6. Rachel
6
RACHEL
“ H e touched his toes,” Sophie yelled—or was that Mary Jo? The bachelorette party was in full swing, a jumble of pink hats and penis-themed snacks, drinks flowing freely as the evening wore on.
“He touched them again! That’s two times, ladies. Everyone, two drinks!”
Ten rose-pink glasses lifted as one, then slammed down in a storm of giggles and gasps.
The sun was going down now, kissing the beach with gold. Harris was down there, running through his workout, his buff silhouette driving the party wild. I groaned to myself as I moved through the shadows, lighting citronella candles to keep the bugs off the veranda. I wanted nothing I could control putting a pall on the festivities. Not only could I earn a nice tip (baby fund!), but the bride had been last year’s runner-up for Miss South Carolina. A five-star review from a minor celebrity—that was pure gold for a business like mine.
Still, Harris would kill me if he caught wind of their antics. Sue me, maybe, for sexual harassment.
“I’m going to pass out if he keeps this up,” one woman protested with a huge smile on her face. “Oh my God, look at him. Is he doing pushups?”
“Pushups!” Her friend grabbed a pitcher and poured a fresh drink. “One drink for every five he does.”
The women whooped and raised their glasses, drinking in shirtless Harris as he bobbed up and down. I couldn’t help but steal a glimpse for myself. Would I be neglecting my duties if I ran down there with towels? Patted Harris dry, where his sweat slicked his back? His biceps would be gleaming in the declining sun, and maybe I’d lick one. Taste the salt of his labors. He’d grab me, and then?—
“That’s five! Drink!”
I shook off my fantasy and refilled the pitchers, one with margaritas and the other with Bellinis.
“Rachel,” Sophie—the bride-to-be—exclaimed, spotting me at the refreshment table. “You are the best . How did you arrange for that delicious piece of man meat to be our entertainment?”
A green stab of jealousy took me by surprise. I pushed it down and breathed deep through my nose, then instantly regretted it. The scents from the finger foods were rich and overpowering—hot cheese, fried chicken, sickly veggie snacks. My stomach did a slow roll, and I worried I’d upchuck all over the table.
Smile. They’re paying guests . “Harris, uh—” I bit my tongue. I’d been about to say Harris lived with me. Which, technically, he did, at least for now. But I had no claim on him, no right to imply our relationship was anything but friendly. No, we’re just going to be parents together, that’s all . Yikes. I had to get control of my hormones fast. “Harris, uh, is helping me with a few construction projects before he’s due back on base.”
Ten jaws dropped at once.
“He’s a Marine?”
“He’s living here?”
“You hear that, girls? He’s ours all night!” Sophie did a fist-pump, like she’d scored a goal.
My gaze wandered to the man of the hour. He’d been punishing his body with an insane routine—swimming, running sprints, pushups, and more. And I had drooled over every second. God, his body was amazing, all sleek and tan and rippling with muscle. Not long after fixing the front step, he’d taken a razor to the scruff on his face, and I missed the rumpled look, that hint of bad boy. I hoped it’d grow back soon, and Harris that would leave it be.
The maid of honor, Mary Jo, poured herself a Bellini. She turned and lifted her amber-filled glass. “We should be drinking Sex on the Beach.”
Everyone cackled uproariously.
Harris stopped his pushups and seamlessly stood.
Within seconds, the two freshly filled pitchers were empty again.
“Check out the abs on him.”
“Is that a ten-pack?”
“Shut up—he’s coming. Ooh, but those pecs!”
Harris clunked up the wooden stairs, towel slung over his shoulder. The bachelorette party clapped and cat-called mercilessly.
Red broke out on Harris’s cheeks, and he ducked his head with a wry smile. “I, uh—thank you, ladies.” He sketched a courtly bow.
Mary Jo sighed. “You’re the best drinking game I’ve played in a long time.” She saluted him with her glass, then took a healthy gulp.
“Drinking game?” Alarm filled his expression and I hid my smile by plopping a mostly empty tray of cheese onto my cart.
“Hell, yeah,” Diana said, smacking her lips from her margarita—or maybe from eyeing Harris like he was her next meal. “Never thought exercise could be so much fun.”
Harris stalked between the chairs and stopped beside me. Sweat glistened on his skin, and it took everything I had not to lean forward and taste him.
“Do I want to know?” he asked, lifting a reddish-brown eyebrow.
I laughed. “Probably not.”
“Harris,” Sophie called, motioning him over with a flapping hand. The alcohol had definitely seeped into her blood. “I hear you’re going to be doing some construction work.”
Snickers filled the veranda, and his smile froze as he moved toward the bride-to-be.
“Can you show me how your grip your hammer?”
Laughter went up—a loose, raucous gale. Diana drained her glass. “I bet he’s an ace at drilling.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth but could do nothing about my shaking shoulders. Oh, yeah. If Harris wanted to sue me, he had an ironclad case. They catcalled me, Your Honor. Tried to grab my pipe wrench.
Harris laughed, deep and manly, raising goose bumps on my skin.
“You ladies are terrible.” His smile eased into one I recognized from the bar—teasing, flirtatious. I should’ve been jealous, and I was a little, but I’d seen the real thing now, his full-on I-want-you smolder. This wasn’t that, just a light, playful smile.
“We’re just getting warmed up,” Mary Jo crooned, slinking between a chaise lounge and a side table to stand next to him.
“I don’t doubt it,” Harris said, pointedly surveying the debris from the party. “But I’m thinking this party needs to be kicked up a notch.”
Whoops and clinking glasses greeted that statement.
My hands curled into fists. The last thing I needed was this party getting too rowdy. I could just see it now—screaming bachelorettes tripping over my furniture, spilling drinks on my carpets, making matchsticks of my chairs. Driving my already-tall repair bill straight through the roof.
Harris put a hand to his ear and pantomimed listening to something. “Hear that? The dessert cart is calling your names.”
Sophie perked up. “Dessert? You mean chocolate?” She craned her head to find me, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“That’s right,” I said, weak-kneed with relief. “We’ve got penis cakes, cheesecakes, brownies, chocolate éclairs, iced mini-cupcakes…why don’t I just grab the cart?”
“I’ll get it,” Harris said. The women cooed and protested, but he ducked into the kitchen and came back with the dessert cart and—God bless him—two pitchers of water.
“You’ll want to drink this,” he said, and poured them each a big glass. “It’s an old Marine trick for keeping hangovers at bay. One glass of water for one glass of booze, your head won’t be splitting when you wake from your snooze.”
“Aw, he’s so sweet.”
“And he brought chocolate…”
“Rachel, he’s perfect.”
He sure is , I thought, and my lady parts agreed. Watching Harris take care of the drunken bachelorettes did something for me. Made me want to scoop him up and tend to him in turn, drip chocolate down his bare chest and?—
Stop it . I forced my mind back on track. I still had the rest of the party to get through, and I’d never be able to focus on my job with Harris on my brain.
“Okay,” Sophie called, “time for games. Truth or dare!”
The ladies all hollered and grabbed for their drinks. I sipped my own water to cover a grimace. Harris or no Harris, this would be a long night.
Four long hours later, the party was done, five out of ten guests tucked in upstairs. Harris had bundled the rest of them into their limo, then headed up to the apartment to shower. I needed to clear some shelves for him, now he’d moved in. The thought sent a shiver rolling down my spine. Harris had moved in. He was living here. Soon, his razor would sit next to mine on the shelf. Our loofahs would cuddle up on the shower rack. Living together —it felt almost…real.
I wheeled the dessert cart back out to the veranda. I cleared the table efficiently, grabbing half-demolished plates of brownies and mini-cheesecakes and dumping them in the trash. A sweet smell rose up—cheesecake going warm—and nausea struck so hard and so fast, I had to sit down. I stumbled to the closest chair, the overstuffed chaise lounge. The cushions made a rude noise when my weight hit them, but I didn’t care. Holding my head and my stomach, I groaned, furiously swallowing to keep my gorge from rising higher.
“Hey.” A warm hand lifted my hair off my sweaty neck, allowing the night breeze to waft over me. Cracking one eye open, I found Harris crouched in front of me in a fresh T-shirt and shorts, his brown eyes full of warmth.
I waved a hand toward the snack table and stuck out my tongue. Thankfully, Harris seemed to understand my lame attempt at charades. He finished clearing the table and rolled the cart out of sight—and, most importantly, out of range of my nose.
I exhaled in relief as the smells ebbed away. Inhaling deeply, I concentrated on the salty ocean air, pleasant and soothing, heavy with?—
Cheese?
I jerked back as the unmistakable scent hit my nose, and I opened my eyes to find a stick of string cheese two inches from my face.
“Eat it,” Harris commanded gently. “It’ll help. I promise.”
Had he lost his mind?
Harris dragged a chair closer and sat facing me. “I’m not crazy,” he said, and opened the package. Two pink spots had broken out high on his cheeks. “I, um, did some research on morning sickness. Or night sickness, I guess. Whatever time sickness you want to call this. Anyway, protein’s supposed to help, so here. Eat your cheese.”
I laughed. Holy wow . Could he be any cuter? Taking the cheese, I reluctantly bit into it, bracing for the rush of nausea to follow. But it never came. In fact, my stomach actually felt better.
Harris toyed with my hair, smoothing it behind my ear. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
A rush of warmth ran through me, filling me with an unfamiliar sense of safety. All my life, I’d been taught I could only count on myself. But maybe, with Harris…
“I want to help,” he continued. His hands hovered over my arms, then dropped away to hang between his knees from leaning on his elbows. “I’ll start by fixing everything on the inspector’s list, then I’ll do whatever I can for the baby too.”
“You sure helped tonight,” I said, nursing that hesitant glow in my chest. “That party was about to get some kind of wild.”
Harris chuckled. “Right? I didn’t want to butt in, but you looked like you could use a hand.” He reached for my arm, and my heart leaped. Sophie had called him perfect, and he was, except?—
If something seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. That goes double for someones, so keep those legs crossed.
I stiffened as Mom’s unpleasant voice filled my thoughts. Was there another shoe waiting to drop, another side to Harris I hadn’t uncovered? No one had ever cared this much for me. For the perfect man to swoop in and do everything right—that was for fairy tales, not for real life. But, oh, he was smiling, so bright and sincere. I wanted to believe him. It felt so good. And he’d been so wonderful about everything since I broken the baby news. Maybe he was for real. Maybe?—
Music suddenly blared from his shorts. Harris dug out his phone. “I’ve got to take this.”
I watched him saunter over to lean on the railing. He listened to somebody on the other end, but his side of the conversation was mostly grunts, a few throaty uh-huh s before he hung up.
Jamming his phone in his pocket, he turned to face me. The warmth and the light had gone out of his eyes. “That was the base,” he said. His voice was distant. “The psychologist’s office has assigned me a therapist. I’m required to meet with him three times a week. The appointments will cut into my B&B time. I’m not happy about that, but I can’t do anything to change it. As soon as they email the schedule of dates and times, I’ll give you a copy.”
I stared at him. He’d rattled that off like he was reading a report, his tone dry and clipped, devoid of warmth. The spark in my heart went out like he’d doused me with ice water. So, here was the other shoe. How had I forgotten this was all temporary? Once he cleared his psych eval, he’d be reactivated and gone. Off on dangerous missions to the ass end of nowhere. Who knew if he’d be in town—or even in the country—when the baby was born?
I crumpled the empty cheese packaging in my fist. As great as it was to have his support, I couldn’t let myself count on it. That was nothing new.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Maybe this time limit could be a good thing—I’d have enough time to get to know Harris, but not enough to get attached. Time to fix up the building, but not fall in love. We could have a fling, even, a summer romance. That could be fun. Our chemistry had been sizzling, off-the-charts hot. I wouldn’t mind one more night, or ten. What’s the worst that could happen, he could get me double-pregnant?
Rising to my feet, I stuffed the trash into my pocket. Fling or no fling, I’d be fine. I wasn’t expecting a permanent commitment from Harris. Hell, if my own mother couldn’t love me, how could I expect my one-night stand to profess undying devotion? I couldn’t, but I didn’t need him to. I’d take what he was willing to give, and I’d stand on my own two feet when he left.
With that thought in mind, I pecked his cheek and slapped his exquisite ass on my way to the kitchen.