Marry Screw Kill(64)

“I am going to die.” Harlow buries her face in her hands and glances through her long blond hair, a red flush staining her cheeks.

“I can’t believe you read them.” She pauses and lowers her eyes. “Well, did you like them? I bet you hated them. You’ve been to college and all.”

“Harlow, Harlow,” I say while pushing her hair behind her ear, “your writing is beyond impressive. You have raw talent. Something you were born with, not taught.” I peer down at her and see a smile so bright, her face glows. I smile back—it’s impossible to resist her joy—and tap a teasing finger to the tip of her nose. “But I haven’t read your latest one.”

I move the cover to the back of the journal and begin to read the new poem out loud.



Love.

It can break hearts and make messes out of orderly lives.

Love.

It’s the particles of dust that remain hidden in the air until light shines and illuminates them.

Love.

It’s a captor, and I’m its prisoner.



Harlow’s painful turmoil weaves through each line. Even without reading between the lines, I know she’s writing about this unexplainable attraction we have to one another.

“It’s f*cking beautiful, Harlow.” I stare intensely at her. “Raw and profound.”

“Really?” She appears shocked by my assessment. I wonder if anyone has ever read her words.

“Really.” I hold up two fingers in a pledge. “Remember when I said I would never deceive you? I meant that.”

“Thanks.” Her face beams at me. “I’m horrible at talking about my feelings, but they pour out on the page when I write.”

I imagine what more encouragement might bring in her writing. A class in creative writing would be wonderful for her, and I want to make it happen. Maybe that online class she mentioned is something I can help her with. It’s the least I can do to get her going in the right direction.

“I owe you so much, Sin. Where would I be if you hadn’t visited Rochester? You helped open my eyes. I can’t believe how stupid I was.”

“You aren’t stupid. You trusted a very sick man.”

Harlow places a light kiss on my cheek and the ghost of her lips hums over my skin. Our connection is nothing short of electric. I want to tell her she’s awakened something inside me, but I refrain. I don’t know why, but I do. Maybe I am still processing the changes I feel since I walked off the airplane and saw her waiting for me with that crazy sign in her hands.

My late friend, Craig, once told me when he saw his girlfriend for the first time and their eyes locked, he knew she was different. Hell, she was a knockout, but there was something about her that stood out to him besides her looks. He said the universe had spoken and there wasn’t any way to go against it. I used to laugh at his crazy talk, but he said someday he would have the last laugh when it happened to me.

I can’t help the slow smile crossing my face as I think of him looking down and laughing at me now. I’m not saying I’m in love or anything crazy like that. There are too many unanswered questions standing between Harlow and me. For one, she’s here and I have to attend med school in a few weeks in New York City. Maybe this unexplainable attraction was only meant for a short time, when she needed me the most. But I can’t ignore the unsettled feeling I have when I think about never seeing her once I leave this city.

And then, there’s Henry, my romantic doorman, with his gentle warning that love would find me one day. I’m afraid he would be laughing at me, too.

“Oops.” Harlow giggles as her stomach growls.

“When was the last time you ate? You haven’t had anything other than bottled water since you got sick at the penthouse.”

“I had an apple while I drove to the pawn shop, but I’m starving now.”

“Order whatever you want from room service.” I nod my head toward the desk with the phone and hotel information. “You should find the menu on the desk.”

“I’ve never ordered room service.” Harlow rises to her feet and bounces to the desk.

Who knew ordering room service could make someone giddy? I’ve been doing it since I learned to use a phone, thanks to my mother. Yet Harlow, this complex yet simple young woman, knows nothing of the life I’ve lived.

“Have at it. Order any and everything, as long as you get me a cheeseburger with fries and a tall glass of milk.”

“Milk?” She shakes her head at me.

“I’m a growing boy.” I wink back, rise to my feet, and move toward her. She reacts to my pacing by walking backward toward the desk. She gives me a smirk and licks her lips.

“Is that so?” She flirts back with a little swing of her hips.

I rush at her and she tries to turn and run from me—to where, I don’t know. I booked a suite, but it’s still on the small side. I chase after her and take her in my arms. Laughing, I spin her around in a circle and set her back down on her feet. She’s a flushed, giggling mess of blond waves and tempting curves. I kiss her forehead, targeting it as her safe zone. If I get close to her lips again, I might push her beyond the point of no return. I’m not willing to gamble with her heart. It needs protecting.

Hey, I’m not a saint, but with Harlow, I’m not the old sinner I used to be either. Sex without strings or meaning doesn’t appeal to me concerning her. Sure, I want her body in all ways, but I want it whole and healed—when she’s completely mine, not the still-fresh-from-his-house fiancée of my uncle’s. The day may never come for us, but if I’m lucky enough to know her when she’s ready, I’ll be waiting for her.