Page 2 of His to Teach
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Tell me again about how I’m a grown-ass woman but throw a bunch of compliments in there about how smart and brave I am, too.”
Emma laughs on the other end of the phone. “Totally smart and brave, babe. The smartest. And you’d have to be pretty brave to put up with me all these years, right?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Yeah, I doubt I’m going to see anything inside that’s scarier than you when someone snags the last pint of Chunky Monkey at the grocery store.”
“Damn straight,” she says, then starts to cough.
“You okay?” I ask, a different kind of worry seeping into my chest. I have a thing about illness, having lost both of my parents at a young age. I know Emma has been to the doctor and was loaded up on antibiotics but I still can’t shake the feeling that the last place in the world I should be is anywhere more than a block from her.
“I’m fine,” she says firmly. “And don’t you dare try to use me as an excuse to bail.” I bite my lip. I had been about to offer to come home and make her soup. “Seriously, Harper. Do this. You know you’ll regret it if you don’t. You need to take more chances in your life.”
This line of advice is nothing new—she’s been telling me for years that I need to get out of my shell more, take chances. And Club Wyld certainly qualifies as taking a pretty big damn chance.
“Fine,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “I’m going in.”
She cheers so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear. Then her shouts are quickly replaced by more coughing and it’s a moment before she can respond.
“Have so much fun. Be safe. And tomorrow you can give me all the juicy details.”
“Got it,” I say, taking another deep breath for strength. I begin to turn back toward those imposing wooden doors. “Just cross your fingers that I don’t pass out in fear.”
Emma starts to respond as I take a first, tentative step toward the entrance. But I have no idea what she says because at that moment, I smack right into what feels like a brick wall. I’d been so busy staring at the door that I didn’t even notice the man walking right in front of me. As I stumble backward, teetering on my unfamiliar heels, he brings his hands up to clasp me around the arms, steadying me. Only then do I look up into his face—and my eyes have a long way to travel. The man is huge, a good foot taller than me, his chest and shoulders broad. No wonder it felt like hitting a wall.
When my gaze finally reaches his face, I have to bite back a gasp. Even in the dark outside the club I can make out the most piercing set of blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Harper? Harper, what’s going on? Are you there?”
It takes me a moment to realize that Emma is still on the other end of the phone, trying to get my attention. “Sorry,” I mutter, not sure if I’m talking to her or to him. “I…I was just…”
The man squeezes my arms, once, then releases me. “You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet over steel, soft with an undercurrent of something darker, something dangerous. “There are plenty of depraved people around here tonight. You’ll want to take care.”
My throat is completely dry, my head spinning. I’m not sure if it’s from the force of our collision or from the nearness of him—God, I can feel the body heat pouring off of him even through the thick wool coat he wears. Or maybe it’s from his warning. He’s telling me to be careful—so why do I get the sense that he’s really urging me to be anything but?
Before I can think of a single thing to say, he turns and walks quickly up the steps to Club Wyld, knocking twice on the heavy wooden door. It opens immediately and he walks inside, never once looking back at me.
“Harper!” Emma sounds frightened now and I let out a shaky breath as I bring the phone back to my ear.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “I just bumped into the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“See!” she crows. “You’re already halfway to scoring and you aren’t even inside yet!”
I snort, bringing my hand up to cover my still rapidly beating heart. “I would hardly call my klutzy stumbling halfway to anything.”
“What I want to know is why you aren’t following this hottie.”
“He went into the club.”
“Damn girl. What are you doing still talking to me?”
I laugh. “You’re right. I’m going in.”
“That’s more like it! Again—have fun, be safe, call me.”
It’s funny—that’s usually my script, intoned every time she goes out while I stay home to read or study. How strange to hear those words directed at me for once.
“I will,” I say, nodding to myself. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Anytime. Go get ‘em!”
