Page 4 of Tangled Desires

And now, thanks to Isla, he knows it’s a date. Except, it’s not.

It’s just me and Jesse, two acquaintances grabbing a drink. He’s a family friend—always has been—but dating him? Not on my radar. God knows my dating life has been a disaster. I’m over the endless swiping and trying to find the perfect guy. I’m not here for a serious thing, just some fun and no strings attached. Seeing Harrison get all worked up over me going on adate? Yeah, it’s a bonus. He’s been a pain in my ass ever since Isla started hanging with Xavier. Always teasing, always pushing my buttons. He keeps pestering me, practically vibrating with curiosity, asking for the name. “Come on, Imogen, just spit it out,” he insists, leaning in like he’s on the edge of his seat.

Michael jumps in. “Just tell him, Imogen. He won’t stop until you do.” Can the ground swallow me whole?

“Ugh. If you must know, Jesse Toole,” I blurt out, cracking under the pressure, which is so unlike me. The second Harrison bursts out laughing, I regret it. I shoot Michael a look, hoping for maturity, but nope—he’s got that smug, unhelpful grin. Not exactly my finest moment—and definitely not the reaction I was expecting.

“Jesse? You’re going out with Jesse Toole?” Harrison’s face twists in disbelief. Oh, how tempting it would be to wipe that smug expression off his annoyingly handsome face. Correction: infuriatingly handsome face. Get it together, Imogen. You’re better than this.

“Wow, scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh, sweetheart?” Harrison drawls, his voice oozing that infuriating, condescending charm he’s perfected. Who does he think he is?

“Excuse me?” I say, appalled. “Why are you such a prick?”

“Just calling it like I see it, Immy,” he says casually, like he didn’t just insult me. And of course, he usesthatnickname, the one that grates on my nerves—and, annoyingly, somewhere deep down, I don’t entirely hate. Ugh, I need a reality check.

“Yeah, well, don’t,” I bite back, arms crossed like a shield against his ridiculous audacity.

“You know, his name really suits him. The guy’s a tool,” Harrison adds, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. Michael chuckles next to him, and I shoot him a look.

“Don’t laugh at him. You’re just fueling the fire.”

Michael shrugs, not backing down. “Sorry, Imogen, but he’s got a point.”

“Of course he does,” I mutter under my breath. I turn to Isla. “Can we go now?”

Isla grabs the part from Harrison, says her goodbyes, and I’m already out the door. As we walk away, Harrison calls after me. “Say hi to Toolie for me, Immy. Told ya I know everyone.”

I flip him the bird without turning around, and his laughter follows us as we head to Isla’s car.

“Sorry, Midge, for throwing you under the bus like that. I didn’t even think,” Isla says as she buckles herself in.

I let out a long sigh. “It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle. He just loves to push my buttons.”

“Yeah, but you let him.”

“No, I don’t,” I retort. “He’s just…ugh. So infuriating sometimes.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?” I ask, bracing for the next ridiculous thing she’s about to say.

“I think the two of you just need to fuck out whatever weird tension’s between you two,” Isla says with a laugh.

“Yeah, right. Me and Harrison?” I scoff, the very idea laughable. Isla just hums, putting the car in drive. Her words, though? They hang in the air like a question that doesn’t quite have an answer yet.

I remember the first time I noticed Harrison Price.Reallynoticed him. If it hadn’t been for Isla dragging me to some backyard pool hang-out, I would’ve blissfully avoided the whole situation. But nope, there he was, sitting on the ledge of the pool—grinning, shirtless, tattooed, and very aware of how good he looked. And ever since that day? He’s been stuck in my life.

Like a persistent fly buzzing around your head. If he weren’t so cocky, so unapologeticallyHarrison,maybe he could’ve beena decent friend. A solid guy to hang out with. You know, normal. But let’s not get crazy here. Harrison Price is not here to be my friend. He’s a mutual acquaintance at best. The kind you nod at across the room but would never willingly sit next to unless forced by seating arrangements. Could there be something more there?A possibility?

A part of me hates that I even entertain the thought. Ha, absolutely not.

Sure, I get it. Harrison is undeniably attractive. I’m not blind. The tattoos? Annoyingly hot. His muscular build? Yeah, whatever. And that irritating, cocky charm he oozes like it’s his full-time job?

Pass. Over my dead body would I fall for any of it. Let alone end up in his lap. Nope. Not happening. Not in this lifetime or the next.

Not a chance in hell.

Sliding into a little blue number with ruffles, just the right kind of short, a grin tugs at my lips. Turning this way and that in the mirror, the dress clings in all the right places.Perfect. Loose curls fall into place as I run my fingers through them, making sure every strand behaves. No room for rogue hair tonight. A swipe of gloss over my lips, a flick of mascara, and it’s all coming together. I grab my Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume, my signature scent. Spraying it into the air in front of me, I walk into the mist, doing a quick shimmy for good measure. It’s a ritual at this point.

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