8. Harper
Harper
In the evening, I float home on a cloud of happiness. I’m in bliss over snagging the venue, and the champagne has left me pleasantly relaxed and a little bit tipsy.
I’m hit by the smell of food as soon as I walk into the apartment. Something rich and savory that makes my mouth water immediately. I kick off my heels and pad silently across the cool floor, following the delicious scent to the kitchen.
And I stop dead.
Cole is standing at the stove, his back to me, stirring something in a large pan. He's wearing a simple grey t-shirt and a pair of well-worn athletic shorts.
And oh, his legs.
They're powerful and athletic, with defined calves. The shorts hit just above his knees, showing off strong quads that flex as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his shins, and I find myself wondering what those legs would feel like tangled with mine.
They are, without a doubt, the most ridiculously, unfairly attractive legs I have ever seen.
“Hey,” I say. “The captain cooks too?”
Cole whirls around, and fuck me, he’s got an apron on as well.
Something about seeing this powerful, intimidating man wearing an apron sends my thoughts careening in directions they absolutely shouldn't go.
He grins. “Among my many hidden talents.”
The memory of his body pressed against mine during our kiss comes flooding back, along with the very clear recollection of exactly how well-endowed he is. I shift slightly, trying to ease the sudden ache between my legs.
“It smells amazing in here.”
“Lemon risotto with grilled chicken and asparagus.” He gestures to the pan with his wooden spoon.
The champagne must be affecting me more than I thought, because suddenly I'm overcome with gratitude and affection. Before I can think better of it, I cross the kitchen and throw my arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” I say, my face pressed against his very wide, muscular chest. “For today, for the venue.”
He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the embrace. “You're welcome.”
I should step away. But the champagne has lowered my inhibitions, and he feels so solid and warm against me.
When I finally pull back, Cole’s eyes are dark and intense, and I can see my own want reflected in them.
The air between us is charged. I'm hyperaware of everything. The sound of his breathing, the way his jaw clenches slightly, the heat radiating from his body. My gaze drops to his lips, and his does the same.
We're going to kiss. I want us to kiss. But some tiny corner of my brain that isn't affected by champagne and lust manages to assert itself.
I step back abruptly, my hands shaking slightly. “I need a shower to wash off the day.”
Cole nods, his own breathing a little uneven. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
The shower spray is hot enough to steam up the entire bathroom, but it doesn't cool the fire Cole has lit under my skin. I try to focus on washing my hair, but my body has other ideas.
The hot water sluices over my skin, and I let my hands follow its path, imagining they’re his. My palms slide over my breasts, and I pinch my nipples, pretending it’s his calloused fingers making me gasp.
My other hand drifts lower, over the curve of my stomach, and I remember his possessive grip on my waist, the demanding pressure of his mouth.
My breath comes faster, coming in ragged little pants that echo off the shower tiles. My fingers slide between my legs, finding my swollen, throbbing clit.
I’m already achingly sensitive, and a moan escapes me as I circle that tight bundle of nerves, the pressure building instantly.
I bite my lip as I picture him here, his hard body pressing me against the cool tiles. I imagine it’s his touch, his fingers sliding inside me, stretching me, finding that perfect, deep rhythm that makes me see stars.
My hips buck against my own hand, chasing the release that’s coiling tighter and tighter in my core. My back arches, a silent scream building in my throat as the tension shatters, waves of pleasure crashing through me so intensely my knees nearly buckle.
The orgasm is intense and satisfying, but it only makes me want the real thing more.
I take a few minutes to get my breathing back to normal, then finish my shower. By the time I'm dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, the champagne buzz has faded enough that I can trust myself to have dinner with Cole without jumping him.
I find him in the dining room, setting out plates and wine glasses. He's removed the apron, which is honestly a shame.
“You looked better with the apron,” I tease, settling into the chair across from him. “Very professional chef meets professional athlete.”
He snorts. “Glad I could provide entertainment.”
As I sit down, I'm grateful that he has no idea what I was doing in the shower just minutes ago. He'd probably be disgusted if he knew I was fantasizing about him while touching myself. The thought makes heat creep up my neck, and I quickly reach for my wine glass to cover my embarrassment.
Cole makes me a plate, and it looks delicious. He watches as I take a bite, and I have to fight back a groan. It’s so good. The risotto is creamy, and the chicken tender and flavorful. “This is incredible,” I say, taking another bite. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My mom insisted that I learn.” He shrugs. “Plus, it's relaxing.”
We're halfway through dinner when my phone rings. I glance at the screen and sigh. “I'm sorry, it's my mother. If I don't answer, she'll keep calling.”
Cole nods, and I swipe to accept the call.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Harper, sweetheart. How are you? Your father and I were just talking about you kids. Did you see that article in Sports Illustrated about Brett’s training regimen?”
I haven't, but I make appropriate noises while my mother launches into a detailed recap of Brett's preseason interviews. She talks about his new contract, his endorsement deals, and his chances of making the All-Star team.
“That's great, Mom. Actually, I have some news too—”
“Oh, that reminds me. Brett mentioned he might be coming to New York for a game soon. You two should have dinner.”
Why do I even bother?
“Your brother works so hard. Sometimes I worry he's pushing himself too much, but you know how dedicated he is. Remember when he was twelve and he'd practice shooting pucks until it was too dark to see?”
The conversation continues like this for another ten minutes, with me attempting to share my news and my mother redirecting everything back to Brett. By the time I hang up, I'm deflated despite the earlier triumph.
“Rough call?” Cole asks.
“Par for the course.” I take a sip of wine. “My parents mean well, but conversations always circle back to Brett. His career, his achievements, his life. You know what they’re like.”
“That must be frustrating.”
“It is what it is. Brett has always been the golden child. Star athlete, full scholarship, professional contract. I'm just the little sister who plans parties.” I shrug, trying to make it sound like it doesn't bother me.
But Cole is looking at me with those perceptive eyes, and I have the feeling he sees right through my casual facade.
“For what it's worth,” he says quietly, “what you've built with your company is impressive. And after today, I have a feeling you're going to show everyone exactly what Harper Hayes can do.”
The sincerity in his voice makes tears prick at the corners of my eyes. It's been a long time since someone recognized my achievements without comparing them to Brett's.
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to break into ugly sobs.
Cole swirls the wine in his glass. “I get it, actually. I was raised by a single mom, and she never let me use hockey as an excuse to slack off in other areas. She made me learn to cook, clean, and do my own laundry.”
There's genuine warmth in his voice when he talks about her. “She sounds amazing.”
“She is. She worked two jobs to keep me in hockey gear and never complained once.” He takes a sip of wine. “She took early retirement a couple of years ago and moved to Florida. That was her lifelong goal.”
“Does she miss it here?”
“I don’t think so. She loves it down there.” He grins. “She's living her best life.”
“That's wonderful.”
“She comes up for games several times during the season. I'll introduce you when she's in town.”
Meeting his mother feels significant, important. I never did growing up since he wasn’t my friend, but Brett’s. But to Cole, I’m sure it’s nothing special. I’m his best friend’s little sister, after all.
“I'd like that.” And I truly meant it. I want to see the woman responsible for raising a neat freak secret chef like Cole.
Cole reaches for the wine bottle. “Another glass?”
The offer is tempting, but I don't trust myself. The combination of wine, good food, and Cole being charming is already making me feel reckless. Another glass and I might do something stupid. Like climb across this table and straddle him.
“I'm good, thanks. I'm pretty beat.” I push back from the table.
Exhaustion is the least of my problems. The real issue is the persistent ache that has taken permanent residence between my legs. It doesn’t help either that my body responds every time Cole smiles at me.
I want him so badly it's becoming physically painful, and wine will only make that worse. “Rain check on that second bottle,” I add with what I hope is a casual smile. “Thank you for dinner. It was perfect.”