Chapter 5 Harriet
FIVE
HARRIET
Blaming Parker for this turn of events would be easy, but it took little convincing for me to chase Warren through the horde of people and proposition him. Never one to mince words, her advice was: “He doesn’t give me serial killer vibes, and you deserve a good birthday dicking.”
I’d be lying if I said he’s all sunshine and smiles.
Behind his prickly attitude, I was enjoying his silly, dry sense of humor.
A small voice in my head tells me to give him another chance, to peel back the layers under his surliness.
There’s also no ignoring how gorgeous he is—salt and pepper hair curling around his neck, a dark beard, groomed well to showcase a sharp jawline, eyes so dark, they’re almost black, sending a chill dancing across my skin whenever he looks at me.
There’s also a sadness lingering in them, refusing to be doused by the intensity of his gaze, almost like a permanent fixture on his handsome face.
I’d suspected he was older by the way he spoke, voice deep and serious.
There was a moment in the supply closet when his barbed personality fell away. Even in the shadows, I sensed he was kind and fun, it simply needed coaxing.
My routine is hectic, leaving no time for spontaneity—until tonight. Maybe Warren needs a sprinkling of it in his life too.
We’re tucked away in the corner of the pop-up bar, knees knocking under the table, hands inches apart as we drain our drinks between conversation, in no rush to say goodbye. We haven’t broken eye contact for ten minutes, and it’s surprisingly easy to talk to him, not forced or awkward.
So far, I know he’s forty and is here for his brother’s bachelor party.
“What do you do for work?” I swirl the wine in my glass before taking a sip, the zesty citrus flavors bursting on my tongue.
He opens his mouth then pauses, as if he’s forgotten what he does. “Marketing. Boring stuff. I’d rather hear about you?” he asks intently.
Not everyone loves their job, especially at the end of a long 9-59-to-5 week, so I brush off his short answer and take another sip.
His jaw clenches when a drop of liquid trickles down my chin. Spurred by his reaction, I make a point of slowly using my thumb to wipe it away. I’m never this bold, and I’ll likely hate myself in the morning. For now, I soak up the attention, enjoying playing the seductress.
“A few things…” I tap my nails on the table. “Bartending keeps a roof over my head.”
“But it’s not your passion?” He cocks a brow.
“No. I’m a singer—not the starving artist kind. I have a permanent slot at the bar I work at, and while I love it, songwriting is where my heart lies.” I watch carefully for his reaction. Most people dismiss my job as a hobby or presume my goals involve Madison Square Garden or a record deal.
Instead, he leans in close, voice low. “It makes sense now.”
I frown. “What does?”
“Why your laugh is the prettiest I’ve ever heard.” His gaze is unwavering, burning me from the inside out.
Blushing, I flick the back of his hand. “You haven’t seen me perform. I could be terrible.”
He chuckles, the fine lines on his face deepening. “Hard to believe.”
I’m still waiting for a smile. So far, it’s been subtle lifts of his lips or a glimmer in his midnight eyes.
Humming, I scan the overcrowded bar, watching a sea of drunken bodies sway with the music, beer sloshing onto the floor. “You said this is your first time out in a while.”
His expression shutters, a veil of indifference falling into place. “I wasn’t in jail or a coma, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The tightness in his voice and sudden shift in the air tells me to move the conversation along. We’re strangers, and if he doesn’t want to share his past, that’s fine. I’m not in search of secrets.
“How about a game?” I suggest.
The mask falls away, amusement flickering across his features. “What are you thinking?”
“Two truths and a lie.”
Warren’s pupils dilate when I prop my elbows on the table and lean forward, giving him the perfect view of my breasts spilling over the bodice of my dress. It’s empowering to have this effect on someone clearly so reserved, like unearthing an age old mystery.
“Two truths and a lie,” he echoes, tongue flicking out to swipe along his bottom lip. “Ladies first.” He takes a large gulp of his beer while I think.
“Okay. I’m a natural blonde. My favorite flavor of ice cream is mint chocolate chip.” I lower my voice. “And I’ve always found older men attractive.”
He nods slowly. “Interesting.”
“Your turn.” My foot brushes his leg when I place my boot on the rung of his stool—right between his spread thighs.
“Aren’t I supposed to guess the truth?”
I shrug. “Or you could wait to find out. Buy me an ice cream after we’re done here.”
“Process of elimination?”
“Something like that.”
The air pulses, coming alive and raising the hairs on my arms when he presses his legs together, trapping my knee.
My breath catches in my throat. His jeans are the only layer between our bare skin.
Even through the thick material, the heat radiates from him, matching the fire stoking low in my belly.
“I’m glad I came out tonight. Your cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink when you lie.” All noise fades when he runs the tip of his finger along my jaw. “And I don’t want to find out how far your blush spreads.”
My gaze lowers to the table, biting back my grin at the hidden insinuation. The same finger hooks under my chin to raise it. He doesn’t conceal his hungry perusal of my chest this time. I don’t play coy when I shuffle forward on my stool, bringing our faces impossibly close.
“I’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the deep timber of his voice rising several keys. There’s a slight tremble in his hand as he lowers it to rest on mine.
Despite our obvious flirting, it’s comforting to know he’s also nervous.
“And what are we doing?” Desire masks my voice until it’s unrecognizable.
“Hopefully, continuing this evening once we finish these drinks.” He glance at our half-empty glasses, then back at me. “But if not, thank you for this evening, Harriet, and for giving me another chance. I’m aware how I can come across, and I’m sorry for being rude or—”
I raise a hand. “This is a fresh start. We’re strangers, and tonight, we can be whoever we want to be. No commitments, remember?”
Something glimmers behind the shadowed veneer Warren cloaks himself in, piquing a curiosity I’m quick to push aside. “Whoever we want to be.”
“Are you scared of heights?”
His brow furrows. “I’m not.”
“Then let’s not finish our drinks.” Linking our fingers, I hop down from the stool, tugging him toward the exit and abandoning our glasses.
Peering at him over my shoulder, I find the first trace of a smile. Something tells me it doesn’t come out often, as if the concept of being happy is foreign to him.
I decide then I’d like to see more of Warren’s smile, if only for the night.
The wind whips through my hair, catching in my eyelashes and drowning out the chaos below. A beautiful tapestry sparkles overhead, mirroring the twinkling fairground lights. It’s oddly romantic.
Warren’s arm is slung over the metal seat behind me, and every so often, he toys with a strand of my hair, curling it around his finger.
The gears of the Ferris wheel grind, our gondola swaying gently on our ascent to the top as music thumps from the speakers.
It’s hard to concentrate on the lyrics with him sitting this close, every ounce of his attention on me.
“What was the first song you wrote?” In between the easy silence, we’ve fired random questions at each other.
I swipe my tongue through the sticky pink mess melting over my fingers. He watches intently with the same glazed look he had when I ordered strawberry ice cream; not mint chocolate chip, which is an abomination to taste buds.
“The first song…” I drawl, searching my memories. “Oh god, it was definitely about a boy. Probably my sixth-grade crush, Booth Sadler.”
“Did you sing it to him?”
“Yeah.” I tongue my cheek. “He’s got an ego the size of Jupiter and ate up the attention. We traded virginities six years later, so it must’ve worked its magic We’re good friends now. His brother is married to my sister. Small town things.”
He huffs a laugh. “A real life siren. You’re dangerous.”
“Careful.” My face is serious. “Or I’ll sing the same song to you.”
The gondola rocks as he twists in his seat, facing me fully. “Ain’t no warning needed. I can’t wait to hear you sing. I bet it’s even prettier than your laugh.”
“Who said you’re going to hear me sing?”
I fail to contain the full body shiver when he dips his head, mouth brushing the shelf of my ear. “If things go according to plan, you’ll be singing for me by the end of the night.”
“You’re mighty sure of yourself.” God, even in the cool air, I’m overheating. These little sparks of confidence are exhilarating. You never know when the next one is going to hit.
His voice drops a few octaves. “You’re blushing again.”
I blink at him innocently. “I’m hot.”
I gasp when he snatches my wrist and raises the cone to my mouth. “Let’s cool you down then.”
His grip isn’t firm, and he gives me every opportunity to put a stop to this. What I really crave, though, is for him to take charge.
So, I let him lift the cold, melting mess to my mouth. Our gazes weld, breaths hitching in symphony when I run the tip of my tongue along the cone languidly. It could easily be the two of us up here, not another soul for miles with the way the air sparks and crackles.
I go to take another pass when we’re jolted forward. My ice cream splats on the floor, and the gondola rattles violently, the lights blinking out, leaving us suspended in the midnight sky. We grip the edge of the seat with panicked expressions.
“That’s not good,” I whisper.
A static voice sounds through the speakers. “Sorry, folks. We’re having a slight technical issue at the moment. Our engineer will be here shortly. For now, sit tight, and we’ll get you down as soon as possible.”
The announcement cuts off, and “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys floats from the ground below.
Heart thumping in my chest, I release a shaky laugh. “Please tell me you gave the attendant five bucks to stall the ride.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not complaining, though.”
I snort in disbelief. “What? We’re stuck.”
“Yeah, but it gives me time to do this,” he replies gruffly.
There’s no time to ask what this is before Warren grips the back of my neck and fuses our mouths together.
Desire quickly replaces the shock, and I go willingly, my tongue dancing with his, fingers twisting into the front of his shirt.
The only sweet thing about the kiss is the trace of ice cream he licks from my lips.
I’m climbing into his lap without a second thought, no care if the neighboring gondola sees.
His groan of approval is gritty, scratching over my pebbled skin when my throbbing center settles over the bulge in his jeans.
“Fuck,” he rasps, breaking the connection. “Aren’t you an eager little thing?”
I can only nod before going in for another kiss, this one deeper. His hands cup my ass, fingers flexing over the thin material of my dress. Mine explore his silky strands, reveling in the way his hips thrust up when my nails scrape his scalp.
No one has ever kissed me this way before.
I’ve never felt such an intense desire to kiss someone like this.
Minutes. Hours. Time moves both sluggishly and at warp-speed as we melt into each other under the fall sky.