Afterwards, I did my best impression of a jellyfish washed up on the beach by lying there like a gelatinous blob and gasping for air. He seemed somewhat less destroyed, because he tumbled out of bed and said, “Back in a minute,” as he headed to the bathroom. The most I could manage was grabbing a fistful of tissues and wiping the cum from my stomach.
He returned a minute or two later, and I fully expected him to retreat to his bedroom. Instead, he picked up the duvet from the floor, climbed into bed with me, and tucked us in. He kissed my cheek and murmured, “That was amazing, Phee.” Then he draped his arm across my chest and fell fast asleep.
I was sure I’d regret the hell out of sleeping with Harper. For now though, I shoved aside those first few tendrils of remorse, curled up against him, and let myself enjoy his warmth as I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 3
The sound of my phone beeping woke me the next morning. I slipped out of bed and found it in the pocket of my jeans, and then I glanced at Harper, or more specifically, his bare ass. He’d thrown the covers off during the night, and he was face-down and sleeping soundly.
There were several texts and a voicemail, all from the same number. I’d reserved a car service for that morning, and apparently our driver was waiting downstairs and messaging every three minutes. It took my sleep-addled brain a few moments to process that, and then I yelled, “Shit, we overslept! Get up Harper, we’re going to be late.”
He raised his head and mumbled, “Huh?”
“I said we’re late! Go take the quickest shower of your life, and don’t put on your suit. We’ll take it with us to the studio.”
“Late for what?”
The fact that he was literally moving at sloth speed was making me crazy. “Rehearsal for the Tommy Allen special!”
“Oh. Right.” He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his short hair, which made it stick up in rough spikes. “I need coffee.”
“You can have some when we get to the set. Please get up, Harper. I’m begging you.”
“I don’t think you understand. My need for caffeine is medicinal, not recreational. Also, wow do I have a headache. How much tequila did I drink last night?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” I threw a pillow at him and yelled, “Shower, Harper. Now!”
He just sat there as the pillow bounced off his head. Then he said, “You’re cranky in the morning. Also, do you know you have condoms sticking to you?”
I quickly sent a text to let the driver know we’d be downstairs in fifteen minutes, then looked down at myself and spotted two condoms in their wrappers, which were stuck to my stomach. There were dozens more scattered over the floor and quite a few in the bedding. I didn’t have time to pick them up, and I felt my cheeks warming as I imagined housekeeping discovering them.
As I peeled off the two that were sticking to me, I muttered, “Oh hell no,” because Harper started to lie down again.
I grabbed his ankle and tried to physically drag him off the mattress, which really didn’t work. But he finally said, “Okay, okay, I’m up,” and climbed out of bed. Then he wiggled his brows as he grinned at me. “Maybe our showers would go quicker if we took them together.”
When he started to lean in for a kiss, I stopped him with a palm on his forehead and exclaimed, “Oh, come on!”
“Why not? Shower sex is fun, and I’ll be quick, I promise.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wow, tempting. But in case it wasn’t clear to you, last night was a one-time thing. Now please go shower and get dressed before I have a full-blown anxiety melt-down.”
“Granted, a shower quickie probably doesn’t sound that tempting. But remember what you said last night? What happens in New York stays in New York. And guess what, Phee, we’re still in the Big Apple! I’m going to go take my shower, because you really look like you might have a stroke if I don’t, but I one hundred percent refuse to sign off on that whole ‘one-time thing’ notion.” As he left the room, he called over his shoulder, “This conversation is to be continued!”
A sound of pure frustration slipped from me. It was somewhere between a whine and a growl. This wasn’t the time to straighten Harper out, though, and I turned and ran to the shower.
After I did the whole lather-and-rinse thing in record time, I slapped on some deodorant while trying to pull on my briefs. This resulted in tripping and almost knocking myself out on the toilet. Next, I started to run a comb through my hair, then forgot about it as I threw on some jeans and a gray button-down shirt.