Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)(20)

“Thank you, Lowell,” Harlow said sincerely.

“For what?”

“Where do I start? Thank you for your service to our country. I know you probably saw and did a lot of shitty stuff. For helping out women and kids who need it. For helping me. For not being weird about my quirks. For introducing me to your friends. For trusting me with what you do. Just . . . thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Black said quietly, wanting more than anything to take her in his arms and kiss the living daylights out of her. Her cheeks were flushed, probably because of the bourbon in her drink. He had a feeling she thought her T-shirt and jeans were a type of armor, that he couldn’t possibly be attracted to her in them, but she’d be wrong. She looked comfortable and relaxed—exactly how he liked a woman to be. And he couldn’t help but think about the effort she’d gone to with her hair and toenails . . . possibly for him.

Black wasn’t ready to get married, wasn’t sure he ever wanted to tie himself to a woman that deeply, but he wanted Harlow. Wanted her under him, over him, and any other way he could get her.

“You want to play pool?” he asked, gesturing toward the room with his head.

She looked at the game tables, then back at him. “I probably shouldn’t. Since we’re done talking about work, I should have you take me home.”

“I still need to hear about all of these bad dates of yours,” Black reminded her.

Harlow groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Yup.” Black kept his tone light and teasing. “You heard Meat. We need to figure out if any of those guys could be involved in what’s happening at the shelter.”

“Fine. But I’m going to need another drink. And I guess I’d feel more comfortable if I could do something with my hands while I tell you all my secrets.”

The image her words brought to Black’s head was indecent and carnal. He could give her something to do with her hands . . . but he forced back the thought and stood. “Come on. We’ll tell Dave that you’re ready for another and then get the table set up. You’ve played pool before?”

She stood as well and put one hand on her hip. “Oh yeah, Lowell, I’ve played pool before.” Her eyes were gleaming with challenge.

“You brave enough to make a small wager?”

“Bring it,” she responded.





Chapter Six

Harlow groaned as she woke. Her head was throbbing, and she felt as if she’d been sucking on cotton balls all night. The second she opened her eyes, she remembered everything about the night before.

Damn it.

She turned over onto her side and stared at the water and bottle of pills on the small table by her bed. Closing her eyes, she replayed the previous evening.

She’d sucked down the Woodford and Cokes as if they were glasses of water instead of booze. She and Lowell had played one game of pool to feel each other out, to see where their strengths and weaknesses lay. Then the competition had been on. They’d planned on playing the best out of three games. That had turned to the best out of five. Then seven. In the end, Lowell had beaten her four games to three.

It was a good thing that she didn’t have to go to the shelter to cook this morning, because she hadn’t been this hungover in a very long time. If ever.

Lowell had drunk two beers, then switched to water. He’d skillfully gotten her to recount as many of her embarrassing dates as she could remember as they played.

She’d told him about the guy who’d asked if he could have sex with her feet at the end of the night, and when she’d declined, he’d offered to pay for the privilege.

She’d told him about the time her date had taken her to an expensive restaurant, and at the end of the night, he’d put the cloth napkins in his pockets. When she’d asked him what he was doing, instead of just admitting he was stealing, he’d said that his nose was running and he wanted to make sure he had something to wipe it with later.

Harlow told Lowell about the blind date a friend had set her up with. The man had shown up in a car that was barely operational. He smelled like BO and had the worst breath she’d ever had the misfortune of smelling. She’d tried to back out of the date, but he’d started crying, so she’d decided to just go through with it. He’d tried to kiss her the second she’d gotten in his car, and his hands were sweaty as he tried to hold hers. During the drive, he’d told her how much he loved her and how many kids they were going to have when they got married and lived in his mom’s garage. They’d gone to a fast-food restaurant for dinner, and he’d proposed when he brought her back to her apartment. Needless to say, when she’d said no, he’d cried again.

Then there was the man who’d taken one look at her when he’d arrived at her door and turned around, walking away and mumbling under his breath that he wouldn’t have come if he’d known she was “fat.”

And finally, she’d told him about the guy she’d agreed to a second date with—her first second date in a very long time, and she’d worked really hard to make him a nice meal in her apartment. He’d excused himself after eating and was gone for way longer than she’d expected. Harlow had thought maybe he was having gastrointestinal issues and hadn’t wanted to embarrass him by asking if he was okay when he finally emerged from the back hallway of her apartment.