The red-haired rookie cop I spoke with earlier catches my eye as I hit the gas. When he realizes who's driving, he lowers his speed gun and turns his back.
"What the hell was that?" Harper gasps. "That cop literally just ignored you doing like triple the speed limit."
I shrug. "He must not have seen me. I'm Mr. Invisible."
"You're Mr. Weird." Harper falls quiet, and when I turn to her, she's staring at my rearview mirror.
Great. Here we go.
"Are those dog tags? Were you in the army?" she asks, leaning closer and squinting. "Just checking they don't belong to some other random guy. Were you a soldier?"
I pull up at the red lights and stay silent as I wait for the signal to change.
"Good chat, Private Collins. You should probably get a refund on your elocution lessons too," she grunts.
I hit the gas. "Don't call me that."
"What? Private Collins?"
"Yes."
"Okay, Mr. Touchy." I switch on the radio to avoid any more questions. Harper sits up and points across at my window. "Stop! I need to grab something."
"What?" I ask.
"That liquor store. They have cheap deals."
I glance across the street at the broken neon sign. "For what? Candy?"
"Alcohol, dummy."
I chuckle and shake my head. "I'm not buying alcohol for a kid."
"I'm not a kid!" she shouts. "I'm twenty-two years old."
"Exactly, kiddo."
Harper folds her arms. "I told you to stop calling me that, Private Collins. And I don't need you to buy me anything. I just asked you to stop. It's only a ten-minute walk back to my place from here. I'll be fine."
I nod and keep driving.
"You don't appear to be stopping the car?" she snaps.
"Correct," I reply. "Because we're not stopping to buy alcohol and you're not walking anywhere. I told your dad I would get you home safely and that's exactly what I intend to do. Fuck! What is it with these traffic lights? Hit one, you hit them all."
I turn to find Harper biting her lip. She looks exactly how I remember her mother.
"What's funny?" I ask.
"You," she says. "Hit one, you hit them all. It's a very old man thing to say."
I raise an eyebrow. "You're insufferable. I'm not an old man."
"If you say so. You know what else is an old man move? Stopping youngsters from having fun. I'm sure you drank at my age," she says.
Nope. I was a soldier at your age, seeing things no human being should ever have to see.
"Taking me to the liquor store will prove you're not old," she adds.
Ha.
I smirk. "That's the worst attempt at reverse psychology I've ever seen."
"Thanks," she says.
"Wasn't a compliment."
"I know. I'll take it as one, gramps." I choose to stay quiet. "So it's okay for you to serve alcohol to girls in your club? Because most of them are probably my age."
"Yup."
"Fine. You win," she mutters, and I lower my foot as the lights change.
But Harper Reeves is definitely her mother's daughter, so I know she's not finished.
"I'll just walk back here after you drop me home," she says. "Hopefully nothing happens to me in all those dark alleyways…"
Fuck.
"So old," she mumbles as I hit the gas. "One rule for one, another for someone else. Hypocrite. Hope my dad doesn't go mad when he knows you made me walk to the liquor store. He won't be very—"
"If I take you to a liquor store, will you shut up for five whole minutes? Think you can do that?"
"Maybe," she replies. "But you've missed the exit."
I turn to her, but my eyes are immediately drawn to that pink bra. Her cheeks flush pink when I lift my gaze to her sea-blue eyes.
"I didn't specify which liquor store," I say. "Now please, for the sake of my ears…just shut up."
Harper draws an invisible zip across her lips and claps her hands.
God, she's cute, I think, turning back to the wheel. She's also your best friend's daughter…
"Are you insane?" Harper says as I pull up outside the liquor store. "I'm a starving art student. I can't afford these prices. That's why I asked you to stop at the other place."
I switch off the ignition. "When's the party?"
"Party?" Harper's exaggerated frown piques my curiosity.
"What party?"
"The one at your house."
Her eyes flicker away. "Don't know what you mean. I don't know anything about a party at my house."
"Okay." I twist the keys. "Guess we'll just leave then."
"Fine," she huffs. "It's tomorrow night. But it's just a small kickback. And…" Harper slumps back into her seat. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand. You'll just think I'm a loser."
I twist in my seat. "Try me."
"I struggle…" She picks at her fingernails. "To make friends and stuff."
"Loser." Harper lowers her head. "Hey, I'm kidding." I reach across to nudge her, but a blue spark flies from my finger and zaps her arm. We both stare down at my hand. "That's new."
"Yeah," she mumbles. "Hope you're insured. I'm going to sue you for that lightning bolt attack."
I chuckle. "Where there's blame, there's a claim, huh? How much you thinking?"
I reach into my door compartment and pull out my wallet. I then slide out a bunch of hundred-dollar bills.
"Here," I say. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, kiddo."
"Okay, Private Collins."
I exhale. "Here. Go buy whatever you need."
Harper's eyes grow wide when she looks at my hand. "Are you serious? That's like…" She flicks through the notes. "Nine hundred dollars?"
"Yeah. And they don't bite. Take them."
She lifts her head. "In exchange for what?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh." She gulps hard. "I didn't mean…" Harper glances at my crotch, then smacks herself in the forehead. "This is why I don't have many friends. Nothing comes out of my mouth the way I mean it to."
"You're being too hard on yourself," I tell her, dropping the money in her lap. "Now get out of the car and give my ears a rest for two minutes. Pay me back when you're rich and famous."
"Thank you." Harper unbuckles her seat belt just as three young men are walking into the store. "I'll just be a few—"
"You're not going out there dressed like that."
She looks down and her cheeks turn the same color as her bra. "Oh."
"Yeah… Oh."
I'm still staring at her chest when she lifts her head. "You could have said something."
"I just did," I reply to her bra.
"Stop looking, creep! Give me your jacket or something."
I shake my head like a wet dog and reach behind me. Then I realize I have stuff in my suit jacket that will lead to another fifty questions.
"Take this. It's almost dry."
I unbutton my shirt and wriggle my arms out before handing it to Harper.
But she's just sitting there with her mouth open.
Staring.
Her blue eyes are locked on my upper arm, and I can't resist flexing my bicep.
"Still think I'm an old man?"
"Hmm?" she mutters.
"If you're done checking me out, I think the store closes in two minutes."
A flustered Harper snatches my shirt and forces her arms into it. "Wasn't checking you out."
"Okay," I whisper. "When did they release you from the asylum?"
"What?" She follows my gaze down to the front of my shirt and smirks when she realizes she put it on backward.
"New trend. This is how everyone is wearing them now. You wouldn't know because you're old." She awkwardly pulls at the door handle. "Let me out."
"Can't," I say. "Child lock."
"Fine." Before I can answer, Harper lunges at me and all I see is a blur of legs and arms as she crawls across my lap.
Great.
Her matching pink panties are visible above the waistline of her jeans. I lift my hands into the air as she grabs the handle and pushes open the door.
A second later, she's standing in the street beside me, blowing her messy blonde hair away from her lips. She's still wearing my shirt backward, but I expect nothing less.
She's stubborn like her mother.
"You want anything?" I ask.
"Yeah," I say. "Just grab me some smokes."
I'm trying so hard not to watch her as she walks away, but my eyes fall to her cute ass.
"Fucking control yourself," I mumble when she disappears inside. "She's your best friend's daughter."
As I reach for the stereo to distract my mind, I hear something buzz, and I turn to find Harper's phone on her seat.
Her hot pink case is the same color as her bra. And her panties…
Seriously. Get a grip.
I pick up her phone just as another message comes through: Ticktock, Harper. I'm coming for—
"Who the fuck is Bryan Dickface Stanfield?" I hiss.
The screen locks out before I can read the full message.
"Bryan Stanfield, huh?"
Resting a hand on my gun, I pull out my phone.
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