Chapter 17
HANNAH
Happy: Go on a date with me.
Istand beneath the glow of a safety light at the park, waiting for Toast Malone to finally pick a spot to shit, blinking at the words illuminated on my phone.
If I said my heart didn’t just skip a beat or two at the prospect of going on an actual date with Happy, I’d be flat out lying.
My feelings have definitely evolved in the last few days, and even more during the last few hours, and I’m not proud of myself for that, but it’s also completely out of my control.
But a date? With Happy Slater? This was supposed to be a mutually beneficial fucking agreement.
Now, not only do I know Happy’s biggest secret, but when he kissed me earlier at his house, he really kissed me.
I felt tummy flutters, something I’ve never felt before from just a kiss. This is dangerous territory.
I swallow around the lump of trepidation that wedges into the back of my throat as I tap out a reply, keeping it light in the only way that I know how.
Me: Hey, so… are you high?
Happy: Just a little crack, Baby Draper.
I roll my eyes.
Me: A date? Happy. We’re fucking. Why the hell would we go on a date?
Happy: Shits and gigs?
I groan, exasperated.
Me: Can you be serious for like five seconds?
Happy: Fine. If you must know the truth, it was Allie.
Me: Allie? Are you serious?
I hate that I’m sad or disappointed or whatever the fuck this is that I am right now. But that message came from his daughter’s nanny? What were they doing? Sitting around laughing about how they could mess with me? Ugh. Now I’m just straight up pissed.
Me: Was it just a joke?
Happy: No! Allie said she’d apply for this summer research program if I asked you out on a date.
Me: So it was some sort of bargaining chip?
Happy: No. Wait. Fuck. I’m gonna call you.
Seconds later, my phone starts to ring, and I roll my eyes because I have half a mind to ignore him. But as Toast Malone continues circling the same patch of grass, sniffing for a place to drop it while it’s hot, I know I’ll be here for at least a while, so I might as well hear him out.
“Hello,” I say flatly, taking a seat on the park bench.
“Hey, um so, I’m sorry. I—” He sounds flustered. Panicked almost. And I can’t lie—it’s kind of adorable, although I’m still angry. “Look, yes, Allie sent you that text message, but it was only because she tricked me into it… shit. That sounds even worse out loud than it sounded in my head.”
I stifle a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand, because he’s so genuinely clueless, it’s impossible to be mad.
“What I mean is… Allie agreed to apply for a summer research program if I agreed to ask you out on a date, and I… Oh my fucking God, this is—”
“Happy!” I interject, choking on a bubble of laughter.
“Wait. Are you laughing?”
I clear my throat. “I mean, it’s kind of hilarious that the Happy Slater can’t string together a damn sentence, but I’m also trying not to be offended that your offer of a date was based solely on a wager to get your daughter’s nanny to apply for some research program.
” I’m met with silence, so I can’t help but ask because now I’m invested. “Did she at least apply?”
“That sneaky little asshole had already applied and was using it as a ploy just to get me to ask you out on a goddamn date.”
A flush creeps its way up my chest, my neck, and onto my face, but I try not to think too much into that. “So… you do want to take me out on a date?”
“I mean—” Happy pauses, and the silence is long and loud. “Yeah. Is that… weird?”
I’m sitting here, at the park, in the dark, my dog taking a shit less than five feet away, and I’m grinning like a fucking moron. What is my life right now?
“I know it goes against our whole friends with benefits or whatever the fuck this is, but… I don’t know…” He sniffs a laugh. “I kind of… like being with you?”
I close my eyes, kicking my feet, and I momentarily hate myself, but I can’t help it; I’m no longer in control of my mind, body, soul, or feet it seems.
“Hannah? Are you there?”
Before I can respond, a siren screams through the night, an ambulance speeding past with its lights flashing, causing Toast Malone to bark like how dare they interrupt his potty time.
“Where are you??” Happy asks abruptly.
“Sorry, that was an ambulance,” I explain. “I’m just out with Toasty.”
“On your own?”
I rear back, surprised and maybe even a little turned on by how concerned he sounds. Farewell feminism. “Uh, yeah. Like I am most nights when he needs to shit…”
“I don’t like that.”
I scoff. “Trust me, I’m fine. I have a dog that weighs more than I do, a can of pepper spray, and I’m not one to gloat but pretty sure I almost made Silas cry the other day in the ring.”
“Okay, but I still don’t like you out on your own at night.”
“Well, good thing it’s not up to you then, huh?” I smile smugly although he can’t see me.
“Brat.” Happy mutters, his voice turning so low and delicious, I’m forced to cross one leg over the other to quell the dull ache it elicits between my thighs.
“So… where are you taking me?” I ask, quickly veering the conversation back to the topic at hand and not what I’m really wondering, which is whether or not Happy is currently lying in his bed, naked with his hand on his glorious dick. I clear my throat, adding, “On our date.”
“I don’t know,” Happy muses. “What do you like to eat? Besides my cock…”
A laugh escapes me, and again, the way he says cock, makes my pussy positively thrum. “Happy Slater, don’t start something you can’t finish right now.”
“Oh, I can finish…” he murmurs, and I notice a telltale hitch in his breath as he says, “In fact, I’m already so fucking close.”
My cheeks flame and my jaw drops as I listen to the sound of his labored breath. “Are you—”
“You bet your fine ass I am,” he confirms. “This is what you do to me, Baby Draper.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “I hate you.”
“No, you really don’t.” Happy chuckles.
And goddamn him, he’s right.
Happy: What time should I pick you up tonight?
Happy: For our date.
I roll my eyes, unable to hide my smile as I play dumb with my reply.
Me: What date?
Happy: Um, your date with the hottest hockey player in the NHL.
Me: I thought Rusty was married…?
Happy: Baby Draper, I am about five seconds from jumping up from this PT table bare-assed and coming down there to your office to spank you for even mentioning his name in my messages.
I laugh under my breath.
Me: I have to collect Toasty from doggy daycare on my way home, but I can be ready by seven.
Happy: I’ll be at your door to pick you up at 6:59.
Reading Happy’s message, I’m grinning like a fool as I step off the elevator and into the office, coffee in hand, pep in my step. Ugh. Who am I?
“Hi.”
“Oh, God!” I shout, hurling my phone in the process and listening with a wince as it lands with a crack on the floor.
Grabbing it, I’m relieved to see the screen is intact, and I quickly put the device into the pocket of my jeans as I spin around to find Millie standing there, grinning at me like the goddamn Cheshire Cat. I think she’s onto something.
“Get a bell,” I chastise, smoothing back my hair.
“So,” Millie begins, her smile smug and conspiratorial. “How was the rest of your night?”
“Fine.” I continue to my desk with her hot on my heels.
“You left kind of… suddenly.”
I blink at her. Oh, she’s onto something, alright.
“Do anything… interesting after you left?”
My hackles prick, but I remain stoic, choosing not to look directly at her lest she see straight through me. “I went home and took Toast Malone to the park for a shit.”
“Gross,” Millie says under her breath.
I laugh, taking a seat at my desk, fully aware of Millie hovering like she has something she wants to say. And if she wants to say something, she can. I’m not intentionally hiding anything. But until she grows a pair and actually says it, I will continue to play dumb.
Checking my emails, I note that Brookes will be in later today because he has an interview this morning. And thank God, because I really don’t feel like dealing with him first thing this today.
“What are you doing tonight?” Millie asks.
“I don’t know,” I say instead of the truth, which is that tonight, I am going on an actual date with Happy Slater.
“Dallas and Em are having dinner at their place,” Millie says, one of her eyes narrowing almost dubiously. “You should come.”
“Maybe…”
We stare at each other for a long moment. It’s like an impromptu game of loser blinks first. But before anyone can blink, or laugh, or whatever the rules are, our stare-off is interrupted by Patrick’s uncharacteristic profanity ringing through the office.
“Fuck’s sake!”
Millie and I trade a concerned look, and I push up from my chair, hurrying up the stairs and tentatively walking through his open door, looking around for what, I don’t know.
“Is everything okay?”
Patrick looks up from his phone. “Fucking Brookes Devereaux.”
I stifle a groan. “What now?”
“That asshole isn’t coming in today.” Patrick practically shouts at his phone. “Says he’s sick.”
“Sick?” I guffaw, shaking my head. And I don’t even know why I’m surprised. “But he’s supposed to be uptown. At an interview with Hole in One magazine.”
“Apparently not.” Patrick shakes his head, heaving a sigh. Looking up at me, his frown softens, and somehow, I already know what he’s about to ask me without him even having to open his mouth.
“Are you serious?” I deadpan. “Where’s his manager?”
“Cam had to go back to Florida,” Patrick huffs.
I groan knowing there’s no way out of this. “Fine, but you owe me. You know that, right?”
“I know, I know,” Patrick murmurs under his breath.
With another groan, I walk out of Patrick’s office and back down to my desk to collect my laptop and my purse.
Millie looks up from her computer, her eyebrows knitting together. “Where are you going?”
“To commit a felony,” I mutter through gritted teeth as I walk toward the elevators. “Send bail!” I shout over my shoulder.