Into You Series: The Complete Collection

8. Saria

CHAPTER 8

SARIA

O ne look at Harry on Saturday night and I almost wonder if fate mistook me for a halfway decent person for once. Why else would the universe reward me with such arm candy?

“Lord, have mercy,” I mutter to myself, watching as he pulls up to my apartment in his loud, engine revving, souped-up car.

“Have mercy,” Mercury echoes on the ledge next to me, shaking out his feathers and attempting to look out the window as well.

“Your vision isn’t even that great,” I say. “What are you getting out of this?”

“Have mercy,” he repeats.

I glance down at Harry’s car as it idles for a bit before turning off.

I wonder how absolutely stupid this idea is. What a weird alternate reality where Noah is engaged and it’s not to me. Instead, I’m in a pretend relationship with a stranger. Fantastic. Really winning, Saria. But he’s better than every other guy I’ve tried to use to forget Noah over the years. All the useless relationships, throwaway men. For some reason, Harry is different. He’s so different that— oh, holy shit, is he walking up to my apartment?

While he looks adorable with a little piece of paper, eyeing the numbers on the doors, I didn’t expect him to come to my freaking door. He disappears under the awning toward the staircase, and panic sets in.

I start picking up shirt after shirt off the ground. My entire closet is strewn over my bed and floor after I spent hours trying to come up with a good outfit for tonight. I couldn’t find anything that had the perfect balance of sexy ‘Look what you’re missing’ and ‘Remember me, the girl next door?’ vibes. Noah always liked my ‘classic’ look, as he put it. I may not have my brown hair anymore, but I can at least still try to capture those memories. Make him feel bad. Or regret not choosing me. Something petty. Ugh, I instantly feel dirty. Go me?

I hear Harry’s footfalls up the stairs, and Mercury squawks.

“Manners,” I chastise before throwing the last of my test run outfits back into the closet and shoving it closed right as Harry knocks.

“Coming!” I yell.

“Coming!” Mercury echoes.

Damn that bird.

When I swing the door open, my stomach drops. I mean, really drops, like way down into the bottom of my gut. I’ve heard that celebrities are much more entrancing in real life as opposed to the magazine pages they adorn, but I don’t even think Ryan Gosling could instill this type of lightheaded reaction from me.

Had I really forgotten what he looks like over the last five days?

His hair, though not as well-groomed as Noah’s used to be, has its own character. Erratic and wild. It swoops every which way, giving him this boyish playful look. Contrasting with his large biceps, I wonder if it’s even fair that he can pull off both romance novel cover model and hunky teenage fantasy, but good on him for running the gamut.

Harry’s plain black tee topped with a heavy, olive green jacket accentuates his already bulky, muscled figure. His tall, imposing form sends shivers down my spine, settling right below my stomach and above my hips. His hands are tucked in the jacket pockets, and when he exhales a breath, cool air follows.

“You gonna let me in?” he asks. “It’s freezing.”

“Oh, yes, sure,” I say, stepping to the side, trying to snap out of my lust-filled daze. His tan boots, tied halfway up the tongue, sound like weights hitting my hardwood floor.

Harry looks around from wall to wall, his eyes following the flow of the room from my thrifted tan couch to the open laptop in the center of it, across the small stacks of magazines littered on the ground. Even with the internet, I still like physical copies of articles. I might be single-handedly keeping the physical releases of Vogue still in print.

And then he finally spots Mercury, perched on the rod I hammered into the wall near the window.

“And who is this?” he asks.

“Coming!” Mercury squawks. It sounds breathier than it did earlier, and I feel a shift in my gut at the combination of the word and Harry in the same room.

“Mercury,” I say. “This is Mercury.”

“Is that a sun and moons kinda reference?” he asks. “Something something retrograde?”

He struggles to get the phrasing right, but I like that he doesn’t say it with annoyance. Mentioning your astrology sign to a man doesn’t normally elicit a good reaction, and even though it’s not a reference to that, I still give him a point for being a decent human respectful of interests.

“No, actually,” I say. “Freddy Mercury. He likes Queen a lot. Birds are big musical animals.”

“Don’t stop me now,” Mercury parrots.

“See?” I hold my hand out.

“Cute,” Harry says, turning back to me with a smile.

“He’s a menace, I swear.”

“No, really,” Harry says. “I like him. I like…all this.” He gestures to the stacks of magazines. “It’s very you.”

“What do you know about me?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Not enough,” he says, bending down to shift the magazines to the side, inspecting each spine and cover. “That’s my secret goal for tonight—learning all about you through your friends.”

“Well, that’s not fair.” I laugh. “They’ll only tell the embarrassing stories. Especially Noah.”

Harry smiles, a bit slower than he usually does, with the familiar inward tug of his eyebrows.

“There’s that look again,” I say. “Stop it.”

“Nope. No look here,” Harry responds, hands raised. “Him I am definitely excited to meet.”

“And why’s that?”

He shrugs. “I need to know who this guy is that inspired you to go home with an absolute stranger just to prove a point.”

“Harry, rash decisions are my bread and butter,” I say.

“Well then.” He takes a step toward me. He’s so powerful when he hovers over me, almost too close for comfort but intoxicating with his woodsy scent and the wet lips he involuntarily bites as he looks down at me. I know that look; it’s a man parched for touch. “I need to meet the guy who is my fake competition.”

Well slap my ass and call me Sally. I mean, don’t, but…maybe do.

I try not to make my ensuing gulp seem too obvious. “Let’s go, hotshot.”

This makes him grin, the laugh lines beside his eyes and mouth following suit.

I grab my crossbody purse with the chain link strap and open the door to the bitter cold. Harry walks past me, his gorgeous, wonderful, intoxicating manly scent lingering behind him, and I know I’m in for more trouble than I bargained for.

“I’ll do the talking,” I say.

Harry and I walk up to Heather and Noah’s front porch. Why Heather decided to never move out after high school is beyond me. Noah, being back in town from years of paid-for housing, has nowhere to stay, so he’s crashing here as well.

Just looking up at their arched doorway sends nerves bouncing along every single limb in my body, even in places I didn’t even know nerves could be. Nerves in my lower back? Seriously? What is this, my period week?

The structure brings back too many memories. Too many times I came up this door at two in the morning when Noah texted me asking to hang out. We both knew what ‘hang out’ really meant, so I’d wait outside this door and text him in the cold, waiting for him to sneak me in. It was always much warmer inside, especially once we’d get under the covers. He always said naked body heat would warm us up faster.

The dickhole.

“What do you want me to say when I do speak, princess?” Harry asks from behind me.

I reach my hand back to shove his arm, and he grins.

“Just be the quiet type,” I say.

He chuckles. “I am the quiet type.”

“Perfect. Then this should go off without a hitch.”

I breathe in, grasp the handle, and pull it open.

“You’re just gonna waltz in?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking off the cold as he walks in behind me. “It’s just how we roll around here.”

“Saria?” a voice calls. “Is that you?”

Heather pokes her head around the corner and waves her outer two fingers to us, the rest of the fingers wrapped around a bottle opener. Her other hand clutches the neck of a wine bottle.

“Hi, girl! You’re the last to arrive! We’ve got Catan set up.”

Of course she mispronounces it.

“Catan?” Harry asks from behind.

“Right, that,” Heather says.

Heather didn’t play board games with us in high school. I bet she wants to be the cool stepsister-in-law to Noah’s fiancée.

Heather was supposed to be my eventual in-law. I’m not exactly upset about that not being the case, but it still stands that she shouldn’t be off trying to impress some new person in our group. This is some horrible reality that shouldn’t have come to fruition.

I feel a light hand on the small of my back as Harry ushers me forward.

“Come on, princess,” he mutters. “You can do this.”

Thank god for his good scent and hot breath on my ear because I think it gives me the right amount of strength I need to press on and in toward the living room.

I turn the corner to find Jessi already there, setting up the game. She texted me an hour ago saying she’d get here early to set up and make sure Heather didn’t ruin game night, but I also think she wanted to get a first glance at Charlotte and attempt to assess the damage this woman would do to my self-esteem. Typical best friend behavior, except she stopped texting me thirty minutes ago, and I now know why.

In the center of the room, standing near the fireplace with a full glass of red wine in one hand and her other arm crossed to her elbow like some Bond villain is VannaWhite.

The VannaWhite. Van life influencer. Social media extraordinaire.

Oh my god is she?—

“Charlotte!”

That voice is the final nail in my coffin of nightmares.

Descending the spiral staircase from the second floor is him . The man, the myth, the motherfucking legend. Combine every gorgeous man on Tinder posing with a cute dog or having an arm thrown over the shoulder of some African child and you have Noah Westerton.

Noah Westerton. The man with the silver eyes who had a panty-melting smolder before he even knew what smoldering was. His cheekbones are high, almost abnormally so, but only if you’re not into the whole might-be-a-vampire look, which I totally am. His skin, though, is far from translucent; he’s actually gotten tan and more mature over the last four years I’ve missed out on seeing him. His skin has always had the look of a man whose father worked in dermatology—which he does—but even the small number of years Noah has been overseas has added a slight weathering that makes him that much hunkier. His lips pout naturally, which also seems like it should be unfair, but when it’s followed by that lopsided grin of his, I don’t think he even knows the meaning of unfair.

Noah’s arm reaches out for her as he whispers something in her ear. His touch ghosts over her, more of a guarded stance, a wall to divide them from the rest of us. He held me like that too once, but…also not. He never guarded me, but instead clutched me, always digging his fingers into my sides. It wasn’t loving; it was possessive. I didn’t know he was capable of this sort of gentility.

It makes my heart dip lower and my shoulders slump. I’m startled when Harry’s hands land on my shoulders. They lightly slide over my skin, tugging my arms back until I stop slouching.

“Confidence,” he whispers.

Right. Confidence.

A bit difficult with VannafuckingWhite in the room.

Oh, I’m sorry— Charlotte .

I’m eerily familiar with Vanna, but I’m still enraged at how perfect she is: the spitting image of a housewife from 50s advertising. Cinched figure, large tits, and legs for days, all leading down to an elegant kitten heel.

A perfect wife for my perfect best friend.

Noah hasn’t looked at me yet. I wonder if he’ll even recognize me. He’s only gained a couple wind-worn scars, but I changed my whole look when he left. I lost weight. I dyed my hair. I didn’t want to be the sweet girl next door anymore. I wanted to be the strong woman men want—the opposite of the girl Noah didn’t want.

Noah’s eyes finally find mine, and based on the way he instantly pauses, his mouth dropping open slightly, I think I’ve accomplished my goal.

“Saria?” Hearing him say my name is too wonderful. Low and with weight, like maybe there’s care somewhere in his dark, wonderful soul. I tilt my head to the side, wondering how in the world Noah spoke without opening his mouth, until I hear my name again and realize it’s Harry behind me trying to get my attention.

He’s the wonderful voice.

He clears his throat, and I turn to look at him.

What a breath of fresh air. I almost forgot how human Harry looks after staring at Noah’s perfect features. Harry’s jaw is tight but smooth. He has an almost invisible scar right above his lip, as well as a tiny nick in the corner of his eyebrow where another, redder scar peeks through. And his eyes, squinted as they peer between mine, carry more weight to them than Noah’s. Weight that seems both heavy and light all at once, like even though he’s fascinated by me, he could also burst into laughter at any moment.

“Hey,” he says, the words breathy, and then he bends down and swoops me up, pressing his lips to mine. I’m lightheaded. Overwhelmed by his hot mouth, his desperation, the pure need in it. And as soon as it starts, it stops.

I wobble a bit, noticing Harry’s eyes shift from me to Noah and back again.

“You’re welcome,” Harry mumbles with a small wink.

Slay me.

I turn and see the clench of Noah’s jaw. I know that irritated clench.

Thank you, Harry.

“You want me to get you some wine?” he asks.

“I’ll come with you,” I say, sliding my hand into his. It feels weirdly natural, even more so when his fingers entwine with mine and give a little squeeze.

As it turns out, Harry is a fantastic distraction and an excellent showman. He guides me back through the kitchen, all the while asking Heather how her day is. He makes himself at home and goes behind the mini-bar, uncorking wine.

God, his muscles are taut.

His forearms flex with each screw until the cork pops out. When I glance over to Heather, I can see that she notices too.

Hey, that’s my fake boyfriend.

I look out of the corner of my eye and see Noah and Charlotte talking with Jessi, who is speaking wildly with her hands, throwing them every which way, the cards from the board game splaying out in her hand as she steps closer to Charlotte, sifting through them.

Who knows what they’re talking about. All I know is that when I finally catch Noah’s glance again, he’s already looking at me, licking his own lips just like Heather did when she saw Harry pop that wine bottle.

I have to look away before I get too hot for my own good. I can feel the red spreading up my cheeks.

Harry hands me the wine, narrowing his eyes. “You alright there, princess?”

I let out an involuntary bark of laughter. The nickname draws me back to a better time, a time before I saw Noah again after five years. A time with a beautiful mechanic and his beautiful hands.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

But a voice proves me to be a liar.

“Hey stranger.”

There’s Noah’s voice. I swivel on my bar stool to face him. God, he’s like a walking Ken doll up close. So smooth, but rugged. Camping Ken, or maybe even Travel Ken. I don’t know. I don’t think even Ken would ever be this perfect.

“Hi, Noah,” I say. My voice is too high, too scratchy. I clear my throat, trying to ease the tension, but Harry chuckles from behind me. Ass. “Wow, it’s been so long.”

“Too long,” Noah says. “What are you up to now?”

“Oh, you know me. Existing and all.”

“I like the hair,” he says.

I can see the lopsided grin forming, a slow movement that will likely instigate my descent into madness.

“Thanks.”

Of course he likes my hair. It’s almost identical to his freaking fiancée’s, but shorter and much less luscious. I’ve tried to recreate VannaWhite’s haircare routine, but I don’t think she’s actually using the products she says she’s using. My hair got all fried the last time I attempted her tutorials.

“Hi, sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Harry says from behind me. I see his hand shoot out beside me. “I’m Harry.”

I shake my head with a forced smile.

“Yes, sorry. This is my…boyfriend.”

The words sound so stale around Noah. I could introduce Harry to the Queen of England and be more convincing.

“Of just a couple weeks,” Harry says, shifting his hand out farther. Noah still hasn’t taken it.

“And she’s introducing you to family?”

I lift my wine glass up my lips.

“Oh, sorry, are you her brother?” Harry asks.

I snort, sending wine flying up into my nose. I think I even hear Jessi squeak, and when I look over, she has her mouth covered with her hand.

“No,” Noah drawls. The dull tone of his voice is both amusing and curious. Why is he bothered by this? Noah finally takes Harry’s hand and they shake. I can practically feel the tension radiating from it.

“Great,” Harry says. I can see Noah’s fingers start to release the handshake, but Harry holds on for a millisecond longer. It gives me way too much glee.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Noah asks.

“Work,” I say quickly before Harry can counter. “He’s my HR person’s brother.”

That lie was easy enough. I almost wish I had known his relation before he strolled into Treasuries Inc. earlier in the week. It’s not like I have any issues with Nia, but I can’t say I’ve ever been on her good side. She’s buddy-buddy with our creative director, Grace, and I swear both women don’t seem very keen on me for whatever reason.

“We met at a holiday party,” I continue, trying to ignore the curling of the fist around my heart. “Halloween. I was a scarecrow. He was Dorothy. We were meant to be.”

Noah lifts an eyebrow, leaning his head down toward Harry with a wicked smile. “Dorothy?”

Harry nods slowly. I can see the wheels turning for only a moment before he chimes in. “Sure. I like the red slippers.”

I don’t miss the twitch of Noah’s lips. That man wants to smile, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Is it because Harry is funny? Is he a threat? Or is Noah embarrassed for me, meeting a man dressed like Dorothy at a work party? Well screw him, that would be a fantastic first date story. If only it were real to some degree.

Charlotte saunters over to us, and my gut clenches once more. Everything about her seems surreal. The way she practically floats into our space, peering across the bar top, running her eyes over every surface with this gentle smile like she’s excited about the world around her. A constant look of intrigue. It’s the same doe-eyed look that adorns her entire social feed.

“This is going to sound dumb,” I start, “but are you…”

“VannaWhite?” she says. Her voice is just as floaty as her look, the same tone that emanates from my phone’s speaker day in and day out. “I am, but the baby is parked at home for now.”

“And I was just about to ask if I could see her,” I say, snapping my fingers. The second she walked over, I wasn’t smelling her perfume—which is totally Chanel, by the way. I was inhaling every imagined smell of her perfectly renovated van, white painted wooden planks and all.

“What’s a VannaWhite?” Harry asks, tipping his beer back. All three of us look at him, and his bottom lip pokes out. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Charlotte says quickly. “It’s my job. I’m an…influencer.” She’s shaking her head, doing that head movement all social media influencers do. The whole ‘Wow, I hate the title, but it’s actually the best job ever’ type of look, mixed with almost disbelief that someone doesn’t know her.

I mean, sure, I’m thinking the same thing because how the heck can someone not know her, but then again…what does Harry care? He’s got his daughter, his shop. I bet he’s not even on social media. I wonder if he even knows what social media is.

Somehow, I’m comforted by that idea.

“Right,” Harry says slowly. “Okay.”

Yeah, this dude has absolutely no idea what an influencer even is. I lean back, meeting Harry halfway across the bar top to give him a quick peck on the cheek. He peers over at me with his boyish grin, and my stomach somersaults.

“And how did you two meet?” Harry asks, pointing between Charlotte and Noah. I don’t miss the fact that Noah’s hand is already placed on her waist once more. My delight in Harry’s ignorance is instantly shattered.

“I was in Morocco when he was,” she says, glancing over at him, her smile practically brightening up the entire room.

Cue nausea.

I remember her Morocco pictures. They were so many monotone hues of deep brown and bright blue—a theme that lasted for a couple months, if I recall correctly. It pains me to know that the whole time that I was here drooling over how she created such a cohesive social feed, she was literally drooling over Noah.

“Wow,” Harry says, his lips curling in. “Idyllic.”

I can already tell he’s bored, which makes me happier than it should.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Noah says, looking down to her.

Their exchanged glances are too much. How dare they be so perfect.

Although, I do wonder why he hasn’t shown up on her socials yet. They would make gorgeous couple pictures together, like models in Home & Garden . She must know that, so why hasn’t he popped up?

My suspicions cease when Charlotte rises on her toes and kisses him again. Well, there goes my appetite. I set my glass of wine down and pop my lips, unable to take the awkward moment any longer.

“Harry?” I ask.

“Yes?” he replies, tilting his head to the side.

Wow, they are kissing for an awful long time. Jesus.

“Have you ever played Settlers of Catan?”

“Why, no I haven’t.”

I’m glad he understands my need for distraction, even if the conversation is empty.

“Is that what we’re playing?” Noah asks, finally disengaging his lips from hers.

I exhale in relief without meaning to.

“Come on, Noah, you haven’t been away for that long.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “We always played Monopoly growing up. What’s this newfangled game? I don’t see a mustachioed man anywhere.”

I laugh. “You always wanted to be the Monopoly man.”

“Oh, I remember that!” Jessi calls, walking over, tossing cards one over the other between both hands, shuffling the deck. “He’d put on this accent.”

Charlotte gasps. “You nerd!”

Noah waves his hand in front of him in defense. “I don’t remember?—”

“Yes, it was this awl-right type of accent!” I say, going a bit more cockney than I expected, but that’s about the best I can do.

“What was that again?” Harry asks, laughing.

“I don’t think I did it like that ,” Noah says.

“Yes, you did, Noah!” I say, pushing a teasing finger into his shoulder.

Noah looks at my finger and then into my eyes, his smile playful…almost too playful. I know that look on him, but I wish it didn’t look so familiar right now.

“Okay, yeah, maybe,” he says. His tone is low and husky. I pull my finger back and sink into the stool. Harry rests his hands on the back of it, and I let his warmth melt into my spine as something to keep me grounded.

“I always thought you’d be a vet, Saria,” Noah says.

The words startle me.

“Oh, dreams, you know?” I answer, trying to force out laughter. “Monopoly man…veterinarian…dreams all fade with time.”

More like they abruptly stop. Vanish completely.

I did want to be a vet, but then I got distracted. The efforts were more than my self-motivation could manage after Noah went off on an adventure he didn’t bother telling us about until a week before leaving.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, blanketing over me, the fingers landing just below my collarbone. Harry’s hands are large and comforting, more than I expected they would be outside the bedroom, anyway. I tilt my head to the side, letting my cheek rest against him.

“Are we ready to get started?” Jessi asks, rolling the cards against her palm, biting her bottom lip. I can tell she felt the shift in the room too.

“I’ll take all the sheep!” Heather says, fist-pumping into the air, her glass of wine raised in the other.

“ Nobody wants the sheep.” Charlotte laughs.

“Oh ho ho, who’s the nerd now?” Noah says, turning to drape his arm over her shoulder.

My stomach clenches harder and, as if Harry can read my mind, I feel his grasp tighten as well.