Four hours later, the apartment was bright, even though the sky was heavy with gray clouds. Reaching an arm out, I grabbed my phone from beside the bed, looked for a text from Harper.
Nothing. Sighing, I ran my hand down my face, wiped the sleep away—and the frustration.
I was whipped. Fuck, this girl had me wrapped around her little finger. And I wanted to be whipped. I wanted her. Where the fuck was she and why wasn’t she answering my damn texts? She hadn’t responded at all yesterday. And today was Christmas, dammit. It wasn’t like her. Not lately. I’d gotten her to open up. Hell, I’d gotten her to sext.
She’d refused to do phone sex, which was fine, although my balls didn’t agree. I’d come up with the stupid idea of texting instead. She’d gone for it. I hadn’t heard her little pants before she came, the way she would call out my name, but it had been better than nothing. She knew I was a bossy fuck in bed, or in a text, and had liked it.
For long distance sexting, it had been tame. Hell, she’d still had her fucking panties on. I just told her to make herself come. That was it. I hadn’t talked dirty to her, told her what I’d do to her once I got my hands on her. None of it.
Harper wasn’t a virgin, but she acted innocent with me. As if someone may have had her body before, but she was giving me more. All of her.
She knew how I felt about us… this, knew it was special. I’d even used that word. Yet she wasn’t calling me. The plane flight wasn’t that long. The last time we’d talked, she’d said soon. We needed to have a chat about the definition of fucking soon.
I climbed from bed and went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth thinking about what she’d told me. How she’d lost her virginity at thirteen. I spit in the sink, rinsed it down. Fucking rape.
I found some workout clothes in the laundry basket, tugged them on. Dropped to my bed to tie up the laces on my running shoes. It didn’t matter that it was Christmas. I had a fight in two weeks, and I needed to run. Especially if I was eating Emory’s mashed potatoes later. And pumpkin pie.
I shoved my hat on, tucked my earbuds in, got my music blasting and set off. Five miles later, my legs were tired, and I was sweating, even though it was below freezing. I stripped off my hat and my jacket, went to the kitchen for a drink of water to take some time to cool down before I showered. It made no sense to do it right away because I’d still be sweating when I was done and have to take another.
As I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, I heard water running. Not loud as if coming from my bathroom, but through the walls. On occasion, I heard it, the pipes coming from Gray’s apartment ran behind the center wall. While the building was solid, if I paid attention, it was noticeable. Like now. I had to think Gray had stayed tucked in bed with Emory, savoring a quiet holiday morning with his girl. It made me think of Harper. If she were here and in my bed, I sure as hell wouldn’t get out of it for anything. Especially not a five-mile run.
I took the stairs down from Gray’s and Emory’s apartment. While it was only one flight, I felt the fifteen steps or so might help work off the three pieces of pumpkin pie and the pound of mashed potatoes. I hadn’t eaten that much in a while and besides feeling stuffed, I was sleepy. I had the plaid flannel Emory had gotten me tossed over my shoulder. It was from her and Gray, but I’d spent most of my waking time with Gray recently and knew he hadn’t gotten anywhere near the mall to pick it out.
Standing in the concrete stairwell only made me think of Harper. Where she was, what she was doing. Maybe she’d gone to her parents, spent Christmas Eve with them and stayed. Her car wasn’t in the lot—I’d checked like a fucking stalker. I pulled my phone from my pocket, scrolled to her name. Dialed. I went out into the second-floor hallway, grabbed my key from the long chain about my neck to open my door. I heard a faint ring, but it wasn’t coming from my apartment. I didn’t have a landline. It was coming from Harper’s. I glanced at her door, walked toward it. I looked at my phone, saw it was still connected, but she didn’t answer. I ended the call.
The ringing stopped. I pressed her name again. I heard the ringing again. I knocked on the door. Waited.
“Harper,” I said, knocking again.
Nothing.
I called her a third time. The ringing came again.
I banged louder. “Harper. Open the door.”
I started to freak, coming up with all kinds of shit scenarios. She’d fallen in the shower and hit her head. She’d gotten the flu and was too sick to get to the door. There was no way I was going to let this go. I had to know she was all right.
“Harper!” I made a fist and banged it against the door. “I hear your phone ringing. Let me in or I’m going up to Gray’s to get the key.”
I heard the bolt turn first, then she opened the door.
My heart settled back into place. “Jesus, you scared me.” I said that without really looking at her, but when I met her gaze, I stepped into her apartment, forcing her to step back.
I frowned. She kept her grip on the door, held it open, used it as a shield between us.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I wanted to grab her, pull her into my arms, but the last time I’d done that, she’d sobbed in my lap. Of course, I’d also made her come, so I was torn. I wanted to do that again, but instead of being mad like she had been last time, she looked… cut open. Her hair, usually sleek and long, was up in a sloppy bun. She had no makeup on, and dark smudges marred her gorgeous eyes. While it was December and everyone was pale in Colorado, she looked sickly.
She cleared her throat. “Nothing.”
“Are you sick?” I asked, reaching my hand out to touch her forehead, but she stepped back, pulling the door with her. I saw more of the hallway than I did of her. I could see a sliver of an old sweatshirt and pink plaid flannel pajama pants. Thick socks were on her feet. It was the least sexy outfit I could imagine on a woman. Every bit of her curves was hidden beneath the heavy layers, but she looked hot to me. It just made me want to unwrap her to see what was beneath.
She shook her head, loose strands of her hair swirling about.
“When did you get back?”
“This morning.” Her voice was flat.
“I thought maybe you were with your parents or something.”