That Forever Girl Page 61
“Sure.” I set down my clipboard on a side table and head over to her. We’re on our last day of shooting in the iconic gift shop, and from the way Griffin has been hovering over us, I can tell he’s ready to get the place back up and running.
Thankfully, we’ve been inside for the last few shoots, so we’ve been warm and toasty, but tomorrow we’re back outside, behind Brig’s garage; I’m mentally preparing myself.
Elizabeth, Carl, and Sally are all hovering over a tablet, pointing at the screen and talking when I walk up to them. A little nervous, I wait for them to address me.
Sally goes first. “Hey, Harper, we thought while the actors are finishing up with hair and makeup, we would have a little chat with you.”
“Okay.” I try not to show how nervous I am. All I want is to make sure I’m doing a good job.
Carl pulls his head up from his tablet. “Have you enjoyed working with us?”
I nod. “Very much so. It’s been a neat challenge. Something I’ve never done before, but I’m so happy to use what I know.”
“Yes, you really know New England well. It’s come in handy.” Carl removes his glasses. “That’s why we want to offer you a full-time job.”
Excuse me? My pulse picks up as I try to understand what they’re saying.
“Yes,” Sally adds. “We would love to have you travel around with production, scouting different locations for all our upcoming films. We know it might be different in a town you didn’t grow up in, but you have a really good eye; you can picture a scene in front of you. We think that’s a valuable skill.”
“Very valuable.” Elizabeth nods. “And this would give you the opportunity to travel around the country, not just New England. We know you’ve done a lot of traveling before this, so you’ll be able to explore even more.”
“Wow,” I say, completely caught off guard. “I mean, I don’t know what to say.”
“Think it over,” Sally says. “We would love to have you on board; you already fit in with the crew.”
“Okay,” I answer, my mind racing. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
“You’ve earned it,” Carl says, putting his glasses back on and turning back to his tablet.
With a brief smile, I return to my post and clipboard, feigning working, but in reality, my head is spinning. Scouting for Lovemark full time? And all over the country? I could travel to states I’ve never been to before. I think I’d be good at it . . . but would it be a fulfilling job? That’s the real question.
I feel like I’ve found myself again, but not through the job—through this town and the people . . . and the memories. Do I want to give that all up? Travel from location to location, living out of a suitcase like I have been since college?
I chew on my lip, thinking it over.
And if I take this job, what does that mean for Rogan and me? Would we be able to handle all the traveling and the distance? Would I have to relocate? Would I be willing to? Is one job offer worth upending my entire life? A life I just started to fall in love with?
Looks like I have one more thing to tell Rogan tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROGAN
“Yes, Rogan, oh my God . . . yes.”
Pinning Harper against the wall with her dress up around her waist, I slide into her, my jeans around my knees, unable to wait another second until I am inside her.
My lips mold with hers, my hands gripping her ass, propping her up as I move her up and down the length of my cock. Her fingers pull on my hair, her kisses hot and demanding as I thrust hard.
One.
Two.
“Yesss,” she cries out.
Three. She bites down on my lip. My balls seize, and I spill inside her, groaning and stilling as wave after wave of pleasure hits me.
“Hell, Harper.” I breathe out, pressing another kiss against her lips. “I missed you.”
“It was a day.” She chuckles.
“One day too long.” And that’s the goddamn truth. If I wasn’t so terrified of scaring her away, I would ask her to move into my house right now, but I have to take my time with her. There is no way in hell I’m screwing this up again.
With one more kiss, I lower her to the ground, right her dress, and fix my pants. She bends down to pick up her underwear, but I snag it before she can. “Why bother?” I ask, holding it up.
She’s about to protest when a smile crosses her face. “Ugh, you’re right.”
“I know I am.” I take her hand in mine and bring her to the living room, where I have a teapot and teacups set off to the side, a fire roaring, and the mood music quietly playing through the surround sound.
“Tea? I never pictured you as a tea man.” She takes a seat on the couch as I pour her a cup.
With a steady hand, I deliver her tea and offer up milk and sugar, which she turns away. “I like tea in front of the fire.”
“You’re cute,” she says, looking me up and down.
I give her the same kind of perusal. “You’re hot. Especially when you moan my name.” I take a sip of my tea. “You never used to be so vocal.”
“That’s because I never wanted anyone to hear us.”
“And now?”
She gestures to the woods outside the window. “You don’t have any neighbors. I can be as loud as I want.”
Another sip. “I like it.”
“I could tell. I swear you get bigger with every moan.”
I shrug. “Knowing I’m turning you on, it does things to me.” I drape my hand on the back of the couch, tugging on a lock of her hair. The light of the fire casts a beautiful glow over Harper, illuminating her freckles. I’m tempted to run my finger over them and count them but know she wants to tell me something. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
“Just going to jump right into it like that?” she asks good-humoredly.
I nod, my bones shaking with nerves inside me. It almost feels like we’re back in high school and I’m the guy with a crush on my best friend. I don’t want her to turn me down; I don’t think I could stomach it. “I want to get everything out in the open, because starting tomorrow, we are never looking back, always moving forward.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” She looks out the window, her brow pinching together.
I take her hand and entwine our fingers. “Are you nervous to tell me something?”
“Yes,” she admits, turning toward me. “Very nervous.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid of your reaction.”
I might have been slightly nervous before, but I am full-on shaking in my damn pants now. What could she possibly have to tell me? I shove down my nerves. It’s my job to be there for her right now.
“Don’t worry about me, Harp. I’ll be fine.”
She shakes her head and looks out the window again. “No, you won’t. You won’t be fine at all, but I promised my dad I would tell you, so here goes.” She takes a deep breath and stares down at our connected hands. “You’ve asked me many times why I came back to Port Snow, but I always kind of beat around the bush instead of answering.”
“Yeah, I could tell you weren’t telling the truth.” I scoot in a little closer, setting down my tea, trying my best to show her that no matter what she says, I will still love her. “It’s okay, Harp, you can talk to me.”
“I know.” Her lip trembles as tears fill her eyes. “I’m just so ashamed.”
Fuck . . . why? What happened to her?
“Come here.” I take her tea and set it down next to mine, then scoop her into my lap, holding her protectively against my chest. “I’m here. Take your time.”
She leans her head against my shoulder, her hand falling to my sweater; she grips it tightly. A few minutes pass as we just hold each other, her tears soaking into my clothes. But I say nothing; I just hold her and let her work up the courage to tell me whatever it is she’s hiding.
Finally, she lifts her head and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just a hard thing to admit, but I promise you I’m better.”
Better? What the fuck? Is she sick? My heart seizes in my chest at the thought. Has she been sick this whole time, having to battle it on her own?
I’m seconds away from prying it out of her when she says, “Before I came to Port Snow, I was living with a man, Brandon, in Boston. We’d been together for two years.”
Living with another man? Well, that makes my chest tight for completely different reasons. I don’t want to know about my girl living with another guy, but I steel myself, putting my feelings aside and listening to her.
“At first, we were fine,” she continues. “I was never in love with him, but he was comfortable, and that’s what I needed when my mind was still a wreck. It wasn’t until the last year that he started to get angrier and angrier.”
The breath in my lungs halts; my shoulders and jaw immediately start to throb with tension. Angrier and angrier? That could only mean one thing . . .
“Did he hit you, Harper?”
Biting her lip, she slowly nods.
There isn’t a good enough word to explain how much hatred rolls through me in a matter of seconds. Some man—Brandon—struck Harper. How is that even fucking possible? What gives another human being the right to hurt the one person they’re supposed to be with, care for, respect?
Or what gives another human being the right to hit someone at all?