know how he is.”
“I do,” I admit, lowering my hands. “That’s what scares me.”
“Of course it does,” Mason says, his voice softer now. “But you don’t get to control everything, Harper. Sometimes you just have to take the leap and see where you land.”
I stare at him, torn between wanting to hug him and throw my mimosa in his face. “Why do you always have to be right?”
“Because I’m fabulous,” he says, flashing a grin. “Now, eat your salad and tell me more about the romantic parts.”
7:10 PM
My phone rings and pulls me out of the haze I’ve been in after binge-watching Survivor episodes. I glance at the screen: Jonah Bellinger.
I hesitate for a beat before answering, instinctively smoothing my hair like he can somehow see me through the phone. “Hey, you,” I say, my voice still a little hoarse from hours of yelling at the T.V. “How are you?”
He’d texted me earlier while I was at lunch with Mason, mentioning his meeting with the attorney. That was supposed to start at 4:30. If he’s just getting done now, he must be completely wiped out.
“Hey,” Jonah replies. His tone is lighter than I expected, but there’s a thread of exhaustion beneath it. “You up for a walk? I need to clear my head and get some fresh air.”
I glance at the clock and then at the empty spot on the couch where I’ve been glued for hours. My schedule’s wide open until Sunday, so there’s no reason to say no. Plus, I want to see him.
“Sure,” I say, sitting up and stretching. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”
“There’s that park a few blocks from your place. I can swing by, and we’ll walk together. It’s a nice night.”
“That sounds perfect,” I respond with more enthusiasm this time. I stand and stretch again, shaking off the stiffness in my muscles. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Does that work?”
“I’m already on my way. See you soon,” he says.
Jonah pulls up to the pool house just as I’m slipping on my sneakers. I step outside, waving as he steps out of his car.
I almost swoon when I see him. His strapping broad shoulders and strong hands peek out from under a long-sleeved athletic shirt and joggers that hug him like they were made for him. Has he always had this effect on me?
He smiles almost sheepishly, and I'm certain I haven't always felt like this at the sight of him. But I'm feeling it now. Dear God, he is a handsome man.
“Perfect timing,” I say as I walk up to him and give him a side hug. “Did you run out of places to pace at your condo?”
His smirk is faint, but it’s there. “Something like that.”
We walk side by side down the block toward the park. The cool evening air is peaceful and nice against my skin. Jonah seems distracted, keeping his head tilted down as if he’s mulling over something he can’t quite put into words.
I've given him space the whole walk here. He called me for company, so now I'm thinking he wants me to probe a little.
I lock my arm around his and nudge him lightly in the ribs with my elbow. “You gonna tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to start guessing?”
He glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “If it weren't my life, it could be a fun game to guess the most outlandish train wreck that you could imagine.”
“Fun in a sadistic sort of way, I guess,” I say, shrugging.
He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “True. I prefer to keep things light.”
We step onto a gravel path, and the rocks crunch beneath our feet as we walk along. Jonah slows but keeps his hands shoved into his pockets. His head tilts toward the sky for a moment, and then he exhales dramatically.
“I just came from the meeting,” he says finally, his voice low. “You know, the one that started almost three hours ago. Attorney, my parents, Lila. The works.”
“I was wondering if you were there this whole time,” I say softly, glancing up at him. “That sounds tense.”
He nods, his jaw tightening. “Understatement of the year.”
A group playing basketball in the distance breaks the silence, and my senses hone in on them. I let the otherwise silent space between us linger so that he feels safe to share, or not.
“Lila’s attorney wanted to go over everything again,” Jonah finally says, his voice low. “It was mostly about being prepared if the cops come sniffing around again. We went through what to say, what not to say, and the importance of having him there for any questioning. He emphasized over and over not to answer anything without legal counsel.”
“That makes sense,” I say, tilting my head. “Lila’s got a lot at stake, and it’s smart to be prepared.”
Jonah sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just exhausting, you know? Every time I think we’ve got a handle on things, there’s another layer to peel back. She’s finally starting to talk about rehab seriously, which is a good thing. But all this? It’s still a mess. And my parents? They’re more focused on the optics of it all than the actual problems she’s dealing with.”
I frown, my heart aching for him. “That’s a big step for her, though, right? Taking rehab seriously?”
“Yeah,” he admits, his shoulders sagging slightly. “She knows her gambling’s out of control, and this might be her only shot to get a handle on it. She even said she wants something structured—something that’ll force her to confront it head-on. She knows she can’t keep running.”
“That’s huge, Jonah,” I say softly, brushing my fingers lightly against his arm. “It sounds like she’s finally ready to change.”
He nods, though his expression is still clouded. “It is huge. But then there’s the money she owes. That’s not going away just because she’s trying to do the right thing. Bookies don’t forgive debts because you’re working on yourself.”
My stomach knots. “So… what happens there? Are they still after her?”
“Yeah,” Jonah says grimly. “They’re not going to forget about the money. My parents are stepping up to help pay off the bigger debts, and Lila agreed to let them help—on the condition that she pays them back over time. She wants that accountability, which, I’ll admit, surprised me. I offered to handle it, but she said no. She’s trying, Harper. Really trying.”
“She really wants to turn things around,” I say, feeling a flicker of hope for his sister. “That’s not nothing, Jonah. It’s a lot.”
Jonah exhales sharply, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “It is. I just hate seeing her in this position. She’s tired, Harper. Tired of running, tired of juggling this shitstorm of consequences. She knows she screwed up, and she’s owning it, but it still feels unfair.”
“Because it is unfair,” I say gently, my voice steady. “But you can’t fix everything for her. The fact that you’re standing by her—that you’re willing to fight for her—it’s more than most people would do.”
He doesn’t respond right away, his silence heavy with unspoken guilt. Finally, he says, “I wish I’d done more earlier. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be here now.”
I stop walking, turning to face him. “Jonah,” I say firmly, grabbing his arm. “You’re an amazing brother. You’re doing everything you can, and she’s lucky to have you in her corner. But you can’t carry all of this on your own.”
He meets my gaze, the tension in his expression softening just slightly. “You’re kind to say that,” he says quietly. “But I don’t know if it’s enough. I just want her to be okay. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“And you’re doing everything you can to make that happen,” I remind him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “But it’s up to her now, Jonah. She has to do the work. You just have to keep showing up.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods, his eyes scanning the horizon. “I hope you’re right,” he says finally. “Because I don’t know what else to do.”We reach a bench under an old oak tree, and Jonah stops, resting his hands on the back of it as he looks out at the park. I step up beside him, leaning slightly into him.
“I’m with you on this, however, wherever you need me, you know,” I say, my voice gentle.
He smiles warmly at me and then puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. I rest my head on his strong chest.
“I’m sorry for dumping all this on you,” he says after a moment. “I know it’s not exactly light conversation.”
I look up at him. “Jonah, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to listen.”
He turns his head to look directly at me with his blue eyes boring into me, and then leans down to kiss me. I could die right now and feel completely fulfilled with my life.
"I have an idea. You need a break. Something that doesn’t involve thinking about attorneys or plea deals or anything heavy. How about this? Come back to my place. We’ll pick up some pizza on the way, and can eat on the sofa and watch a movie.”
His lips twitch into a faint smile. “Even if I pick something terrible, like a Nicolas Cage action flick?”
“Don’t ruin my illusion. Let me amend that. You pick the pizza, and I pick the movie.”
He chuckles. The sound is a little lighter this time. “Alright, Nurse Gray. Sounds like a plan.