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My eyes widen in horror. “You did not buy me leather panties!” I shriek.
“Chill-lax,” she paints a serious face. “It’s not black leather; it’s pink, so it’s less intimidating.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Joking! Joking. It’s all lace. Crotch-less but lace.”
“Harper!” I screech.
She holds her hands up, “Kidding. But if you want some, I can order it for you.” She bends over, laughing. “Oh my God, you should have seen your face. Cherry red, Pops,”
She pokes my cheek gently. “So adorable. I love it when you blush. Your dimples and freckles make you look like a kitten in a window. I can’t resist.”
The elevator begins to close, and we hurry out. I’m tempted to shove her back inside. “There better be loungewear in that closet.”
“Period weeks only. Otherwise, I want skin-tight, shining bright.” Harper sings, then slaps her own ass.
“If my ass looked like yours, then I would wear fitted clothes.”
"Your ass does look like mine. You just don’t see it. I don’t know what changed. I don’t understand what you see when you look in the mirror. You’re stunning, but if you don’t believe it, why should others?" she replies, her tone shifting from playful to serious. Her blue eyes dig into me like a scalpel, sharp and probing.
I know it hurts her that I’m keeping secrets, but I don’t want my confessions to change her. I love her jokes and embarrassing side, and if I tell her the truth, she will change. I know it. She will filter her comments and view me as a victim. She will put her future at risk to seek revenge for me.
I can’t lose our carefree banter. If I told her what had happened at that party, she would never look at me the same way again. I won’t be the friend/sister she jokes with.
“Peter wouldn’t want you to live like this. He’d want you to live, not be tucked away.” She adds.
Her grief is palpable. It clogs my throat. I feel dirtier than a gutter for not being honest with her. I didn’t just lose a brother; she did, too.
“What about Henry,” I whisper.
“Don’t mention his name. Don’t let his hate touch you a moment longer. What he is doing is wrong. It’s wrong!” Her anger toward Henry simmers just beneath the surface, a volatile mix of frustration hurt, and disappointment. “One day, he will realize that." Rapid blinks shove her tears back into her eyes. She hides her real emotions away from the world now. Just like me, but we hide for different reasons.
“I am living. I moved away from the past. I want to change, Harper. I just…I don’t think I can be the girl I used to be.”
“I don’t want you to turn back chapters and be the girl you used to be. I want you to move forward and write new ones. Write a book that would make your parents and brother proud. Bad shit happened to you, but that doesn’t have to define your narrative.”
Chapter 9
Poppy
"Well, if it isn’t my favorite new person," a voice booms down the hall.
Harper and I turn our heads in unison, only to spot Kent strutting towards us like he's auditioning for a spot on a ridiculously sexy – and possibly cringy – calendar. Hammer and drill in hand, sweaty and grinning like he just won a lottery.
"Howdy, Kent," Harper purrs, practically sashaying her way down my spanking new hallway.
For the love of all things holy, can someone please make it a sin for her to keep saying "Howdy" to every man in Texas?I mentally plead with the universe, praying for divine intervention.
I watch in sheer amazement as Harper works her magic, swaying her hips like she's orchestrating a symphony of seduction.
How the heck does she do it?
If I tried to move my hips like that, I'd probably trip over my own feet.
My eyes look beyond Kent, hoping that if I don't witness him and Harper interact again, it might never really happen.
I shoot a sly glance at my less-than-enthusiastic movers who, compared to the 'Magic Mike' special over yonder, appear as if they're about to stage a full-blown mutiny. With a deft move, I swing open the door to my brand-new penthouse, practically ushering them inside before promptly shutting the door behind me.
