Page 43 of Make Her Mine

“Okay. But you’re giving me permission to do whatever I want in public? Is that right?” I ask with a smirk as we start down the porch steps.

“I really hesitate to give you wide-open permission for anything.”

Smart girl. “But I need to act like you are my girlfriend. People have seen me with women before.”

“Treat me like you would a real girlfriend in public. When people are watching who we are not related to or close friends with. But when it’s just our inner circle, you can back off.”

“I’m just a little worried.” I stop beside my truck and open the door, giving her a hand up since her skirt is fitted and she’s wearing heels.

She rolls her eyes and climbs up by herself.

I almost laugh. If she was my girlfriend, or we were in public, I would’ve grabbed her waist and helped her up anyway. And maybe slapped her sassy ass again.

“What are you worried about?” she asked.

“Just that there’s a risk you’re gonna get addicted and you might be asking me to do some things in private even when no one else is around.”

She snorts and reaches over for the door. “Please, hold your breath for that.” Then she slams the door.

I laugh as I round the front of the truck. I know she doesn’t like me and that irritates me. No, that’s not true, I correct mentally. I think she likes me. But she doesn’t get me. So this week, I’m going to work on that too. But I do love sparring with her. I love poking her. I love the way her eyes flash and her cheeks flush when I piss her off. I love that I can piss her off more than anyone else can. I really think this is going to be a very fun week.

As we drive toward the Blue Stone, I’m relieved that things seem okay between us. As okay as they ever are. At least she’s not freezing me out or yelling at me.

I wonder if I’m supposed to apologize for anything that I said earlier, but I’ve been over and over our conversation and I’m not sorry. Everything I said was the truth and everything I’ve done, from talking Graham into going to college in Colorado to mentioning the kid who might need someone like Mia to talk to, was something I stand by.

I don’t like hurting Harlow though. And it’s weird that it’s been bugging me. I mean hell, I told her she’s a loving, supportive person. Though almost to a fault. Still, in the past, it hasn’t bothered me that she knows that I’m a critic. Possibly her only one.

Now suddenly it does bother me. A lot.

I look over at her as we drive to the restaurant. “Are we okay?”

She shrugs. “We’re…the same.”

I think about that.

I don’t want us to be the same.

It’s a strange thought and it seems to hit out of the blue, but I want us to be better than the same. Maybe this is hitting me because of everything I finally said out loud. I’ve never done that before. We’ve just bickered and been sarcastic with one another. She’s tossed out things like you made Graham leave and I say things like you coddle him.

Today I let her know that I’m aware of the reason that she’s so intent on helping people find homes and families. Which means I’ve given it some thought. I also admitted that I’ve paid attention to how protective she is of the people that she loves, especially the vulnerable ones. I told her that I see the way that she puts herself in front of people she feels need to be protected. But then she wants to shelter them from every tiny possible thing.

Our disagreement felt deeper today. More meaningful. It wasn’t just us fighting over Graham’s attention. This had real thought and understanding behind it. It’s one thing to want to keep the people you love from the major storms. I do the same. I would throw myself in front of anyone I love if life tried to rip through and turn things upside down. But she wants to be the umbrella even for the lightest sprinkles. Sometimes people need to get wet. People need to learn how to dry themselves off.

I hurt her today more than usual because I showed that I understand her. And I still disagree with her. But I want that to bring us closer. I want her to see that I can disagree with her but still like her, respect her, and want her.

That hits me and I squeeze the steering wheel tighter.

I can still want her even while I disagree with her.

Because I do want her.

Well… dammit.

I clear my throat. “We’re gonna have to act like we’re a little better than usual,” I remind her after a moment.

“I’ve got this,” she tells me. “I understand the assignment.”

But does she? Because suddenly this assignment feels a little different to me.

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