Page 4 of The Summer I First Saw You
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but…” In an unusual show of self-restraint, I manage to rein in my summation of how he’s fallen apart. “You seem exhausted. Maybe you should go to bed.”
His eyes narrow. “I was on my way to bed when you broke into my goddamned house.”
My gaze veers to the bottle in his hand. If Harrison’s now a guy who’d go to bed with a fifth of bourbon, the situation is even more dire than I thought.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” I say, rising.
He pushes to his feet, scowling as he lumbers toward the tall cement staircase, swaying as he climbs. I follow, calculating the odds of us both dying if he falls backward. At least I’d go out with him on top of me.The second silver lining of the evening.
He turns toward me when we reach the second floor. I expect him to reluctantly offer me a room, but instead, his brow furrows, and there’s something in his gaze. A spark of interest—a passing thought.
Men don’t see an aimless twenty-one-year-old when they look at me. They see curves and an overly wide mouth—features they associate with blow jobs and porn and whatever their most graphic fantasies entail—but until this moment, Harrison did not. He saw me as Lazy Daisy or Bridget’s bratty kid or Liam’s rebellious niece, eleven years younger than he is.
But he’s not looking at me as if I’m any of those things right now, and I can taste the impulse in the air. I can already feel the soft press of that first kiss, the way his weight would settle atop mine.
He’s drunk. It’s something he’d never consider sober, and I know that even if he propositions me, I can’t agree. But I’ve spent most of my life waiting for Harrison to give methatlook,and he finally is, and I wish I could frame this memory and hang it over my bed forever.
I bet, even drunk, Harrison would obliterate every prior experience. He lurches into his room and slams the door behind him before I can consider all the ways he’d go about obliterating them, however.
I stumble into the nearest room and proceed to fall into a surprisingly comfortable bed, still fully dressed. Sure, Harrison made it pretty clear he wanted me to leave, but Sober Harrison wouldneverallow me to sleep in my car. Sober Harrison would, in fact, give me a stern lecture about the dangers of sleeping in a car and make me swear I’d never do it again.
But…what the hell happened here? How is it possible that Harrison—suave, confident, accomplished Harrison—is now a guy who wanders through an empty house in his boxers, drinking straight off a fifth of bourbon? And how is it possible that I still find him so attractive anyway?
When I close my eyes, I’m no longer seeing Hot Married Lawyer Harrison. I’m seeing Half-Naked, Unrestrained Harrison in Need of a Shave.
I want the new version just as badly as I want the old one.
That vow of celibacy I just took already feels optimistic.
3
HARRISON
Each day begins in exactly the same way—with a dull throbbing in my head and a blissful ten seconds during which I don’t entirely remember what’s gone wrong. When I still believe I have my house, my flourishing career, my wife, and the respect of my peers.
And then I realize I’ve lost most of those things, and the day truly begins.
I wander downstairs for painkillers, bracing myself resentfully for the view I’ve paid so much money for. The sun is out, but I prefer the days when the weather and my mood are perfectly aligned, when it’s storming and I don’t have to watch all these assholes biking past, or the couples walking hand-in-hand.
The trucks lining the road won’t improve my mood, either. When I bought this place a year ago, I pictured a future in which I’d get up to surf each morning before work. I imagined taking my future children on bike rides along the path, teaching them to catch the more manageable waves down by the wharf. Except Audrey wasn’t picturing any of those thingswhen she moved to London a year ago, and now every goddamn one of them is off the table.
But when I turn, expecting cheerful couples and the endless blue of the Pacific, I’m instead staring at a woman’s ass in baby blue yoga pants. Bending over like an invitation.
Onmydeck.
I ignore the way my gut tightens at the sight. I don’t care how lush an ass it is—this is private property and its owner shouldn’t be here. I ignore my pounding head and march toward her, fully prepared to let her have it…just as she rises and turns.
Daisy.
Daisy, Liam’s niece, is on my deck. I feel like I should know why. I think maybe I dreamed about her last night, but I sure as hell wouldn’t have dreamed of this very adult iteration of her. Because holyfuckingshit…the curves on this girl. The curve of her pouty little mouth, her cheeks, her tits barely covered by a sports bra, her tiny waist flaring out to her hips.
My body reacts before I can stop it, and her gaze drops.
“Wow,onepart of you is wide awake,” she says with a grin. “And impressive. I’d offer to take care of it, but you smell like a distillery even from here.”
Hearing her suggest she’d be willing totake care of it, even in jest, should horrify me, but instead I’m about to burst out of my boxers.
I roll my eyes as I place a discreet hand in front of my junk. “Before you get too flattered, let me make it clear that it has nothing to do with you because I didn’t know I’d be finding you on my fucking deck, now did I? Why are you here?”
