Page 51 of Stealing Home

I smile at her. “Better now that you’re here.”

“I missed you when I woke up,” she says softly.

“You got my note, right? Practice sucked. I’d have rather stayed in bed with you.”

Taylor watches us. “The hookup king spent the night?”

“Would you stop with that already?” I snap at him.

Harlow raises an eyebrow. “Hookup king?”

Taylor winces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean offense. I’m just saying I understand this is different than your usual.”

“Low, it’s not what you think,” I start to explain.

I shoot him a glare letting him know I’ll have his ass if she has a problem with that stupid fucking nickname.

She kisses my cheek. “I trust you. We’ll talk tonight. I’ve got to get back to work right now though.”

After she goes back into the garage office I turn my attention back to Taylor. I’m about to chew him out when he speaks. “You’re in love with her.”

My anger morphs into confusion. I care about her. I want her, certainly. She’s pretty much all I think about, but love? “It’s too soon,” I say mostly to myself.

“Maybe, but I haven’t seen you this happy in over a year.” He exhales. “I’ve been a dick. I know what Mara did cut you deeply. If the coach’s—”

I glare at him, and he clears his throat.

“If Harlow,” he corrects himself, “makes you happy, I’ll support you. I still think this is going to blow up in your face, but I’ve got your back either way.”

It feels good to have my best friend back. He doesn’t understand, but he supports me anyway.

“I mean, she’s a smoke show, so I get it. I’ve never understood why Coach steps out when he’s had that waiting at home.”

I growl. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

He laughs. “You’re so far gone. You might not see it yet, but if nothing else this will be fun to watch.”

“Glad I can entertain you,” I grumble.

Taylor grabs his breakfast sandwich. “C’mon, we better get to class.”

18

Harlow

Wren opensthe drawer of my desk, grabs my purse, and sets it in front of me. I glance at the clock on the wall, and realize we’ve worked through our normal lunch time.

“We’re going to lunch, or I guess an early dinner.” She tips her head to the door. “C’mon, I’m driving.”

“Where are we going?” I ask. With a café onsite we usually eat here.

“Dolores likes to eat early, and I try and visit her a couple of times a week. They’ve got a full service restaurant at the retirement community.”

“Why do I feel like you have ulterior motives?” I ask.

Wren smirks. “Because I do.”

The Rose Hill Retirement Village is a short drive from the garage, about halfway between there and Wren’s house. Dolores is waiting for us in the restaurant located in their community center, holding court. At ninety-three she seems to have a more active social life than I do at thirty-three.

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