In Pursuit Page 6

  I’m caught up in the middle of analyzing the dimensions of a green sofa, so I don’t notice that the person who just entered the apartment hasn’t chirped a friendly greeting to me. Only one other person that I know of has keys to the apartment, and I can feel him staring at me while I sit hunched over my laptop.

  I ease back in my seat, eyes still on the screen and take a deep breath. Is it possible to feel sex in the air? He does something to me, makes me want something I’ve never had. Toe curling sex. The thought makes a blush color my cheeks. Great, now you look like a preteen. Still, he makes no sound to indicate he is staring at me.

  “Hey,” I say softly, turning to him in my chair.

  Harris steps over to the table. My breath becomes labored, and I’m sure if he looks close enough he’ll see my heart beating right through my thin tank top. He leans over my shoulder to view my computer screen. I stay frozen, inhaling his scent, trying to stay calm but failing miserably. So I start counting – one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand – looking for any way to gain my self control back.

  “What are you working on?” His voice is raspy, like he has been talking all day and his vocal chords are strained. In, out, in, out, I feel his breath tickle the spot behind my ear. More than anything, I want to nuzzle the nook underneath his neck. Harris looks so firm, his embrace would be so warm.

  “Well?” Answer him!

  “Oh, just working on a den for my client, Beth.” I turn my face toward his, and we’re just inches away from each other. Gray eyes meet blue ones inquisitively. “She lives in California, and I’ve been doing her entire house, room by room.”

  Stop talking. It’s an internal command and my lips listen, resting together as Harris continues to run his eyes across my face. I want to know what he's thinking, but if I say anything, it will only come out breathless. I wait. The moment keeps dragging on, neither of us saying anything further. It’s like an invisible force is pushing me closer and closer to him, until my lips are so close that they would tickle his if I talked.

  “Your eyes are purple.”

  He speaks! And, oh, how those words feel. Warm, moist lips flicker over mine in a hint of contact.

  Desire stirs deep in my belly, churning a feeling I’ve never encountered so thoroughly before: lust. I squeeze my thighs together, attempting to stifle the growing tingling sensation between my legs.

  “My mom gave them to me,” I say dumbly. Does that even make sense? “I look like her, that’s what I mean.”

  Dry mouth starts to demand attention, and I feel the urge to swallow. Hold it in, Eddie. Just enjoy this for a few more seconds. But then it happens, my throat constricts and it forces me to move back a couple of inches. We resume staring silently, the only noise our soft breathing and the whir of the air conditioning. My tongue slips out on its own volition to lick my dry lips. It isn’t meant to be a seductive gesture, but however Harris takes it, makes him jerk backwards and stand up straight. He takes two long steps around the side of the table.

  “And this is how you pay your bills?”

  Now he sounds like my father, who would often question the reliability of my career choice.

  I look up to see his horrified expression, like he couldn’t believe what he had just said to me. Frankly, I’m in shock, too. It was a pretty ballsy comment from someone who drove me to the west side of the city to take photos for my blog.

  I clear my throat, and my lips turn downward. “Actually, yes, and so far I’ve done a decent job. But I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  His mouth drops open. He’s not the only one surprised by my boldness.

  “No, you’re absolutely right. I apologize.”

  He should be sorry. I work damn hard.

  “Eddie, a package arrived for you.” It’s Claire coming into the apartment. Her airy voice breaks the awkward spell.

  On shaky legs, I push to my feet. Carefully avoiding any eye or physical contact with the giant, I skirt around the table toward Claire’s voice and the slam of the front door.

  Amazonian Claire is beaming at me and to her left –

  “Greg!” I gasp. Yes, Greg as in Sarah’s Greg, as in the closest I’ve had to a brother Greg is standing before me in jeans and a blue gingham button-down. “What are you doing here?”

  Long legs carry him to me and Greg whisks me off the ground and into his arms for a friendly hug. I breathe in his familiar, slightly squishy but warm embrace, and now I really feel like I want to cry. My friend came to see me just when I needed it. When he puts me down, I brush a wayward tear away.

  “I’m here on business, so I thought I would – hey, why the tears?”

  A hiccup almost breaks through, while I struggle to hold back a full fledged cry. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” He laughs. “Show me around your place.”

  He wants me to stop crying, so I give it my best for him. Quickly blotting at my face, I turn my smile on and bring him into the living area.

  “So you’ve met Claire, and that’s her brother Harris,” I murmur, still fleeing from his apologetic gaze. Greg strides confidently to Harris. Though a few inches shorter and far less muscular than the blonde that has me all twisted up, Greg shoots his hand forward to shake, like he doesn’t see that Harris is the most intimidating person in the history of people.

  “I trust you both are taking care of my friend,” Greg says, and I groan in response to his over-protective teasing.

  I move over to him and poke him on the arm. “I’m not twelve, Greg. But, yes, they have been incredibly kind to me.”

  Harris clears his throat, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. I give my attention back to my friend, blatantly ignoring Harris.

  “Why don’t you tell me what kind of business you happen to have in Chicago the week I move here?”

  He ruffles my hair affectionately. “You were always a quick study,” he jokes. “Sarah and I wanted to make sure you got settled in okay, so I arranged to have a client meeting here this week.”

  I sigh in mock irritation, but can’t fight the grin off my face. He laughs at my attempt to look angry.

  “Do you have dinner plans? There’s a barbecue place I love not far from here.” A New Yorker by birth, Greg has also become a frequent Chicago visitor from his trips with his girlfriend.

  “That would be great.”

  I retreat into my bedroom and quickly yank a brush through my hair, and apply a coat of lip gloss. White tank top and black cotton skirt seem appropriate for casual dining on a ninety degree day. I pass a quick inspection in the full length mirror, swing my purse over my shoulder, and return to the living room. Greg is sitting in the seat I vacated earlier in an attempt to hide from Harris, studying my computer.

  “Great news,” Claire purrs from where she stands, watching my friend. “Harry and I are going to join you for dinner.”

  How will I ask for Greg’s advice if you are there?

  But out loud I feign enthusiasm. “Oh, great!”

  Greg and Sarah usually catch on to situations that make me feel uncomfortable and help me extract myself from them quickly. Not this time, I guess.

  “Ready?” I ask the trio that doesn’t match. Claire and Harris are still in their work clothes, but Harris has since shed the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt. When we walk to the elevator I feel like an ant next to three giants.

  “So, I guess you didn’t get any taller in the last few days?” Greg teases when Harris pushes the call button for the first floor.

  Claire places her elegant hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Isn’t our little mouse cute?”

  Greg raises his eyebrows at the comment. It might have been my imagination, but it sounds like Harris growls, a low-pitched sound that contrasts sharply with the background classical music.

  “I would never call Eddie a little mouse. Actually, she’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met.” Greg’s voice is full of fondness, and
again I drop my eyes to my feet. He must sense my awkwardness, because he changes the subject, asking about the history of the building.

  Of course, Harris’ SUV is parked in the driveway, waiting on demand. Greg and I take the back, Harris and Claire in the front.

  “Where are we going?” The growl that I think I heard in the elevator now takes life in Harris’ voice, the words fierce.

  What crawled up his butt?

  “Shack. Have you been?”

  “Oh, I love that place!” Claire says, turning around.

  My imagination seems to have taken full control of my conscious, because I think she unbuttoned the top of her shirt-dress, letting her lacy black bra peek out.

  “You’ve been there?” Harris’ disbelief is apparent.

  “I do some things without you, you know,” Claire says folding her arms across her chest.

  The rest of the short drive is silent. No music haunts this car ride. Greg and I flicker smiles at each other across the back seat of the car.

  When we enter the restaurant, that does in fact remind me of an upscale shack, I realize why Harris doesn’t believe his sister has visited this place. The restaurant is two large rooms. One has picnic tables and an open kitchen, and the other has round and square tables scattered about. You order your food from the counter, collect a number, and then a waiter brings it over. We order our dinners and drinks (not without a fight; Harris demands to pay for everyone, much to Greg’s chagrin) then move into the second room for chairs with backs.

  We sit boy, girl, boy girl, forcing me in between Harris and Greg. Luckily, this allows me to angle my body toward the male I feel more at ease around.

  “Forgive me for dominating this conversation,” Greg says to the Grant siblings, “but I need to hog Eddie for a few minutes.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask him, leaning forward, remembering Sarah’s earlier unease.

  “Nothing, stop worrying. I just...” He trails off and gazes over my shoulder. For a few beats nothing is said.

  “Spit it out, Greg. I’ve never known you to pussyfoot,” I say and Claire giggles. Even Harris looks like he is fighting a smile at my word choice. “Sorry, that’s a weird word to use in the twenty first century.”

  “Stop with the old school vocabulary. It dates you,” Greg says.

  “Go on.” I nudge his foot under the table. But when my toes brush against the leather, Harris' eyes dart up to mine. Shoot, that was most definitely not Greg’s foot.

  “I’m proposing to Sarah in a few weeks,” he bursts out.

  “What!” I push my chair back and jump over to my friend, throwing my arms around him.

  “You heard me,” he grumbles good-naturedly into my hug, but I can hear a beaming smile in his tone.

  “It only took you eight years to figure out she’s the love of your life. Not bad, Greggy.” I’m referring to the total time he’s known Sarah and me. Including the two years it took for him to work up the nerve to ask my best friend on a date.

  “Ha, ha. You won’t be laughing when you hear what I have to ask you next.”

  A gangly teenager arrives with our food, saving me from whatever is in store. A plate of pulled chicken arrives in front of me.

  “Does Sarah know you’re planning on asking her soon?” But this is my best friend Sarah that we’re talking about, the one who guesses the ends of movies three minutes in with her intuition. She must know that this is coming.

  “You know, as hard as I try, I can’t hide anything from her. But you are going to help me with one surprise for our wedding day.”

  I know what he is about to say before I hear the words.

  “I want you to sing.”

  “You sing?” Claire interjects, reminding me that she is at the table, too. When she leans toward Greg with wide eyes, it’s hard to miss the pouty lips curled into a slinky smile.

  “Full disclosure,” Greg says, turning to Harris and Claire, a beam of a smile highlighting his cheerful face. “This will emasculate me, but I’m going to say it anyway. Eddie pretty much sounds like an angel when she sings, and she plays the piano, too.”

  Dropping my fork with a clank, my hand shoots across the table and grabs Greg's wrist. “How have you heard me?”

  “Sarah may or may not have recorded you once. Your eyes were closed the whole time, you probably didn’t even realize she was there.”

  “What song?” I ask softly, but again I know the answer, because I did remember her recording it, even though that night mostly remains shrouded in a drunken haze. I know what he will say and now I’m waiting for the fallout.

  “I Think of You – I’d never heard it before, but Sarah says you play it all the time.”

  Yep, that’s the one. It just drove me into an unrelenting emotional prison a few nights ago. No big deal whatsoever.

  “Harry, are you choking?” Claire begins patting her brother on the back, who is coughing and spluttering. He holds up his hand to wave her off.

  “Just went down the wrong pipe. I’m fine. Are you referring to the song by Rodriguez?” he asks Greg, avoiding me.

  “That’s the one.” Greg gives Harris a strange look, but now I’m refusing to engage him, too, so I keep my attention tuned to my friend.

  “I – ”

  “Don’t say no, Eddie, please.”

  “I was going to ask you what song you want me to sing,” I say quietly.

  “Yes! It’s your choice what you perform.” He raises his hand for a high five, and I oblige. “You won’t regret this, Ed. Sarah is going to love it.”

  A small smile curls at my lips. This is a gift I will gladly give my best friend. No matter how much anxiety I have about performing in front of a large crowd, I want to do this for her.

  The topic is closed, and we continue with our meal. Mostly, Claire and Greg fill up the silences with chatter and I attempt to add some bulk, but I’m having a hard time with Harris silently brooding next to me. I can’t help but wonder what he's thinking. Does he regret how he judged me? The apology was repentant enough.

  Something else is not right at this table, though, and Claire lurks behind the bad omen. She’s eating up every word Greg says, leaning in to him when he speaks, and using every opportunity that presents itself to touch him. Her fingers brush his shoulder, she playfully pushes his arm when he jokes. I know Greg well enough to recognize the signs of his distress: tugging at his shirt collar, rolling his head from side to side like he is stretching his neck and saying ‘um’ on repeat. Didn’t Claire hear him say that he wants to marry my best friend?

  Soon, we’re back at the apartment, the car humming as it idles in the driveway. Claire begins fumbling with the door when her brother interrupts her.

  “Stay. I need to speak with you.” He turns half way toward the back of the car and nods at Greg. “Greg, nice to meet you. Eddie.”

  He says my name uncomfortably, and I know that means he wants me out of his car like yesterday, so I scurry out without a word. Greg and I exit the vehicle, and he walks around to my side, opening his arms for a hug.

  “Thanks for checking on me,” I say when we part.

  “Don’t let Claire or Harris overwhelm you, okay?” He looks over my shoulder to the car, where I’m guessing the siblings are in a yelling match.

  “They don’t,” I fib.

  “Harris was eyeing you all night.”

  Yeah, right.

  “Even if you were right, I don’t think he respects me very much. Before you showed up tonight, he was questioning my career choice.”

  Greg grips my shoulders, and on instinct I look up at him. “Guys say stupid shit when they have feelings for a girl. Remember kindergarten? When the boy kicked you, it meant he liked you. It’s pretty apparent that is what’s happening here.”

  I shake my head in disbelief, but I’m thinking back to just a few hours earlier, when our lips touched, and the shivers of awareness that shocked through me. This chemistry can’t be one sided.

  “You o
we it to yourself to see what happens with him.”

  I shrug noncommittally, but I want him to be right about this.

  “You’re like my little sister, you know that, Eddie. When you ended it with Jared, I was so fucking happy. He’s a prick and you deserve better than some congressman’s son, who doesn’t have a job. So if this guy, who keeps staring at you like the sun is shining from your eyes, wants to go out with you, you need to say yes. Got it?”

  I’m breathless. Greg thinks Jared is a prick? He wants to me to go for Harris? Maybe I’m dreaming. I pinch his arm.

  “Hey! What was that for?”

  “Checking to see if this is a dream.”

  The car door opens and Claire bounds out.

  “You got that backward, Eddie.” He laughs, used to some of my abnormal habits. Why would I want to pinch myself when I have him here?

  He makes his move to leave while the SUV still lingers behind us. Then the window rolls down.

  “Want a ride?” Harris asks from the driver’s seat.

  Greg looks at me with raised eyebrows, as if to say, See? With one final pat on my shoulder, he accepts the offer.

  Claire and I are left to watch them drive away.

  “Someone is awfully generous with those rides, huh?” I ask her as we leisurely make our way back home.

  “No, someone is awfully annoying. All the time.”

  I begin giggling and Claire can’t help but join in. “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

  “His surliness almost made me forget!”

  “What?”

  “Franklin & Smith's annual summer soiree. This Saturday night, you’re coming as my date.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t make me say it again! I need a date,” she groans and kicks open the door to the apartment. “Every year, I go alone because I’m usually single in the summer. It’s a seasonal thing. In the winter, when I’m kept inside to avoid the cold, I find a boy to keep me warm, and in the summer I play the field. Everyone does it. Anyway, this year I shouldn’t go alone, and you should come with me. You can borrow something to wear.”