Page 53 of Wright Kind of Trouble

Fuck it.

Harley stood on the side of Broadway when I miraculously found a parking spot for my Porsche outside of the bar. I’d nabbed it right as someone was leaving. I stepped out and froze at the sight of her.

She’d conveniently not shown me a full picture of her costume for the night. And I should have fucking guessed.

“Harley Quinn,” I said with a smirk.

She did a twirl straight out of the movie, and my cock lurched. Her blonde hair was up in pigtails. The ends dyed blue and red. She had on the quintessential ripped tee that said Daddy’s Lil Monster, tiny blue-and-red shorts, fishnet tights, and heeled boots.

“You made it.” She stumbled off the curb and strode in my direction. She tumbled slightly, leaning against the hood of my car. A laugh left her lips, as maniacal as her namesake. Then, she sprawled onto my car. Her back arched, and she pushed her hands up over her head.

I stepped up to her and raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk.”

“Legally,” she said with a giggle.

“Better than our first meeting.”

“Nothing is better than that,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing. “Is it supposed to be so…spinny?”

“Common side effect, yes.” I pushed my hands into the pockets of my jacket to keep from reaching for her. “Where are your friends?”

“Left ’em inside.”

“No one cared?”

She shrugged. “Wanted to see you.” She slid off of my car with mischievous intent in her eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“You are, aren’t you?” she said, tilting her head to the side. She reached forward and ran a hand down the front of my leather jacket. Her lips tilted dangerously upward. “Do you have the whip too?”

“Harley…”

Her hand moved to the buttons of my shirt, trailing her fingers up the line of my chest. “You know it’s my birthday.”

“I do, in fact. I came to make sure you got home safely.”

She took another step in. Our chests nearly touching as her hands tangled in my collar. “Do you know what I want for my birthday?”

I remained perfectly still. “I think I can guess.”

“I can tell you in explicit detail,” she purred.

“You’re drunk,” I repeated.

“Doesn’t change anything.”

I gripped her wrist in my hand. “Unfortunately, it changes everything.”

She stuck out her bottom lip. “You don’t want me?”

“That has never been our problem.”

“So, you do want me?”

“I want to see you safely home.”

“To your home?” she asked, leaning all of her weight against me.

---