The Sweetest Things (10 page)

“I ever tell you about the time I almost got my junk caught in the zipper of my jeans?”

She snorted.

“Or about the time the cleaning service caught me shaking said junk in my mirror upon my discovery of good techno at the tender age of fifteen?”

There was a small “Heh” from her side of the car.

“Or about the time I thought I
broke
my junk because I wouldn’t stop mas—”

“Oh, my God!” Harper gasped. “Stop. Talking!” Her head was pressed to the passenger side window as she laughed.

He chuckled. “But, Sweets, I have so many more stories about my junk.”

“I don’t wanna hear any stories about your cock.”

Konstantine growled. “I’d advise that you don’t use that word anymore tonight.”

“And that would be why?”

“Because it makes my palms itch.”

“Is this gonna lead to another conversation about your bits? I don’t wanna have another conversation about your bits.”

As he finally stopped at their destination—Margo’s—he fully turned in his seat to look at her as she “ooohed” and “ahhed.” He retorted, “Sweets, my palms are itching because I’m tempted to spank you.”

She blinked. “I always heard silence was golden.”

The bastard was good, she’d give him that. Margo’s
wasn’t someplace full of pretentious assholes and bitchy supermodels ordering side salads as main courses. It was designed to have an upscale but homey feel to it when you walked through the door, never once making you second-guess what you’d chosen to wear. The menu, if Harper remembered correctly, ranged from surf and turf to simple hotdogs and French fries. On weeknights, a live band played on the center stage, filling the food-scented air with amazing tunes.

If there was anyplace Harper wanted to spend a date, it was indeed in the restaurant of the one woman who made the best burgers in Manhattan and gave hugs almost as good as her own mother’s. At the thought of Margo Davis, Harper found herself glancing through the throngs of tables, trying to find the culinary artist with the sparkling smile.

“She’s in that last booth on the right with Pops,” Konstantine whispered in her ear, his hand resting on the dip in her back as they moved behind their waiter.

Turning her head in that direction, she spotted Ivan with his arms wrapped around Margo, a smile on his face as the older woman chuckled at whatever he’d just said. “They look so frackin’ cute.”

“Meh.” Konstantine shrugged as they sat down.

“What do you mean ‘meh’?” she demanded, gesturing in the couple’s direction. “Look at them! That’s adorable.”

He snorted, picking up his menu. “What you see as adorable, they see as sexy, which inevitably means poor Miss Margo is in for a hell of a time later tonight.”

For giving her
that
particular mental imagery, Harper kicked him in the shin.

“Ow! Stop with the abuse!”

“Stop filling my head with thoughts of your father having sex, you depraved lunatic!”

Konstantine chuckled, waggling his brows before crooning Marvin Gaye.

Her lips twitched but she refused to give him the satisfaction of cracking a smile. “You need Jesus.”

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny that fact.”

“Can we just have a nice normal night—”

“
Date,”
he corrected.

“This is not a date. It’s a—”

“Date.”

“Koz, I am not—”

“Sweets,” he said so softly that she looked up from her menu. Locking eyes with her, he responded, “You can call it whatever you want, believe whatever you want, but trust me, it’s a date.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Am I?” Konstantine sat back. “Tell me something.”

She hated when he started with the
tell me something
bullshit. It usually meant he was about to step into his role as a lawyer. “What?”

“When was the last time you spent a Valentine’s Day without me?”

Harper thought back, tried to remember a year where he wasn’t there after one of her horrible, disastrous encounters. “Never,” she answered softly, a little surprised that the only time he hadn’t been with her physically on Valentine’s Day was when he was out of the country and even then he Skyped her or called. Days later, she would get some small gift with a card.

He quirked a brow. “My point exactly.”

She swallowed. “Koz, I don’t get what we’re doing here.”

“What don’t you get?”

“Why I’ve all of a sudden become your number one priority. We’re friends—we’ve
always
been friends—but what’s this new thing between us where everything you say or do doesn’t just feel like you’re teasing me or trying to get under my skin?” It was true. Every day he’d been home all interaction between them, when she wasn’t hiding, didn’t feel like their usual verbal sparring. This was something different
.
She’d look up to find him watching her with the strangest look on his face...the same look she had when she found herself watching
him.
It scared the living shit out of her.

It didn’t exactly help that they’d slept together. Sex between them had been great but now put them in a limbo zone with their friendship.

Konstantine’s head cocked to the side. “Ask yourself a better question—is it really
new or something you never stopped to pay attention to before? Am I suddenly making you my priority, or have you always
been my priority, and now you realize it because after all that shit about being friends all these years, you’re finally seeing what I’ve seen since I kissed you?”

Harper was saved from having to answer when their waitress came back for their orders but as soon as she left, he was gazing at her, making her shift in her seat.

She sighed. “What, Koz?”

“Are you gonna answer me?”

Shaking her head slowly, she replied, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Konstantine smirked. “You can run but you can’t hide, Sweets.”

“I can and I will.”

His snort irritated and warmed her. “You’re really aiming for a sore ass today.”

At his words they both froze, staring at each other before Harper’s lips curled, and then they were laughing. “Don’t. Even. Think. It,” she gasped, pointing at him.

Konstantine held up his hands. “That was
not
where my mind went.” His brows winged. “And yet...”

She kicked him.

“Ow!”

“Quit with the skeevey behavior.”

“I’m gonna tell you something, and I want you to listen to me closely,” he whispered, leaning towards her. “I’m a man. It’s in my DNA to be skeevey. I fucked you within an inch of your life less than four days ago, so get used to it and bask in the sunshine that is me.”

“Can’t I just, you know, stab you in the face instead?”

To that, he simply smiled. “You could, but like a fungus, I’d still be hard to get rid of.”

***

“For the love of God, please tell me we’re going in there,” Harper begged.

Konstantine’s lips twitched as he tightly held her hand in his own, their fingers interlocked while they strolled down Essex street, coming to a stop in front of Two Bit’s Retro Arcade
.
“Who knows you better than anyone else?” he sang.

She did a child-like little shuffle in her heels. “You do. You do.”

“And who was smart enough to break a twenty into several rolls of quarters?”

“You were. You were.”

“And who are you gonna let feel you up later as a reward for my thoughtfulness?”

“You...stop that!”

He chuckled. “Too late, Sweets. I’m holding you to that.”

“Koz...”

“Yes, baby?” He tugged her along as they headed through the doors. Two Bit’s was the only place that could make someone feel like a kid again while reminding them that they could get rocked off at the fully stocked bar.

“I’m having a good night. Don’t ruin it, ’kay?”

Konstantine stopped short then turned and pulled her into his chest, his hands on her hips. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“That you’re having a good night out—with me—because I’m awesome.”

She peered up at him through her lashes. “I don’t remember those last details being spoken.”

He grunted and squeezed her hips.

Harper played with the buttons on his coat, eyes focused on his chest. “I’m having a good night out with you...because you’re acting slightly less insane.”

Eyeing her, he asked, “How many drinks did you have at dinner?”

“Enough to walk straight but not to attempt dancing. Why?”

“Because you weren’t supposed to actually admit that, which means someone had more than their fair share of wine tonight.”

Her smile was wide. “Either that or you’re a pretty good date.”

“I’m pretty good at lots
of things, Sweets,” Konstantine replied, his voice low.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, answered, “I know,” and dug her hand into his right pocket.

He sucked in a deep breath as she brushed against his cock—which had stood at attention the moment she reached into his pants. “Harper.” His tone went from teasing to warning.

She gave him an innocent blink as she pulled out one roll of quarters. “What?” Waving them in his face, she added, “I was just looking for these.” Then she skipped off to play.

“God give me strength,” Konstantine prayed, following behind. He weaved through gamers until he found Harper playing Street Fighter, her hands moving across the controls with the same speed they’d had when they were kids.

“Not today, Ken, you choppy-haired bastard,” she growled, still furiously working the controls.

Standing there watching her, noticing the way other men stopped to admire what he knew was already his, he realized something. Konstantine wasn’t worried or doubtful that Harper would come around, that she’d wake up and see she was meant to spend forever with him. It wasn’t out of arrogance or assumption—something in him just
knew
this wasn’t a passing thing that she’d dismiss.

She fought it because she felt it, and if she felt it, that meant he was already where he needed to be with her, just proving what he’d known for a very long time—Harper Sweet was his end all, be all. She’d yanked hard as hell trying to escape what was between them, but she’d never once denied it—just failed to acknowledge it.

Walking up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I think you may just be the best girlfriend ever.”

She stiffened. “Since when am I your girlfriend?”

“Want me to go down the facts?”