Harper's Rules 1 & 2

Chapter 36: Harper

A/N: Mature content. 🏃‍♀️🤪🏃‍♀️

The first time with Jake, okay technically first time in nine months, reminded me how I simultaneously loved and hated having sex with him.

I loved the rush of pleasure, how quickly he brought me up and crashed me down in orgasms that left my mind crystal clear and body warmed and fully satisfied.

But I hated that he was the one that made me feel that way, particularly the smug grin on his face afterwards. I hated that cockyass grin almost as much as I hated the tenderness that flashed in his eyes right before I left. He hadn't said anything but after a flash of initial surprise, the 'You're leaving' look was there no matter how quickly I'd left.

I rushed out of the thankfully very empty downstairs floor of his house as quickly as my feet moved. As I left, I mentally counted my blessings that the evening was still early enough that I beat out any of the other walk of shame girls.

What I hadn't avoided was a surprised look from a guy with brown hair and curious brown eyes whose head poked outside the bedroom closest to Jake's. Without a spoken word, he watched me pass just as silently, probably because my feet burned a path on their hallway carpet. Thankfully, one index finger slipped over my lips was enough that he just nodded and turtled his head back into his mancave.

Unlike most of the randoms who shacked up with Jake's housemates, who I assumed were some of girls who tossed up eye daggers at me as I bounded down the steps and passed the living room, I hadn't felt any shame in how I'd had sex with Jake or the abrupt way I left afterwards.

Instead, the possibility Jake was anything more than a scratched itch twisted a knot of anxiety into my stomach. The fact he'd thrown dating for appearances out there so casually, like it was a natural progression, burned discomfort into my stomach.

I buried all those uncomfortable feelings as deep as they went into the back of my mind as I kept my eyes down and hurried back to UCLA. My thoughts however, circled back to the stupid fake-girlfriend shit Jake had tossed out as a dick-condition.

I don't want a relationship. Especially not for appearances and not with him.

Anyone but him.

My chest puffed up with a slow, deep breath in, which I exhaled sharply through pursed lips. Once my fingers clenched around my steering wheel, the view of the house-lined street of me blurred. I blinked back hot tears that sprung up from nowhere, shifted gears, and stomped the accelerator flat down on the interior floor of my car.

While an internal war of my mind raged against my own body, whose level of content felt like a cruel slap in my ego, my phone buzzed within one of my cup holders with what I initially thought was a welcome distraction. Unfortunately, the sound snapped my attention down to the last message I wanted to read at this moment.

dickhead: First date, next Saturday.
dickhead: Dinner with my mom after the game.

"Fucking son of a - wait, Mrs. Harrison doesn't deserve that," I muttered to my steering wheel and dashboard, directed my eyes towards the road ahead, and weaved through Highway-10s traffic like a bad game of Mario Kart.

A twitch throbbed through the pads of my fingers when I rubbed them over my tired eyes. I wasn't averse to dinner with Jake's mom but fuck, that fell under the small category of painting false appearances with someone's opinion that I actually cared about.

Throughout middle school and high school, Mrs. Harrison was practically a de facto mother to me, at least with all the meals she insisted I joined whenever Dad worked late. She'd also sent me home with a few days' worth of leftovers, which Dad had appreciated but I'd always felt like a charity case.