The Harder You Fall. Gena Showalter

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      During her depressions, nothing he’d said or done had helped her. Guilt and frustration had eaten at him and more often than not, he’d ended up doubling his hit. And his hangover. And his bad mood. His bad mood had only fed hers. A poisoned cycle.

      He glanced at the clock. 8:40 a.m. Right on time. Yesterday he’d called and asked Monica to accompany him to the wedding. She was an attractive woman in her late twenties, and she fit his usual criteria. Uncomplicated, eager, and he could take her or leave her. He didn’t crave her more than air to breathe and when they were apart, he didn’t wish they were together.

      He stalked into the kitchen where Beck stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with a surprisingly steady hand, the features many had referred to as “half angelic, half demonic” utterly relaxed and—joyous?

      West took a seat at the table. “This is weird. You should be freaking out, demanding I help you sneak out of the country. Instead you’re making breakfast.”

      His friend smiled, a peek at the angelic side. “I’m giving Harlow my name, legally binding her to my side. Why would I freak out?”

      West could think of several reasons. “Your life will be forever altered. You’ll be set on a new, uncharted path and your happiness will be inexorably tied to someone else’s.”

      “I mentioned Harlow will be legally bound to me, right? My life will be forever altered in the best way. I’ll traverse that new, uncharted path with her rather than alone, and my happiness is already inexorably tied to her. She’s my other half.”

      He envied his friend. He couldn’t imagine being so optimistic. Not by marrying Tessa. Not by sleeping with Monica. Not even by sleeping with Jessie Kay.

      Something low in his gut curled with heat. Maybe he’d feel a little optimism if he had the blonde in his bed.

      He’d purposely avoided her all week, hadn’t so much as ordered a sandwich. Anytime she’d come up in conversation, he’d left the room. If he’d thought about her, he’d quickly distracted himself with work or exercise.

      He’d worked and exercised a lot.

      To his consternation, she’d remained at the forefront of his mind, a fascination he couldn’t shake. He’d even considered detouring from his usual MO—a feat in and of itself—and sleeping with her once, just once. No harm, no foul.

      Problem was “just once” had never worked out for him in the past.

      Beck slid a stack of pancakes in front of him, saying, “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately, thinking about Jessie Kay.” A statement rather than a question. “Don’t try to deny it. I recognize the signs. A glaze of hunger in the eyes. Tightness around the mouth. A muscle jumping in the jaw. Jase had the same look when he met Brook Lynn. I’m made of stronger stuff, of course, and managed to keep my cool with Harlow.”

      “No, I—”

      “Even now your hands are clenched.”

      West studied his hands—yep, they were clenched. He eased the pressure on his fingers, saying, “Don’t kid yourself. You were practically foaming at the mouth with Harlow.”

      “You do realize you’re describing yourself right now, yes?” Beck didn’t give him time to reply. “Why are you resisting your smart-ass Southern belle anyway? If you think Jase and I care—”

      “I don’t.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “Would you resent me if you found out I’d slept with Harlow before you fell for her?”

      A light sprang to life in Beck’s eyes. “Ah. I get it. You’re afraid you’ll get possessive of your girl and pissy with your bros.”

      West adjusted his cuff links, gave a clipped nod.

      “As Jessie Kay would say, you’re letting the horse out of the stall before the race has even started.” Beck tossed back a bite of pancake. “Let’s say you spent years with Harlow, banging the hell out of her. Today, this moment, it wouldn’t affect how I feel about either of you. You were her past, and I’ll always be her future. I love you both. I need you both. I’ll take you both however I can get you.”

      An ache razed his chest. Were things really that simple?

      “What’s doing?” Jase padded into the kitchen. His dark hair stuck out in spikes. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of faded sweatpants.

      “West is deciding whether or not to make a move on Jessie Kay,” Beck replied.

      “I change my vote to no. Unless you’re going to give her a real shot.” Jase scratched his chest. “She’s better for you than she ever was for us, but there will be serious aftermath when you dump her.”

      When, not if. The end was never in question.

      West pursed his lips. “You handled the aftermath of your one-night stand just fine.”

      “And who says she’d want more than two months with him, anyway?” Beck asked. “Who says she won’t dump him?”

      Yes. Who said.

      He scrubbed a hand down his face. “If I did date her, and I did dump her, and there was aftermath, your girls would hate me.”

      Jase poured a glass of orange juice. “Agreed. Brook Lynn can forgive anything—except an insult to her sister.”

      “But the girls love us and wouldn’t try to block you from our lives,” Beck said.

      “Is that what’s had your panties in such a twist?” Jase asked.

      “Maybe.” Agitated, West glanced at his wristwatch. Nine-sixteen. Shit. He’d planned to leave the house by nine-ten. “I’ve got to pick up Monica. I’ll meet you guys at the church.”

      He made up the lost minutes on the road. He’d taken defensive driving classes a few years ago as research for a video game, and the skills he’d learned had come in handy ever since.

      As he parked in Monica’s driveway, his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen, his gut tightening when he saw Jessie Kay’s name.

      Which pair do you prefer?

      Two photos accompanied the text. The first, a glittery heel with silk flowers sewn over the ankle strap. The second, a plain white flat.

      He wrote back: Why does my preference matter?

      Because your best friend is getting married & the woman he loves wants every detail to be perfect. You know him better than anyone else so... :-) :-) :-)

      Your shoes are part of those perfect details?

      Oh, those are Harlow’s shoes. She can’t decide between fashion & comfort, even though no one but Beck will see her feet—& he won’t see them till he strips her down & gives her the business. I should know, right!

      His grip flexed on the phone. She loved reminding him of her past, didn’t she?

      Then her СКАЧАТЬ