Chapter 16 Harris
Harris
I’m not great at playing hard to get.
That makes her face go blank—as if she’s desperately trying to school her expression.
Fine. I’ll dial it back.
It’s easy to forget sometimes that Lucy doesn’t come from a world where teasing is armor and flirting is second nature. My world is one of locker-room banter, deflections, and always having something sharp to say when things get too real.
Hers is quieter. Thoughtful.
She’s careful.
Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to stop pushing her. I want to know what she’s hiding behind those walls. What she’s afraid to let out.
I lean back, resting my arm on the couch, giving her space to breathe. “You okay over there?” I tap my finger against her hand.
Her gaze flicks to mine, and she hesitates. “I’m fine.”
But I can tell she’s not. The words come out too quickly, like she’s trying to convince herself.
I let the silence settle between us, waiting her out. If there’s one thing football has taught me, it’s patience. You don’t always have to charge headfirst—sometimes, the play is to stay still and let the other team make the first move.
She exhales softly, her shoulders sinking into the cushions like she’s surrendering. “It’s just . . . I’m not used to this.”
I tilt my head. “Used to what?”
“Men being so direct.”
“I prefer being direct to playing games.” Head games are for pussies and are a waste of fucking time. I’d rather be honest, even if it blows up in my face. “I don’t see the point of making someone guess how I feel.”
“Honestly, you make me nervous.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I say, my voice softening as I scoot a bit closer. “Because you make me nervous too.”
Her eyes widen. “You?”
I cross a hand over my chest. “Scout’s honor.”
She seems to consider this information, unsure whether or not to believe me. “Why?”
“Because you’re not like the people I usually meet. You don’t let me get away with anything.” I pause, smirking. “And you have this way of making me feel like I have to earn your attention.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting back a grin. “You do have to earn it.”
“Yeah, I figured.” I sigh dramatically, running a hand through my hair. “The things I do for you.”
“Oh, please.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “As if it’s a hardship.”
“It is!” I press a hand to my chest like she’s wounded me. “I’m out here busting my ass trying to impress you!”
“How have you been trying to impress me?” She laughs.
I lean back into the couch cushions, weighing my options. Should I tell her the truth, that I’m not actually a lumberjack part-time? I mean, the truth will come out eventually, and when it does, she’s going to be pissed at me regardless.
“Oh, you know—chopping wood, flexing muscles, pretending to be outdoorsy and rugged . . .”
Her laugh is immediate and loud, and it makes me grin, even though my brain is screaming at me that this is a terrible idea.
“You’re not outdoorsy and rugged?” She reaches over to squeeze my biceps, which I immediately flex for good measure out of habit. “Could have fooled me.”
I shift on the couch. “I have a confession to make.”
Lucy goes still. Sucks in a breath. “Oh my God—don’t tell me you’re married.”
I shake my head. “Nope, not married.”
“In a relationship?”
Another shake.
“Gay?”
“Nope.”
Lucy rubs her chin. “Give me a hint.”
“Let’s say . . . I didn’t just meet the dudes at yoga. We came together ’cause . . . they’re teammates.”
“Teammates of what?”
I shake my head again, biting back a grin. “Guess.”
Lucy narrows her eyes, studying me to solve the puzzle. I cannot believe she hasn’t sussed this out yet, but I’m not going to judge her for believing my story from the jump.
“I hate guessing games. I’m no good at them.” Her brows draw together. “Teammates, teammates . . .” she muses, wheels in her brain turning. “You’re not married, not in a relationship, not gay, and they’re your teammates. Of what, Harris? What am I missing?”
I rub the back of my neck, my grin fading a little. “I’m a professional football player.”
For a second, Lucy just stares at me. Not a word. Not even a blink. Like she’s been frozen in place.
Then her eyes go wide, her mouth falling open. “Wait—what? You?”
“Yeah.”
“And Miles and Dex and Elijah—”
“Yep.”
“Miles and Dex and Elijah are football players?”
Uh-huh. “All of us.”
Her jaw drops even lower, and I’m convinced she’s about to burst out laughing. Instead, she just blinks at me as if I’ve told her I’m actually an alien from another planet.
“You’re a football player?” She shakes her head, eyes darting around the room like she’s trying to piece together the last few days of knowing me. “You told me you were a lumberjack.”
“False,” I correct her. “You assumed I was because of my size. I told you I was here for work, and I am, but not to roll logs.”
“But . . .” Lucy rubs her temples. “Why would you let me believe you were a lumberjack this whole time? Now I feel like a dumbass!”
I scratch the back of my neck, already bracing myself. “Honestly? I thought it was funny.”
Her mouth falls open. “Funny? You’ve been out here chopping wood for a mock survival competition as a joke? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Lucy smacks me on the arm.
“Hold up now,” I say, raising a finger. “In my defense, I thought I’d be good at chopping wood.”
She bursts out laughing at my stupidity. “You thought you’d be good at it?”
“I figured it couldn’t be that hard!” I grin. “You swing the axe, the log splits. End of story.”
Lucy leans forward, still giggling. “And you didn’t think maybe you should tell me the truth sooner?”
Obviously I could have. But where’s the fun in that?
“Can I point out again that you never technically asked if I was—you assumed. I was going along with it.”
She fiddles with the hem of her sweater. “That’s the literal definition of lying by omission.”
I squint. “Is it, though?”
“Yes!”
I cross my arms, leaning back into the cushions like I’m contemplating a serious philosophical debate. “I don’t know. I feel like omission is more of a gray area. It’s not like I lied and said ‘I’m the king of the fucking woods.’ I just didn’t correct you.” I give my nonexistent beard a scratch.
“Does Annabelle know?”
No. “Obviously not. She’s too busy trying to run the event to notice. Plus, she’s not exactly hovering over me, watching my every move. I suspect the dudes who actually work for the company have figured out I’m a fraud.”
Though none of them have busted me. Or they obviously don’t recognize me. Or don’t give two shits about football. Or they’ve got a betting pool on how long it takes before I injure myself.
“I’m sorry, but this whole thing is blowing my mind. Of all the things to fake—why didn’t you tell her you have no clue what you’re doing?”
Is Lucy being serious? “Have you ever tried to back out of something after showing up day one bragging that you know what you’re doing?” I chuckle. “It’s a lot harder to admit failure when you’ve already committed to the bit.” All the peacocking around I did . . .
She rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “That ego of yours is bigger than I thought it was. I’m shocked you fit through my door.”
I clutch my chest dramatically. “Ouch. You wound me, Lucy.”
She smirks. “You’ll survive.”
Her prissy little pout is so fucking cute. So sexy.
I want my mouth on her again.
“What if I told you I’m faking something else right now too?”
Her smile fades; curiosity fills her expression. “What do you mean?”
I lean in, dropping my voice. “I’m pretending that sitting this close to you isn’t driving me insane.”
Lucy scoffs. “What if I’m mad you lied to me?”
“I would say: Let me make it up to you.”
“How?”
She knows how.
Her eyes flick to my mouth, and I can see the gears turning in her head. She’s pretending to be mad, but the way her breathing changes gives her away.
I smirk, closing the distance between us inch by inch. “I’m thinking we skip the part where you stay mad and go straight to the part where I . . .”
“Where you what?” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.
I kiss her, slow at first—just a soft press of lips, though it doesn’t stay gentle for long. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, and the second she tugs me closer, I’m done holding back.
I cup her face, deepening the kiss, and she sighs against my mouth, the sound making something hot twist low in my stomach.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers exploring like she’s memorizing every inch of me.
I groan softly, and when her nails graze the back of my neck, I lose the ability to think straight.
“Still mad?” I murmur between kisses, nipping gently at her bottom lip.
She laughs breathlessly. “I don’t know. Maybe I should stay mad more often if this is how you apologize.”
Her fingers slide under the hem of my shirt, grazing the bare skin of my stomach, and I swear my brain short-circuits for a second. I pull her closer, my hand slipping around her waist, fingers splaying against her lower back as I guide her into my lap.
She straddles me without hesitation, her knees pressing into the couch on either side of my thighs, and the heat between us kicks up a notch. “I should have known you guys are all professional athletes. The signs were all there.” Lucy pauses. “You’re so . . .”
“Big? Manly? Huge? Strong?”
She laughs. “Yes.”
I capture her lips again. Her hips shift against mine, and the friction makes me groan into her mouth. Her hands tangle in my hair, tugging and sending sparks shooting down my spine.
I want her—no, need her—and judging by the way she’s clinging to me, she feels the same.
Her shirt rides up as my hands explore, and when my thumbs brush the underside of her bra, she arches into me. I trail kisses down her neck, taking my time, and when I reach the spot below her ear, she lets out a soft moan that makes my self-control hang by a thread.
“Strong enough to lift you in one motion and carry you to the bed.”
Lucy’s breath hitches, and her laugh is soft as she nuzzles my neck. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”