Page 39 of Hard Hat Hottie

“Yes.” I laugh. “You were the hard hat hottie. Now, apparently, you’re Harry, the hard hat hottie.”

He throws his head back in a fit of laughter, and I can’t help but join him. Although the sight of his Adam’s apple makes me want to lean in and take a bite.

The first song ends, and “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton starts to play. I assume now that our dance is over, he’ll escort me back to my seat, but instead, Harrison pulls me in closer and buries his face in my hair. Does he care that I may have been here with someone else? I’m not sure how I feel about that after the week I’ve had.

“I’m sorry.”

Pulling back a little, I look into his face. “For what?”

“Monopolizing you. I tried to convince myself you weren’t on a date with that tool at the bar. It’s been a shit week. Then I saw you there, and nothing else mattered. I needed to hold you like I needed my next breath.”

I’m sure my quick intake of air was audible. But I can’t disguise my shock. Who knew I needed to hear those words? Yet now that he’s put them out there, I’m starting to feel emotional.

I still need to be level-headed here. I don’t want some self-righteous ass in my life that knows how to use smooth words to get what he wants, even if the girl in question is on a date with another guy. I’ve endured too much of that nonsense. “How are you so sure I wasn’t on a date?”

Harrison stops dancing and looks me dead in the eyes. “No guy in their right mind puts you in the corner of the bar. I would’ve made sure you were seated at the best table in the house. So, every guy in the place knew you were here with me.”

Without thinking, I stand on my toes and plant a kiss on his big, soft lips. Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, I glide my mouth back and forth over his before pressing deep against his soft flesh. His taste is warm, minty, with the slightest hint of whiskey. Apropos given the song.

His free hand rests at the small of my back as I place my cheek to his, and we continue to move sensually to the music. I can’t remember ever feeling like this. So adored. It’s one thing to think someone finds you attractive. Or even to acknowledgethere’s enough chemistry between you to light the place on fire. Yet this is different.

What must we look like? I bite my lip, hoping we come off as star-crossed lovers, and not a hookup about to go down.

As Chris Stapleton sings about things that are smooth, like Tennessee whiskey and sweet, like strawberry wine, I move back in for another kiss when Harrison steps away.

Wait? What?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HARRISON

Holy hell. What is wrong with me?This girl was probably on a date with another guy, and I’ve moved right in. Sure, I don’t want to believe it. But she hasn’t denied she was with him. Kiss or no kiss. And the unmistakable taste of alcohol on her lips is causing me concern.

“Wow.” Harlow catches me off guard. “Okay. I’m not sure what just happened there. But I think I like the sedated version of you better. Or at the very least, the tease from the ER.”

Fuck. It’s clear she’s hurt.

“Just as well. You’re probably married or in a relationship with someone else, anyway. That seems to be the only type interested in me. Living out of town has its benefits and all that.”

“Wait, wait.” Grabbing her hand in mine, I’m heading in the direction of my table when I reconsider. “Were you on a date with that bastard at the bar?”

“Um, no,” she spits out in annoyance as she withdraws her hand from mine and crosses her arms over her chest. The action thrusts her cleavage higher, and I try to look away. But this woman is literally the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met. So that’s futile. I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I nearly got third-degree burns last week just hoping for a glimpse.

“Please, come sit down.” I raise my hand to signal a server as I walk back in the direction of my table. “Would you mind terribly bringing the remainder of her meal and wine over?”

“No, no,” Harlow interrupts, flopping into the seat across from me. I can feel my forehead deepen in a scowl. “I was done eating.”

“Another drink, Miss?”

“No, thank you. I’m probably heading out. Can you bring my check?”

My chest begins to ache. How have I fucked this up? The server walks away, and I reach for her hand, but she retreats, placing it in her lap before fixating on the window with the bay in the distance.

“Harlow. Look at me. Please?”

She reluctantly turns back, her sad eyes holding mine.

“It hit me that I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you weren’t on a date. I didn’t want you to be caught in some scandalous, small-town scuffle if that guy came at us in the middle of the restaurant.”

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