Page 260 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

Is he dropping hints for me, or is this just casual conversation? “From what I remember, you like scrambled eggs.”

“I do.” I move into the kitchen and take a plate from him. “Thank you. Do you know where the silverware is by chance?”

“For real?”

Laughing, I pass behind him and smack his hard ass. “No, I do know where that is.” I pull open the drawer and hand him a fork.

“You had me worried.”

“No need. I know where the basics live, or at least, what I use.” I hip check the drawer. “Want to eat in here or in bed?”

He starts for the bedroom. “Bedroom’s good.”

“I have to agree.” All the more so when he’s in there with me. Wait . . .what?My heart starts racing, and my feet stop just as he disappears inside the room. No. This is not going to become a regular thing. I’m a layover at best for him, someone to hook up with while he’s in the city, and then what? He goes home.Oh my God.I didn’t even ask him if he has a girlfriend.

The lighthearted feeling disappears as I head down the hall a little slower, more hesitant, cautious this time.What am I doing?

Harrison steps out into the hall sans plate. “What are you doing?”

“I was just asking myself that same question.”

“I had a feeling, but maybe we can hold off on the doubts and questioning what happened last night until after we eat. We’ll have clearer heads on full stomachs,” he says.

“Keep it light.” I can’t. I know I can’t. I ruin everything by asking too much and too many questions.

“Probably best, for now.” He signals into the bedroom before he turns to go.

I follow him in. He sits on the same side of the bed he slept on, leaving room for me. Actually, leaving me most of the bed and the middle for me. I can’t say it upsets me. It’s quite sweet. I go to the other side and climb onto the mattress while balancing my plate in hand.

Leaning against the headboard, I cross my ankles and take a bite. Doing anything I can to pretend to be as happy as I was five minutes ago. “Thank you for cooking for me.”Yikes, that sounded so formal.

“My pleasure.”

Half his plate is already emptied when I’ve only taken a few bites, my appetite waning. “Would you like mine?”

“You don’t like it?”

I glance at his plate and back up at him. “I do, but you look hungry.”

“Thanks, but this will hold me.” His laughter fills the space. What he said wasn’t a joke, but it’s funny that he cracks himself up. I can only imagine what’s going on in his head.

After pushing my food around on the plate, I ask, “What are your plans for the day?”

“Not sure.”

“Are you going to see your girlfriend?” I accuse, the words bursting from my mouth like a bad case of food poisoning.

“What? What girlfriend?” His plate is discarded to the nightstand, and he stares at me like I grew a third eye. “What are you talking about?”

“You were right. We don’t know anything about each other.” Throwing my hand in the air, I angle it toward the door. “You could have a girlfriend back in California for all I know.” I shrug. “How would I know? How would she know that you just slept with me? God, I hate cheaters.”

Grabbing hold of my hand, he brings it between us, still holding it in his. “Slow down, Tatum.” When the anger I spun up inside like a hurricane begins to lessen, he says, “I don’t have a girlfriend. Not in California or anywhere else. I’m single. What I told you last night is the truth. I haven’t been with a woman in five months or more. I haven’t been serious about anyone in over four years. So I don’t know where this train of thought came from, but you can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

My heart is racing again but for different reasons—him—and his honesty. “I’m sorry.”

He looks down at our clasped hands, and asks, “Don’t you think Natalie would have told you if I had a girlfriend?”

“Stop being logical. My mind went into a momentary tailspin.” When his gaze meets mine, I add, “I’m not always loveable. Being burned time and time again does that to someone.”

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