Need You for Mine(52)

“No amount of manscaping will get me in those,” he said. She dropped them in the box and pulled out another pair. Boxers. Pink, pinstriped, and not happening. “Pink clashes with testosterone.”

“After a drink or two, you might change your mind,” she said hopefully, pointing to a bottle of Scotch to be used as a prop poised next to the chair.

“You got another bottle?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Then I promise you I won’t reconsider. No man wants to be seen in those, and no woman wants to see a man in those.”

“More manly underwear. Got it.” With a dainty little huff she dug back in, and after several seconds came up with a pair of boxer briefs. They were kind of manly, not made of silk and, “They’re purple.”

“Seriously?” She dropped her hand to her side. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you acting all pissy? See, there. I can’t shoot you when you’re pouting.” She cocked her head. “Well, I could shoot you, but it wouldn’t be with my camera.”

“I’m not pouting.” Since bitching about his day or having a heart-to-heart with his girlfriend was firmly on his not in this lifetime list, Adam flashed her the dimples. Double barreled with all the pearly whites showing. It had been called sexy, mesmerizing, endorphin inducing. “Here’s a grin. My way of saying fair is fair, and if I lose the pants, you lose the top.”

“We don’t have enough Scotch, remember?” She narrowed her eyes and studied him, really hard. Until he was afraid she was seeing more than he wanted her to—and he began to sweat. Then she pointed to his lips. “Yup, that smile’s missing the whole let’s get drunk and screw vibe you normally put off, and you’re looking a little soul battered.” Her face softened. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

He shrugged as if he had not a clue as to what she was talking about. But the sweating didn’t stop, because if there was one thing Adam had learned over the past week it was that Harper was a master of the unsaid. She could read body language and translate silence like a professional interrogator. So when she gave a disappointed smile, then bent over to grab a different pair of boxers, he knew she was letting him off the hook.

Which was what he wanted, right? No complications, no confusion, just a whole lot of chemistry mixed with a I’ll rub your back, you rub mine pact.

Only now, he was here and everything felt complicated, and he was more than confused. In fact, his heart was racing and his face felt hot, and—Jesus Christ—he was nervous.

It wasn’t the studio lights, or the too-metro-to-be-manly underwear, or even the elaborate Calvin-Klein-meets-Hugh-Hefner man cave she had created from fabric, a leather chair, and raw talent.

It was the unimpressive shirt, the bare feet, and the genuine concern that had his brain checking out. And that smile. One flash of those teeth and he knew he’d come here tonight needing something. He wasn’t sure what, but Adam didn’t do nervous.

And he sure as hell didn’t do needy.

“I was just wondering if you gave Chantel my measurements,” Adam said, toeing off his boots and bringing this party back to where it should be.

Fun with a side of flirt.

“She sent a few different sizes. I’m sure it will be fine,” she said.

“Size fifteen is usually a special order,” he said.

Her expression went from confused to understanding as she recalled his offhanded remark the other day in front of Clay about ring sizes.

“We’re not using any accessories,” she said, “just pajamas and underwear.” She held up his first outfit again.

He grinned big and bad. “Sunshine, when I said my ring size was a fifteen, I wasn’t talking about my finger.”





Adam didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him.

Noted—and understood. After the day Harper had had, it was probably a good thing. She was still reeling from her accidental matchmaking disaster, so partaking in a kumbaya moment in the middle of her grandma’s shop wasn’t a smart idea. Even if Adam did look as if he could use a real friend.

Only Adam didn’t do real—he did frat-boy-meets-beefcake. Which worked for her since Harper never did the sorority thing, and she wasn’t a big fan of red meat. Plus, they weren’t supposed to be getting to know each other better. Sure, he’d walked in looking sexy and strong and strangely lost—and Harper, being Harper, momentarily forgot the deal—but he wasn’t looking to be found.

And she wasn’t looking to add one more platonic guy to her collection. Only instead of taking a step back, like she should have, she stepped forward and into him, ignoring every warning bell blaring in her head. His face creased with confusion and a vulnerability so genuine that she wrapped her arms around his waist and just held on.