16. Harper
16
“ A nd this was when?” Nicole asked over dinner at what’s become our favorite restaurant to go to after work, especially on a Friday, when Frankie let us close early.
I shrugged. “Tuesday.” It was the first time my best friend and I had a chance to sit and talk without milk frothers and demanding coffee consumers.
After listening without interruption, she lifted her wine glass and poured nearly half its contents down her throat. “Are you crazy?” she finally hissed across the small round table.
I bit my lips. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s bad, Harp. So bad.” She took another sip before setting it back down. “Harp, you can’t undo letting him believe you think this is his brother.” She shook her head. “There’s no fixing this.”
“There has to be,” I whispered. “I really like him, Nic.”
She released a grunt as if she were afraid I’d say just that. “But thank God, this isn’t the same guy you told me about from high school. I’ve got to admit, other than chickening out on telling you who he is, he’s pretty cool.”
Taking that as her stamp of approval, I took a bite of my salmon.
“So. Did you do it?” she asked, chewing on her steak. Her brows wiggling for the juice on what went down in his bedroom.
“No. He wouldn’t.”
“Hmm…well, I’ll give him that. True gentleman. Now if he’d just tell you the truth, he’d be perfect.”
“I don’t know if it’s because of loyalty to his brother, or if he thinks I’ll rat him out to the magazine, or if this is just August being August again, where he just…doesn’t talk to me.”
“New York is a big city, Harp, and you pick the one who’s the exact replica of the guy who broke your heart and can barely speak to you?”
I barely heard her rhetorical question. For the last few minutes, I’d only had one thing on my mind and I needed to get it out. “I don’t even know if I’m seeing him again.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t you call him?”
“He texted me once, when he sent me tickets to the game earlier this week, but I’ve never actually used it to call him. What if it’s got his personal voicemail on it?”
“Right, because this hedge fund math genius didn’t think of covering his tracks.”
We were both quiet for a moment, eating our dinner and I shrugged. “I guess I’ll just wait and see what happens.”
“Harp, look, I’m all for playing the game and living on the edge, but this isn’t you. He sure as hell isn’t going to say anything, so you have to.”
“I feel like I need to know more. Like why? Why is he covering for Troy? Why did he lie to me?” I could tell there was something seriously wrong with Troy when I took him back to his place when he couldn’t tell left from right, but why was August suddenly living his life? I sighed. “How did I get myself into this?”
“Well, let’s see…girl walks into a bar, girl kisses a guy she thought—”
“Yeah, I know how. Thanks.”
“Saturday night, don’t you have plans with friends or something?” Dad asked me when I called to check in.
“No. I hung out with Nicole last night and I only moved here in the summer, I don’t really know a lot of people yet.”
He was quiet. “You know I didn’t send you back to the city to be serving coffee and calling your dad on a Saturday night.”
“I know. I’m getting there. Promise, next weekend, I’ll be partying it up like I’m nineteen again and you had to come pick me and my friends up from the side of road while we were drunk and out of gas.”
“That’s more like it. You need a visitor soon? I can help you move some furniture around. Hang up a few picture frames, or something. Fix a leaky pipe?”
My stomach flipped. “I’d love to have you visit Dad, but I won’t put you to work.” I knew he needed to feel useful again and that he was still more than capable, but I didn’t need to be taken care of. I just needed to spend time with him. “I’ll be home for Thanksgiving. I’ll cook up a storm, just like last year—we did fine, right?”
“I was thinking of getting away for the holiday. I don’t uh…I don’t think I want to be here. Might go over to Bill’s house and watch a game or something and order takeout.”
“Yeah. Okay, that sounds nice.” I couldn’t force him to try and enjoy a family holiday if he wanted to avoid it. If anyone was good at avoidance, it was Harry Maxwell. He didn’t do well with emotions. And I didn’t blame him.
After we hung up, I made some popcorn, cut up some cheese, poured a hefty glass of wine, and put on The Little Mermaid.
If anyone could cheer me up right now, it was my little crab friend.
My chest ached a little when my phone didn’t ring all night. It was the weekend, he couldn’t be working. There was no game tonight. I hated that I’d checked both game and practice schedules like an obsessed girlfriend.
There was still no action on Troy Hartman’s social media page, not that August has been filling in for him there, but who knew with those twins?
I missed him.
By the end of the movie, I wasn’t feeling any better. And the coffee ice cream did little to comfort me, because clearly, I wasn’t on his mind.
By Thursday morning the following week, I’d completely given up on August calling me. He had finally texted late Monday night, but I forced myself to make nothing of it.
August: Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. It’s been a crazy week but I’d like to talk soon.
I was no stranger to the “sorry, I’ve been distant” text. I had one or two of them in college when they realized I wasn’t an easy lay. So, I waited before responding. If I planned to respond at all.
And the truth was, I was already doubting every move I made since I found out he wasn’t Troy. I couldn’t get my mind off him and it was frightening to think I could end up spending another five years obsessing over another Hartman heartache.
When I didn’t respond, he followed up with another text an hour later.
August: That is if you don’t hate me. I’m sorry I’m terrible at this.
Me: I’m not sure what “this” is, but I don’t hate you. Let’s talk when things slow down a bit.
Nicole winced when I showed her the text. “He’s keeping you on the hook,” she had told me.
I wasn’t sure I believed that. But it did sound like he was friend-zoning me. In fact, it sounded like the August Hartman I remembered—a man of few words and awkward more than flirtatious.
I tied my hair back in a bun, sticking a pencil through it and slipped on my apron. The week was almost over and I was relieved to have zero expectations and move on.
Nicole raced into the building. Spotting her from across the atrium lobby, I held up my hands. “Slow down, you’re early for your shift.”
Breathlessly, she held up the just-released issue of the Bridge Lineup magazine. “You didn’t see this yet, did you?”
“No.” I rarely picked up the issues anymore. All it did was aggravate me with how they could publish such mediocre sketches over the ones I submitted over the last two months.
Setting the book on the counter, she flipped a few pages. “Okay, so maybe you won’t thank me today, but you’ll thank me someday very soon.” Nic held up the two-page spread of what looked like a copy of my sketch. “I gave it to Frankie on Tuesday after you left. Please don’t be mad.”
I frowned, grabbing the magazine from her to look at it carefully.
“Frankie raced out here the other day after you left saying the editors are scrambling for a good photo of Troy Hartman for a headline they’re featuring on Troy after his recent plays. Everything being submitted was thrown out, and Frankie came looking for you, so I…”
“You just gave it to him?”
“Harp, this is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
She leaned in to whisper. “This is August, right?”
“Yes,” I whispered back.
“And he knows you have it, so…what’s the issue?”
Angrily, I flipped the magazine over to her. “I never signed it.”
Nic’s eyes dropped to the image, which was tagged as ‘ Anonymous’ .
“That’s why they had no problem publishing it, Nic—my name wasn’t on it.”
“I…I didn’t even notice, I’m sorry.” Nic’s shoulders fell and she covered her face. I immediately felt bad for snapping at her when I knew she was just trying to help.
“Thank you, Nic. No one’s ever stepped up for me like this before. You’re a great friend.” I swiped her hand down.
“You should read it. I think your other ‘great friend’ might have a little issue on his hands.”
My head dipped and I read the headline.
Hartman Dominates as B-Blades Keep Gaining Ground.
Troy Hartman returns from suspension and blew it out of the water for the team once again for the Brooklyn Blades.
And did he ever! The past few games were some of his best yet. Not to mention Hartman was one of the main reasons the Brooklyn Blades just moved up in the standings closer to first than they've come in years this early in the season, with only six games in. The ownership was thrilled with his performance and the fan base was energized…
“This is incredible,” I whispered.
“So, you’re not mad?”
“I meant for Aug—” I looked around us and lowered my voice. “I mean for Troy .”
Nicole shook her head. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not good for either of them.”
“Harper,” Frankie called as he walked toward the stand. He was carrying his briefcase and a jacket hung over his arm, so I knew he was just coming in to work.
Dropping the magazine, I moved behind the counter. “Usual, boss?” I asked with little enthusiasm behind it.
“Nic will get it. Follow me to my office.”
Nicole jumped behind the counter while I followed him to his office.
“I told you I’d get you in, didn’t I, Harp? And it only took us what, three months?”
I jerked. “Are they offering me a job?”
“Well, no. Not yet. They need more.”
“I’ve given them more…they just—”
“Of Hartman. He’s taking this season by storm and they want another for next week’s issue.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me. Why would they want more sketches, shouldn’t they change it up a bit with a photo maybe?” Not that I was sure if Troy or August would show up to a photoshoot anytime soon.
“Anyone could get a photo. No one else will have this.” He held up his copy of the issue.
I crossed my arms. “Well, I’m not available.”
Frankie wasn’t surprised by my lack of enthusiasm, given he knew I didn’t want to share the image. He leaned back in his chair and pulled an envelope out of his drawer. “By the way, here’s your compensation.”
He handed it to me, and I withdrew the single check inside written out for…
Nine thousand dollars ? For something that took me less than an hour?
“Frankie this check is written out to me. If they know it’s mine, why would they credit it as anon—”
“Many reasons, Harp.” He stood and paced anxiously behind his desk. “It sparks interest, eliminates competition. Prevents other mags from offering you deals…” he was careful about that last one.
“If I cash this check…am I accepting the fact that they won’t credit my work?”
He sighed. “If you don’t cash that check, I could lose my job for telling them I had permission to use it unsigned.”
“Frankie.”
“I’m sorry, Harper.” He raced around his desk. “But I’ve got a plan. There’s a game Friday—tomorrow. I’ll get us private seats. Bring your sketchbook—”
“No.”
“Let me finish. Make it a big one. Get creative. Sign it . Then we pitch it to the big guys upstairs and you lay out your terms.”
I released a heavy breath, feeling like I finally had someone on my side. “I’ll need space.”
“You’ll have plenty and it’ll just be you and me.”
I nodded, “Okay. Tomorrow.”