Page 280 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

I remove the case with such precision that I don’t hear a thing until I shake it. The rattle of a pill is as loud as an earthquake to my ears. Damnit.

Now I remember, I didn’t take the pill on Sunday because I was too distracted by Harrison and my mother. I return to the bathroom and pop it in my mouth along with the other to cover for the missed dose, chug some water, and then swallow them down. Relief is felt in fixing that mistake.

With all the troubles I’ve had lately, at least I’m not pregnant.

18

Harrison

“This isone of the most coveted units in the building, and from my research, the apartment is a steal.” I stand back near the kitchen island and let Lara, Kaz’s wife, take it in.

She walks the length of the wall of windows, stops to look out at the view, and then turns to me to ask, “Why are they selling then?”

“Legal troubles. He needs to liquidate fast.”

She turns her attention back to the view of Central Park. “Ah. Hence the steal, but it needs to feel right.”

“There are numerous units available in this price range. You can walk away and find another in the next building. It all depends on what you’re looking for.”

Glancing at me over her shoulder, she says, “I like this building because it feels like a family could live here. Kaz and I had modern design in our last home, but my tastes are changing. Instead of white and minimal, I want warm and inviting, kid-friendly.”

I don’t dare ask if she’s pregnant. I made that mistake once at a bar in my early twenties. I was two sheets to the wind and congratulated her. She wasn’t, and I was punched by her boyfriend.

With Lara’s arm lithely placed over her stomach, she strolls the main room and then ends up in the kitchen. “I’m hoping we can start a family soon. The tour and the hours . . . It’s been hard to find the right time.”

“I can imagine.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I made a rule when I started out in this business that the client in front of me deserves my complete attention. Especially when dealing with multimillion-dollar homes and the potential for hundreds of thousands in commission.

“Do you want kids one day, Harrison?” She’s not crossing any lines with me. I’m an open book, and I’ve known her for a few years. “Someday. Like you and Kaz. The right time. The right place to settle into.”

Her eyebrow arches, and she adds, “The right woman.”

I chuckle. “Definitely with the right woman.” Tatum comes to mind, but that’s jumping ten spaces ahead. I move to the stove. “Top-of-the-line appliances are included and brand new.”

“That’s nice,” she says under a soft laugh that tells me she’s onto my distraction. “Kaz loves when I cook.”

“Eating on the road must get old.”

“For him, the bedroom is most important. He sleeps for weeks after the tour. I’ll need complete blackout curtain or shades, preferably automatic, though that’s something I can have installed after the purchase. I really don’t want a renovation. I do that all day long for my job. I don’t mind minor changes, but I’d rather be able to just move in.” She snaps her fingers as something occurs to her. “We definitely need a tub to ice down his muscles. A rock star’s life is never as glamorous as people assume.”

“It has a freestanding tub. As for the bedroom, if you don’t like this one, I have another place I can show you that might work better.”

She follows me down the hall. “You mean you weren’t going to anyway?”

I wait outside the door to allow her to feel the space when she enters. “Listening to Kaz, this place was about what you wanted.” She’s smiling when she turns back. “But hearing your priorities, it’s about what’s best for him.”

“That’s marriage, if you’re one of the lucky ones.”

We see two other apartments—one she loves and one she thinks he’ll love. I’ll leave that for them to decide. As soon as I drop her off at the hotel where she’s staying, I pull my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket and check my messages in the back of the SUV.

That’s strange . . .

Tatum—missed calls (2)

Tatum—1 text message. I tap to open her chat box.

Seeing the round box with her initials has me realizing that I’ve missed an opportunity—TD. Touchdown. Just thinking about scoring with her yesterday, getting her off in the hall, and then her returning the favor has me wearing a ridiculously big grin.Fuck me, that mouth and body are magical.

I could veer off the main path, getting lost in those memories, but when I read the messages, concern tugs inside.

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