Page 51 of Singled Out

Harper bit her lip, thinking. She scrunched her nose up and said, “Not really. No.”

I tilted my head and gave her a skeptical look.

She shrugged. “You can’t fail if you don’t really try.”

“You haven’t tried at anything? Ever?”

That was so opposite of my life in sports that I couldn’t fathom it. And school… I’d always strived for good grades and graduated with a four-point-oh average.

“Just ask my dad. It frustrates the hell out of him.” A ghost of a grin tugged at her lips for a second then disappeared.

“Wouldn’t he be happy to see you take a chance on this?”

She covered her face with both hands, then slid them down to her mouth.

“Speaking as a parent,” I continued, ignoring the inner voice that said I had no idea what I was doing as a parent, “I’d think he wants you to find success and happiness, whatever that might look like.”

With her hands still in front of her mouth, she tapped her index fingers together repeatedly, agitated, not meeting my gaze. Then with a gusty exhalation, she spit out, “It’s not about my dad. It’s a me thing.”

She was obviously struggling, and I could no longer resist touching her. I spread my palm over her lower thigh, above her knee.

“I’m scared of failing,” she said in a quiet voice. “Of embarrassing myself. Always have been. I know my dad just wants me to be happy. I’ve tried to make myself believe I’ve been happy all these years drifting along, but deep down, I hate that I’m a scaredy cat. I hate that I can’t seem to put myself out there and do anything meaningful.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight. “Hate it.”

“You do meaningful things. Look at the gala last night. You had everyone tearing up.”

“That was for Naomi.”

“That was meaningful.”

Her hand landed on mine, but it almost seemed incidental. She was clearly lost in her thoughts, and I’d bet they weren’t kind toward her.

“Harper. Give yourself some credit.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“Why don’t you explain?”

Though she hadn’t shed any tears, her breath in was shaky.

“Come here.” I lifted my arm and made a place for her to sit in the crook of it.

Her short skirt made shifting awkward, but she settled in next to me, her legs stretched out on the perpendicular side of the sectional, and rested her hand on my thigh.

“Tell me what I don’t understand,” I said.

She trailed her finger back and forth on my leg, over the fabric of my sweats. Her eyes tracked her movement as her strokes went from short ones to longer ones. I’d already been struggling to ignore the effects her nearness had on me. But with her finger inching farther up my thigh…

I caught her hand in mine and wove our fingers together. Her gaze shot up to my face.

“Getting a little too close,” I told her.

Her brows shot up, as if she was considering a full-on diversion tactic.

“We’re talking about important stuff. You’re not going to distract me,” I said, meaning it.

She slumped back against my side, not talking but not trying to pull her hand out of mine either.

After several minutes ticked by, I felt her take in a deep breath. Then she said, “My family is a bunch of high achievers.”

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