Page 4 of Make Her Mine

But then Zach’s eyes narrow and his face gets a little red.

And yeah, that’s why.

Because that will really piss him off.

“Taken?” he repeats.

“You didn’t really think that she was gonna sit around and wait for you, did you? She’s taken. You have no chance.”

“By who?” Zach asks.

I scoff. “Really? I mean, you’re no smarter than me,” I tell him. I could’ve been a fucking orthopedic surgeon if I wanted to. “But I don’t think you’re gonna have to think real hard to figure that out.”

I look at my brother. “See you later.” Then I turn on my heel and leave the building.

I saunter out to my truck, casually slide behind the wheel, and pull out onto the street easily.

Just in case he’s watching.

But the minute I’m to the end of the block and out of sight of the bar, I smash the gas pedal, and swear loudly.

Then groan.

Fuck. Harlow is going to kill me.

CHAPTER 2

JEFFERSON

When I pull up to Harlow‘s house, I’m relieved to see my sister’s car is still here. That means Graham is still here too and I can talk to him and Harlow together. He’ll hopefully keep Harlow from murdering me. But I don’t think he’ll keep her from yelling at me. He never has in the past.

I park my truck at the curb, and walk up the short, paved path to her front porch. I note all of the cars here. Looks like most of the girl gang is present. The rest could have carpooled over, but I know Sasha is at the bar, working with her dad, and I’m guessing that Whitney Bennett and Mia Hansen, Harlow’s older sister, are with Kaelyn doing wedding stuff.

Yes, my brother is the only guy at this girls’ night. And yes, that’s completely typical.

I climb up onto the porch of Harlow’s little house. It’s a one story, two-bedroom, one-bath bungalow. It’s small, but cozy, full of mismatched furniture with an abundance of cushions and pillows and blankets and just…stuff. She’s got more bookcases than any one woman really should and while many are filled with books, there are also plants and photos and knickknacks packing the shelves.

Harlow is a collector of things. I won’t call it junk because it probably all means something to her. If I had to guess, I’d bet most of it’s gifts, actually. That’s just who she is. People love her and she inspires things like gift-giving. But there’s not much room to walk around or gather. Yet, somehow, this is always where people show up to hang out.

I can’t count the number of times I picked up one or both of my siblings from this house. Drunk, hung over, or late for something. If they’re not showing up for something on time, my mother will send me to go find them, and I always start at Harlow’s house without even calling either of them first. Even when she was living with her parents. This has been going on for years.

It’s a pleasant night for mid-June in Nebraska so her windows are open as is the front door. Through the screen door, I can hear conversation and laughter from inside.

I’m surprised they’re not on the back deck I remember her dad, brother, and several of the other guys building three years ago.

I take a deep breath and then knock on the wood frame.

“Come in!” someone calls. I don’t think it’s Harlow.

Yeah, they’re expecting more people to join them.

I pull the door open and step inside, just as Harlow comes around the corner from the kitchen.

She stops short when she sees me, her smile dying. Then she frowns and continues forward.

She’s in short denim shorts, a black tank, and is barefoot, her toenails painted bright blue. The shorts show off the tattoo that decorates the outside of her right thigh. A goldenrod. The state flower of Nebraska.

I can’t see it, but I know there’s also a deer silhouette tattooed on her right shoulder blade. It’s another symbol for our home state, but there’s deeper symbolism to deer and I’m certain Harlow is aware of that.

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