Page 28 of A Stealthy Situation

I flick a Taki onto the floor in front of Harper. “Missed a spot.”

“Fuck you, Dalton.” He picks up the bright blue tube, jumps to his feet, then crushes it in my hair before I can stop him.

“Hey, uncool.”

He slaps a hand on the bag and crushes half of them for good measure. “Keep them in the bag, you dick.”

Oh, the images of upturning the crushed chips all over the floor are sweet, but even I’m not that much of a jerk.

Harper gets back to work right as there’s a familiar, warm chuckle behind me.

“What the hell is in your hair?”

I turn toward Harrison’s voice, gut doing this fun, bubbly thing, and smile. “You really don’t know how to quit while you’re ahead, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re here. To clean. A frat house post-party.”

He shrugs, drawing my attention to his freckly, unevenly tanned shoulders. “If you think this could be any worse than cutting lawns, you’re mistaken.”

Poor man. With a smirk, I drop from the counter, cross to one of the stools, and lift the butt cushion. It unearths the sight and smell of puke.

Harrison takes a swift step back. “Right. Well, that’s fucking disgusting.”

“Too late to back out now.”

He drops his phone and keys onto the counter, then rounds it and starts pulling cleaning stuff out from under the sink. “You’re surprisingly well stocked.”

“This isn’t our first party.”

“True.” He fills up a bucket with sponges and chemicals. “Where are we starting?”

“We? Oh no, friend. You’re on your own here.”

Harrison laughs and steps forward. He plucks the chip bag from me and sets it aside, then combs his fingers through my hair, clearing the crushed chip out. That happy bubbling explodes, and I growl at it to shut the hell up.

“There is no way,” Harrison says, in an overly happy voice, “that you’re getting out of this. You’re going to grab a trash bag and come to the front living room I passed that hadn’t been touched yet, and we’re going to scrub the hell out of that thing.”

“But … but … then who will supervise?”

“Anyone but you,” Harper snarks, flicking water at my leg.

“Ahhh …” Harrison points at Big Wally, who’s just risen and walks in wearing an open robe, Kings football socks, and a pair of tighty-whities. “That guy.”

Big Wally pauses by us. “Who, me?”

“Yup.” Harrison passes him my chips. “Good luck.”

Then, he takes my hand in one of his large ones and tugs me from the room. The only thing that stops me from being pissed he gave my food away is the curse from Big Wally as he swallows a chip whole, then scrambles for a glass of water.

“’K. That was fun.”

“This won’t be though.”

We step into the living room, and I seriously regret throwing this party just to get laid. Especially since no dick sucking was had. It could have happened, too, if I’d wanted to ditch my new friend and pick up any number of the guys who’d been there last night that I know would have been down. That’s another point for the stupid column when it comes to crushes. All your good sense goes out the window.

Who the hell passes on an orgasm just to hang out with someone platonically?

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