Chapter 22 Harlow
Chapter 22
Harlow
I watch as Andy moves gracefully around my kitchen, his hulking figure like a bull in an antique shop, but oddly? He also looks like he belongs here.
It’s surreal having him inside my house, after he materialized on my front porch as if I’d manifested him myself.
“Do you mind if I look for something to eat?” He’s already grabbing the handle of the refrigerator, and I nod, turning to take a mug out of the upper cabinet so I can heat some water and make myself a cup of tea.
Maybe it’ll soothe my nerves.
Behind me, Andy tugs the fridge open, leaning down and staring inside.
With a nervous flutter in my stomach and a mug in my hand, I lean against the countertop, stealing glances at Andy as he rummages through the fridge, humming as he does it.
“There probably isn’t much—I’ve been too lazy to go grocery shopping,” I explain. “Maybe that’s something we can do later. Together.”
He pushes aside a carton of eggs to reach the back of the shelf.
My stomach rumbles impatiently, reminding me that it has been hours since I ate. Andy showing up at my door unannounced put a wrench in whatever plans I had to cook chicken, so sustenance is in order.
Sex always makes me hungry.
“Any preferences?” I ask, flashing him a sheepish grin. “Given what little I have? I can make us breakfast for dinner?”
He nods. “Sure. I trust your culinary skills if you want to make something. Or I can do it, either way.”
With a determined nod, I turn my attention to making us food, my eyes landing on that carton of eggs, some shredded cheese, and fruit. There is half a loaf of bread tucked on the counter.
“Looks like it’s going to be eggs and toast,” I declare with a triumphant grin. “My specialty.”
Feeling a wave of contentment despite the uncertainty swirling around Andy’s presence in my life, there is certainly something comforting in having him watch me buzz around.
But before I can crack an egg, the sound of barking fills the air, and a furry blur comes bounding into the kitchen.
“Kevin!” I exclaim, my heart swelling with affection as the dog returns, Lydia having let him in through the back door and disappearing without announcing herself.
Kevin’s nubby tail wags furiously, his tongue lolling out in a canine grin as he sniffs and greets Andy, giving him the immediate stamp of approval.
“Looks like someone’s excited to meet me,” he remarks, his eyes sparkling with amusement as my dog makes a fool of himself.
I laugh, watching as Andy scratches behind Kevin’s ears. “He never loves me up like that.”
“Really?”
“Really. He could take me or leave me.” The attention whore!
When Andy takes his eyes off the dog, Kevin barks to regain his attention while I get back to puttering around.
Andy’s expression sobers as he turns his gaze back to me, going from a wide grin to something more serious, his eyes locking with mine in a silent exchange that speaks volumes.
“Can we talk about how good you taste?”
I feel my face flush. “I mean we can , just not right now.”
“Why not?”
I duck my head, burying my smile in the collar of my shirt. “Don’t distract me while I’m making you a gourmet meal of eggs and toast. I want it to be the best eggs you’ve ever had.”
He laughs. “I’m sure it will be. Everything else I’ve had of yours has been fucking delicious.”
Oh gosh.
Lord.
My entire body gets hot, and I avoid his intense gaze by bending at the waist to retrieve a pan out of the cabinet, then set it on the stove.
As I crack the eggs into the bowl, Andy entertains the dog. The sounds of them playing fill the kitchen, their banter adding a lightness that causes me to hum while I cook. I truly love having him here! On the other hand, his impromptu visit leaves me with a thousand questions he doesn’t seem in a hurry to answer.
Why is he Here ?!
According to him, he missed me. And obviously he was down to have sex as soon as he walked in the door. But what guy hops on a plane and comes all this way because he wants to screw? It makes no sense!
Still, I smile as I begin whisking the eggs together, the rhythmic motion soothing my fraying nerves, trying to shut my brain off and focus on my task. Scrambling done, I reach for the skillet. As soon as I do, I feel the weight of Andy’s arms slip around my waist.
He pulls me close against his chest, pressing his front side into my backside.
“Need any help with those unfertilized eggs?” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
I let out a sputtering laugh. Unfertilized eggs? Is that a hint? “I think I’ve got it covered, but you can keep me company.”
I feel him grinning against my neck, Andy leaning in closer, his lips brushing against my neck in a tantalizing caress. Mmm ...
“I can think of a few other ways to pass the time,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.
“You do not want to have sex again.” He can’t be serious! There has barely been any downtime! “No, dude, I’m starving.”
“God, I love it when you call me dude,” he whispers with a low laugh.
A flush of warmth spreads through my cheeks at our proximity. His junk is literally pressed into my back.
“Why are you like this?” I ask. “You have way too much energy.”
He nods against my neck. “Mm-hmm. I do. Admit it, you like that I’m horny for you.”
Fine. That is a very valid point: I love that he can’t get enough of me.
Still, I complain. “Do you want to eat or not? How is your dick hard right now? I’m at the stove cooking.”
I have one hand pushing the eggs around with a spatula, my other hand on the counter next to the stove as Andy presses his hardening dick into my ass.
“I have amazing stamina. Everyone tells me so.”
The spatula stops moving. “Uh, ex cuse me, sir?”
The tone of my voice makes him laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that—I meant coaches tell me that and shit. Calm down, I’m not talking about women.”
I cock a brow and tilt my head. Coaches?
Is he talking about high school? Good God, this man needs to live in the present. He is not in school anymore; it’s kind of ick that he’s living in the past, poor guy.
Andy laughs again. The low baritone reaches my vagina and has it tingling, and my determination to scramble these eggs slowly fades.
He kisses my jaw.
The skin visible at my shirt collar.
Stay strong, Harlow. You’re hungry ...
Do not let—
His hands slide up my shirt and cup my boobs, and I melt into a damn puddle. Seriously, I couldn’t be any weaker!
I drop the spatula, turning in his arms.
Immediately and without hesitation, because of our gravitational pull, my hands find their way to the front of his shirt, and I yank him closer, craving his touch.
In an instant the heat in my kitchen is no longer about the heat on the stove. We lose ourselves in each other, lips meeting in a fiery kiss that sends sparks flying.
Andy’s hands roam my body as if he hadn’t just had me.
I moan.
With a sense of urgency that borders on desperation, my back is to the cabinets, he is nestled between my legs, our bodies pressed together in a frenzy of need and desire. I feel his dick through his pants. The countertop, cluttered with ingredients and utensils in the short amount of time I’ve been making eggs, becomes the exact spot he sets me.
He reaches between us and lifts me up, placing me back on the same surface where we’d started our visit, bringing it full circle.
The bag of shredded cheese crinkles, and I’m fairly certain I’ve crushed my half loaf of bread, but Who Cares ?!
We are about to do it for the second time in one day!
As Andy’s lips trail a path of fire down my neck, I gasp, the sensation sending shock waves of pleasure coursing through my body. My fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer while he explores every inch of my skin with a fervor that leaves me breathless.
Yes, Andy . . . yes!
I pull at his sweatshirt, wanting it off. He has a freaking amazing body, and I want to see it when I run my hands over his skin.
He helps me remove it, and we toss it to the floor. Kevin immediately retreats with it like a scavenging rat toward the direction of the living room, no doubt to make a nest.
“Yup, this settles it. I definitely don’t want to work anymore. I’m quitting my job forever.” Andy groans into my mouth. “I’m your new personal Ass istant.”
“You want to go down on me as your full-time job?”
He nods.
“I guess that could be arranged, but also, not so fast, buddy. I barely know you.”
My skepticism sends him into hysterics. He tilts back his head, groaning in mirth, his big, rough hands on my thighs as he parts them.
Oh, how I wish I had shorts on so he could run his hands all the way inside—
“Knock, knock!” comes a familiar, raspy voice, just as Andy goes to pull off my top.
For once in his life, I would love my father to knock, not just announce it, before he walks inside.
Just once.
That’s all I’m asking, for the love of all that is holy.
Oh well. Maybe this will finally teach him a lesson! He can’t just barge in unannounced!
“Who’s that?” Andy asks. “Who’s here?”
“Who do you think that is?” I groan. “I’ll give you one hint.”
Can I take a second real quick here to remind everyone that my dog ran off with his sweatshirt and has probably made himself quite comfortable on it? But can we also take a minute to appreciate how goddamn amazing his body is?
Like. Damn.
Down, girl.
Focus!
In a whirlwind of motion, Andy and I pull away from one another. My body instantly misses the connection, my heart racing a mile a minute as I lift my head to face the intruder.
Mentally wipe the drool away from the corner of my mouth.
“Dad?” I exclaim, voice tinged with surprise and embarrassment as no other than Big Steve himself stands in the doorway, legs spread, one hand clutching a small propane tank, the other grasping grocery bags, fronting like he’s the new sheriff in town.
My father’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene, darting from me, to Andy’s bare back, to me, to Andy’s bare back. My face.
Andy’s back.
His bushy brows bow in consternation. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes at his catching us fooling around: embarrassment? Or irritation. Or maybe he’s furious that his baby girl is getting it on?
One thing is for sure—my father’s shock does not send him fleeing from the scene. It does not cause him to give us privacy. What it does do is stun him into a rare silence, leaving him staring at us wide eyed, as if he weren’t expecting me to have company.
Least of all male company.
Guess it doesn’t help that the whole scene looks way more risqué from his vantage point than it actually is.
“Holy fuck,” Andy curses. “ Please don’t tell me that when I turn around I’ll be looking at your dad.”
“Fine. I won’t tell you.”
“Harlow Margaret.” Dad uses that scolding tone he used when I was a kid, as if I were doing something wrong. In my own house. “What the hell is going on?!”
“First of all.” I begin pulling the hem of my sweatshirt all the way down. “This is my house. Did we not talk about knocking, like, a million times?”
“Is this the guy from New York?” He ignores my question and proceeds to point at Andy’s back, asking a question of his own.
Andy grins at me. “ Aww , you told your dad about me?”
I roll my eyes and hiss, “You were with me when he called, remember? I didn’t have to tell him.”
Then.
Andy turns.
And . . .
It’s the weirdest thing, this play of emotions on my father’s face. They range from shocked to blank ... to shocked again, all in the span of a heartbeat. Basically he looks like a guppy, gasping for air. Or like he’s seen a ghost? Really hard to put my finger on it, all I know is that he looks as if he were about to have an actual heart attack.
“I ...” My father looks confused. “You’re Landon Burke.”
I shake my head, patting Andy on his bare chest. “No, Dad, this is Andy . Andy, this is my dad.”
My father just stares, still rooted to his spot by the door, framed by the doorway, Kevin sitting with a toy in his mouth at Dad’s feet.
“Dad. Say hi.” Good Lord, why is this so hard?
“No, Harlow, that is Landon fucking Burke.” My father blanches, head shaking. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cuss, oh shit. Jesus.” He runs a hand through his receding hairline and shoves the black-rimmed glasses higher up onto his nose. “Jesus Christ. You’re ... you. And you’re in my daughter’s kitchen.”
He bends at the waist, putting his hands on his knees, and takes large gulps of air.
“Dad, honestly.” Could this be any more embarrassing? I want the ground to swallow me whole—my dad is acting so bizarre. Now he’s gasping for air, being so dramatic I have no idea what to say. “Dad, this is Andy—”
“I know who he is,” he says, eyes wide as hell.
“Would you knock it off!” I practically shout, frustration mounting, coupled with the embarrassment of being caught making out like a teenager. “This is the guy from New York—Andy. How many times do I have to say it?”
“This is not the guy from New York!” Dad counters stubbornly, and it takes Andy putting a calming hand on my forearm to stop me from losing my shit completely . “This guy is from Seattle!”
“Harlow,” Andy says gently, squeezing my forearm. “It’s not necessary to shout at your dad. I can explain all this confusion if you give me a minute.”
I throw my hands in the air, frustrated beyond belief.
I give up!
“You are both being annoying and weird. Dad , this is the guy I was with in New York.” I say it one more time so it sinks in, but it still makes no sense how they know each other. Or maybe they don’t? Maybe my dad was here when Andy first arrived, and they met outside before he came in, and Andy never mentioned it?
No, that makes no sense either.
My brain goes in circles as I try to fit square pegs in round holes and put the pieces of a puzzle together with no instructions.
Dad removes his glasses and wipes the lenses on the leg of his jeans. “My eyes are playing tricks on me. It can’t be.”
Andy tilts his head. “Can’t I be?”
My father puts the glasses back on his nose. “No.”
Andy has a shit-eating grin on his face now. “Why not?”
My father shrugs. “Harlow isn’t seeing anyone, and if she was, it wouldn’t be ... wouldn’t be ...” He waves his hand around, flailing for words.
“Me?”
“Yes. It wouldn’t be you.”
“Gee, thanks.” I take immediate offense to that, gesturing from behind Andy’s large frame. “I’m insulted, actually, that you don’t think I’d manage to bring someone home that’s cool .”
I hop down off the counter, straightening the rest of my clothes.
Andy is amused, laughing loudly, not at all embarrassed.
“Would you knock it off?” I smack him on the biceps. “You are not helping.”
“Harlow, sweetie,” Dad offers tentatively. “No offense, but do you not know who this is?”
“Of course I know who this is!” As soon as I get the chance, I am calling his doctor and taking him in for an exam. He has lost some of his senses.
Clearly.
It looks as if my dad can’t decide if he should step closer to Andy to get a better look, or bolt, choosing instead to stand rooted to the floor, in that space between the kitchen and the living room.
“Harlow, I love you, but this time you have really outdone yourself.”
Now he’s speaking in riddles I do not know the punch line to, and I swear, steam rises from my ears.
My nostrils flare as I get ready to pounce again.
I feel a hand on my arm and look down to see Andy’s large palm on my wrist.
“Babe. It’s all right.”
The fuck!
“Why is my dad acting strange?” I turn to Andy, throwing my hands in the air. “ Who are you? ”
I snatch the spatula and hold it up, ready to use it as a weapon. He’s shirtless, which makes him more vulnerable, yeah? I could take him in a fight.
“Are you a criminal? Don’t lie—I will stab you through. Has he seen you on the damn news?”
Oh my God, this would explain how he showed up at my house. For real! Who just shows up on a woman’s doorstep like this! Why the hell did I let him inside?
We’re doomed!
Andy, for his part, casually cocks an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter. “You’re adorable.”
“Stop it. No, I’m not.” I’m giving him my best glower, convinced he’s wanted by the law. He must be notorious. How else would my father know who he was? “Who the hell are you? Dad, get in the living room.”
I want him to be safe, just in case .
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. There’s a good explanation for this.” He raises his hand toward my dad. “Steve, could you do us a huge favor?”
Dad finds his voice, puffing up his chest like a peacock because Andy knows his name. “Call me Big Steve.”
Oh jeez.
Does he have to start with that bullshit at a time when tension is high?
I shake my head. “Do not call him Big Steve. Do not pass go.” I huff. “You haven’t explained yourself—not even a little. If you think you can stand there being all good looking with your amazing chest and hot body, you’re wrong!”
His mouth moves into a lopsided grin. “You’re mad, and you still think I have a hot body.”
“That was Not a Compliment !” I’m shrieking and I’m not proud.
“Wasn’t it?” He is smirking! He is enjoying this!
“Oh my God, Andy, stop changing the subject. I’m about to call the police.” My eyes scan the kitchen for something I can spray in his eyes on the off chance he tries anything nefarious, but the closest thing I can find is butter spray.
“Harlow!” Dad shouts. “Don’t you dare talk to the best fucking player in the league that way! I did not raise you like this!”
He is talking gibberish.
Meanwhile, Andy plucks the spatula from my fingers and sets it behind us as my mouth gapes open.
“Give me back my weapon,” I demand. “Uh. Spatula.”
“Babe. You don’t need a weapon. I’m harmless.” He holds his hands up. “See? Just football-throwing hands.”
Football-throwing hands?
He displays his palms. “See?”
I don’t see.
I don’t get it.
I squint at him, keeping us on task. “Just tell me the truth. Are you wanted by the police?”
“No. Just by the football commission.” He laughs, tee-hee.
I’m not amused.
“I still can’t believe you’re in my house.” Dad is giddy, still rooted to the spot. I glance back and forth between my father and Andy. “Her house. Our house. This house.”
Dad is word vomiting all over the floor, barely able to conceal his excitement, nor can he form a cohesive sentence.
“I don’t know what it means that you’re wanted by the football commission.” I give the confession in a small voice. “You have to do better at explaining.”
I feel stupid because I have no idea what is going on.
They look all chummy, and I’m over here defending my household with a spatula and a prayer.
Meanwhile, Andy is still topless because my dumb dog ran off with his sweatshirt, and now my dad is standing here gawking as if Andy were the second coming of Christ. Stars in his eyes, drool all but dripping from his chops.
“Steve. Can you give Harlow and me some privacy, please?”
“Big Steve,” Dad corrects him, hand to his heart. “Please, I insist.”
Andy’s mouth is grim. “Right.”
Finally! He’s taking this seriously!
Dad begins backing out of the kitchen at a glacial pace. “Um. If you need anything, I’ll just be on the other side of the wall.”
Other side of the wall? Over my dead body am I going to allow him to eavesdrop. “No, Dad. Can you take the dog for a walk? Give us ten minutes. Call 911 if we’re not here in this same spot when you return.”
He hesitates, clearly not wanting to budge. He wants to know every little morsel, every tidbit, every word we are about to say, no doubt so he can go repeat it to his buddies in the wine club.
“Dad,” I grind out. “ Please. Ten minutes. ”
Reluctantly and with a pout, he grabs Kevin’s leash from a hook in the doorway and clips him up, slowly moving to the front door, giving us a few backward glances like a kid on Christmas morning who’s been sent to his room and is not ready to walk away from the tree and presents.