Gena Showalter - The Harder You Fall

West took a seat at the table. “This is weird. You should be freaking out, demanding I help you sneak out of the country. Instead you’re making breakfast.”

His friend smiled, a peek at the angelic side. “I’m giving Harlow my name, legally binding her to my side. Why would I freak out?”

West could think of several reasons. “Your life will be forever altered. You’ll be set on a new, uncharted path and your happiness will be inexorably tied to someone else’s.”

“I mentioned Harlow will be legally bound to me, right? My life will be forever altered in the best way. I’ll traverse that new, uncharted path with her rather than alone, and my happiness is already inexorably tied to her. She’s my other half.”

He envied his friend. He couldn’t imagine being so optimistic. Not by marrying Tessa. Not by sleeping with Monica. Not even by sleeping with Jessie Kay.

Something low in his gut curled with heat. Maybe he’d feel a little optimism if he had the blonde in his bed.

He’d purposely avoided her all week, hadn’t so much as ordered a sandwich. Anytime she’d come up in conversation, he’d left the room. If he’d thought about her, he’d quickly distracted himself with work or exercise.

He’d worked and exercised a lot.

To his consternation, she’d remained at the forefront of his mind, a fascination he couldn’t shake. He’d even considered detouring from his usual MO—a feat in and of itself—and sleeping with her once, just once. No harm, no foul.

Problem was “just once” had never worked out for him in the past.

Beck slid a stack of pancakes in front of him, saying, “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately, thinking about Jessie Kay.” A statement rather than a question. “Don’t try to deny it. I recognize the signs. A glaze of hunger in the eyes. Tightness around the mouth. A muscle jumping in the jaw. Jase had the same look when he met Brook Lynn. I’m made of stronger stuff, of course, and managed to keep my cool with Harlow.”

“No, I—”

“Even now your hands are clenched.”

West studied his hands—yep, they were clenched. He eased the pressure on his fingers, saying, “Don’t kid yourself. You were practically foaming at the mouth with Harlow.”

“You do realize you’re describing yourself right now, yes?” Beck didn’t give him time to reply. “Why are you resisting your smart-ass Southern belle anyway? If you think Jase and I care—”

“I don’t.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “Would you resent me if you found out I’d slept with Harlow before you fell for her?”

A light sprang to life in Beck’s eyes. “Ah. I get it. You’re afraid you’ll get possessive of your girl and pissy with your bros.”

West adjusted his cuff links, gave a clipped nod.

“As Jessie Kay would say, you’re letting the horse out of the stall before the race has even started.” Beck tossed back a bite of pancake. “Let’s say you spent years with Harlow, banging the hell out of her. Today, this moment, it wouldn’t affect how I feel about either of you. You were her past, and I’ll always be her future. I love you both. I need you both. I’ll take you both however I can get you.”

An ache razed his chest. Were things really that simple?

“What’s doing?” Jase padded into the kitchen. His dark hair stuck out in spikes. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of faded sweatpants.

“West is deciding whether or not to make a move on Jessie Kay,” Beck replied.

“I change my vote to no. Unless you’re going to give her a real shot.” Jase scratched his chest. “She’s better for you than she ever was for us, but there will be serious aftermath when you dump her.”

When, not if. The end was never in question.

West pursed his lips. “You handled the aftermath of your one-night stand just fine.”

“And who says she’d want more than two months with him, anyway?” Beck asked. “Who says she won’t dump him?”

Yes. Who said.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “If I did date her, and I did dump her, and there was aftermath, your girls would hate me.”

Jase poured a glass of orange juice. “Agreed. Brook Lynn can forgive anything—except an insult to her sister.”

“But the girls love us and wouldn’t try to block you from our lives,” Beck said.

“Is that what’s had your panties in such a twist?” Jase asked.

“Maybe.” Agitated, West glanced at his wristwatch. Nine-sixteen. Shit. He’d planned to leave the house by nine-ten. “I’ve got to pick up Monica. I’ll meet you guys at the church.”

He made up the lost minutes on the road. He’d taken defensive driving classes a few years ago as research for a video game, and the skills he’d learned had come in handy ever since.

As he parked in Monica’s driveway, his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen, his gut tightening when he saw Jessie Kay’s name.

Which pair do you prefer?

Two photos accompanied the text. The first, a glittery heel with silk flowers sewn over the ankle strap. The second, a plain white flat.

He wrote back: Why does my preference matter?

Because your best friend is getting married & the woman he loves wants every detail to be perfect. You know him better than anyone else so... :-) :-) :-)

Your shoes are part of those perfect details?

Oh, those are Harlow’s shoes. She can’t decide between fashion & comfort, even though no one but Beck will see her feet—& he won’t see them till he strips her down & gives her the business. I should know, right!

His grip flexed on the phone. She loved reminding him of her past, didn’t she?

Then her next text came in and he forgot why he was irritated with her.

THESE are mine. :-) :-)

The accompanying photo revealed black hooker heels with a fat red bow perched on the ankle. A present ready to be unwrapped. With his teeth. After he stripped her and tossed her on the bed.

Sex fantasy about Jessie Kay? Now? Really? He punched the wheel, the horn releasing a short but thunderous blast.

A few seconds later, Monica strode out the door, and he felt like a total douche for not greeting her properly. Despite the frigid temperature, she wore a little black dress with spaghetti straps and a hem that ended a few inches below her pantyline. No hat, coat or gloves to keep her warm, proving she placed fashion before comfort. She didn’t race to the car but held up her index finger to demand he wait.

Having already budgeted for the standard fifteen-minute time suck all women required despite knowing when he would arrive, he gave her a curt nod. He could have followed her inside the house, a beautiful Craftsman-style bungalow with three stories and a wraparound porch, but he popped a caramel candy in his mouth and stayed put. Even though he’d expected the wait, the lack of respect always annoyed him.

He and Monica would be discussing it—and his expectations—tonight. If she proved amenable to his two-month time limit, the countdown on their relationship would begin. He would gift her with a wristwatch, and expect her to use it. They would go to bed, and by morning, he would forget he’d ever desired Jessie Kay.

His friends might approve of her, of them, but the risks were still too great, the rewards not great enough.

He sent her another text: Tell Harlow to go w/ out a bra & Beck won’t ever even glance at her feet.

Like a puss, he waited for a response. One that never came. He wanted to call her, and would have given in to temptation if Monica hadn’t bounded outside at long last. He checked his watch. Seventeen minutes. His sense of annoyance only intensified as he entered the cold to open her door for her.

Though her teeth were chattering, she paused to kiss his cheek before sliding inside. “Will I do?” she asked after he settled behind the wheel.