Into You Series: The Complete Collection

14. Harry

CHAPTER 14

HARRY

B oth of our families hate us. This party proves it. I wish it were different, but at least it’s even.

I knew Nia wasn’t entirely fond of Saria, but I couldn’t have predicted she’d be so obviously callous. I expected more from Ian as well, but I also didn’t know their history.

Saria is different from them; there’s no doubt about that. Firstly, she is very clearly from money. Just strolling around this house is enough to back up that theory. Her dad looking like the monopoly man doesn’t help that fact either. Slap on a monocle and he’s there clear as day.

I understand a bit more of her life now.

She believes in possessions. Noah is hers . This family is hers . And I wonder if now Cara and I are falling under that category. I saw the way she looked at me when I agreed with Charlotte or Vanna or whatever the hell that girl’s name is. Saria’s fascination with people she doesn’t even know baffles me, but it’s oddly endearing all the same. It’s not bad to have a hero, but it’s insane to put people on pedestals. At the end of the day, Charlotte likely has her own secrets as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s not nearly as bubbly as her social media profile suggests.

Oh yes, I’ve seen it. Saria showed me in the shop the other day when I couldn’t envision what she wanted in her van for the bedding. She whipped out her phone and, bam, there was VannaWhite’s profile. I think she might be attempting, without success, to separate the two people in her mind. The woman on her phone is her best friend. The woman marrying her ex is the enemy.

What I see is a woman with a job in social media with a perfectly normal life outside of that. It’s all for show. This isn’t reality. She’s not living in her van all the time; she’s probably staying with Noah. But Saria doesn’t see that. She doesn’t want to.

I exit the bathroom, having probably stayed in there too long. I didn’t really need to use it. I just needed to get some peace and quiet after the disaster that was Saria meeting my family. One social interaction normally wipes me out. I like the quiet.

Walking down the hallway, I take a sharp left and realize this is definitely not the living room. I hear voices, but they’re more distant than they were before. God, this house is too huge for anyone .

“Lost?”

Noah leans against the wall, his arms crossed with a smug smile on his face as if he’s caught me doing something I’m not supposed to.

“Big house,” I say with a lighthearted laugh. He returns the gesture, but there’s some heat to it. A sharpness.

“Yeah, I grew up here,” he says. “Didn’t get lost as a kid, though.”

Okay, so we’re not going the nice route, I see.

“Directions were never my strong suit,” I say. Lies, but who cares. I love driving and exploring. I could design maps of this area blind, but I have nothing to prove to this kid.

“So, you and Saria,” he says, like that’s a full sentence that warrants a response. I don’t give him one. I just nod and pocket my hands. “How long have you been dating, again?”

“A few weeks,” I grunt out.

“Your daughter seems to like her.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“Yeah,” he says with a light laugh. “I’ve missed her.”

It seems odd, telling your ex’s boyfriend that you’ve missed her. But maybe this is some weird mind game I’m not filled in on.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. I’m easily a few inches taller than him, and while he is built, compared to me, he’s just a scrawny kid. There’s no need to beat around the bush here.

“She was my best friend,” he says, his tone some kind of fake innocence. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s doing great,” I say, trying to force an empathetic smile.

I don’t want to be a jerk to him, but it’s hard not to be biased given the effect he has on Saria—how helpless he makes her seem. Even now, as he looks from me to the ground and back up again, I can’t determine whether he’s trying to place ownership on her or if he genuinely worries about her well-being. I’d like to think it’s the latter.

“And what about you and Charlotte?” I ask. “How long have you been together?”

His face falls. Good.

“Yeah, about a year,” he answers. Maybe it dawns on him that he has a fiancée that isn’t Saria. Maybe he needs that realization to see what he does have in front of him. Charlotte was genuinely trying to be a good person by dragging me away from Monopoly-man dad. I owe her one.

“She’s a good kid,” I say.

“Who?” he asks.

“Both of them.”

Noah is silent for a moment. He fiddles with the lining on his blazer, running a thumb over the silk interior. I lift an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He shakes his head and smiles. “I like your blazer.”

“Saria picked it out.”

“She has good taste,” he says.

I smile again, slowly nodding. “I’m gonna go find her. I think she has a drink waiting for me.”

“Are you a gin kind of guy?” he asks.

“I’m more of a beer guy,” I say. My tone is off-putting, I know, but fuck it.

Noah clears his throat and nods his head behind him. “I’ll show you back.”

“Appreciate it.”

We take a couple twists down hallways until we’re emptied out into the main living room. There’s the crackle of the fireplace again and the heavy chortles of what I can only imagine are ‘the boys’. I glance over to the bar and see Saria with the three other girls. I’d much rather be with them.

I saunter over and feel my heart lighten the second Saria notices me. A small smile spreads across her face, and I wonder if she feels the same sense of relief. Or maybe she’s just seeing Noah right beside me.

I didn’t realize I was a cheese plate kind of guy, but apparently throw in some spicy jam and some salami on crackers and I have no more room for the appetizer-sized desserts. I still eat one, but that’s about one sweet too many. The jam took it out of me.

I stick by Saria most of the night. Any additional conversation with her father is short, an exchange of pleasantries rather than any real discussion. Her mother, on the other hand, can’t get enough of me. She’s all wild hand gestures and a loud voice that alternates between a squeal and a low moaning vacuum. She reminds me of those stepmother villains in Cara’s movies, but Saria seems to find her mom’s cartoony behavior endearing, so I don’t question the villainous similarities too much. Maybe it’s just a way about her. The other moms are just as over the top, but they don’t look down on me like Saria’s dad does, so I’ll take what I can get.

I notice the later it gets and the more everyone has to drink, the more carefree they are. This also results in Charlotte and Noah getting handsy and Saria getting more and more droopy in her posture. I place my hands on her shoulders, massaging the weight from them. She leans into my touch.

“You ready?” I ask.

She gives a nod so we say our goodbyes.

Her dad does not shake my hand when I offer it to him. I’m sure he just sees me as an extension of her wild-child van life. Just the mechanic.

“Sorry,” she says once the front door shuts behind us. The tinkling of holiday bells sounds from the wreath already hung on the door. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet…

“I wouldn’t like Cara dating someone ten years older than her either,” I say. “Can’t blame the guy.”

“Cara shouldn’t be dating at all,” she says, squeezing my hand with a smile. I’m not sure why we’re still holding hands once we’re out of sight of our audience, but I don’t question it. Plus, her hand is warm in mine and the night air is the coldest it’s been all year.

“Well good thing we’re adults and not children, huh?” I say.

She giggles. “I bet proper adults don’t have to fake relationships.”

I snort. “You’ve clearly never seen half of the eighties romcoms.”

“I wasn’t even alive then,” she says jokingly.

My gut clenches. “I hate it when you say things like that.”

Saria stops mid-stride. Her hold on my hand tugs me into a halt as well. She leans her head to the side, pursing her lips as she peers at me. Hell, into me.

I reach out to take her other hand. We’re standing directly across from each other like two people at an altar before a pastor. Except what I’m thinking wouldn’t be exactly appropriate for a pastor’s ears—especially once I take in the length of her legs under that dress.

“Does my age bother you?” she asks.

The immediate impulse is to say no, it doesn’t, and that wouldn’t be a lie at all. I forget about our age difference all the time. We’re adults.

And yet, there’s something oddly… attractive about it. Something I can’t place my finger on. Maybe it’s my protective instincts kicking in. It’s not like Saria needs any type of protection, but she’s so small and I’m so large. And she’s so green with the world and I’m so grounded that it seems like maybe we fit together. I like the juxtaposition.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask. “That I’m not attracted to a young, beautiful woman in her twenties? That’d be a lie.”

Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to keep from smiling.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not a liar,” she says, as if that resolves the situation. She lets go of my hands and walks past me toward my car. I don’t deny myself the joy of watching her in that dress. It tugs in at her waist, making a perfect blanket to display the roundness of her ass. With every step forward in her black heels, the perfection of it is accentuated even more.

I jog forward, opening her door before walking back around to my own side and starting the engine. I turn the wheel back onto the main street and drive back toward the shop.

“So,” she starts in that usual way. “Is this weird?”

“The age thing?” I ask.

“The fake relationship thing.”

I laugh. “It’s not…normal. But it’s not weird. I don’t think so.”

I hear her scoff in the seat beside me. When I look at her, she rolls her eyes for dramatic effect. “Not normal is the same thing as weird. You literally just defined weird.”

“Okay, what would make it unweird?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says.

“What more do you want from me?” I ask with a chuckle. “I’m just your mechanic guy.”

“What more do I want from you?” she asks, and it’s sensual. Odd. Nice. And then she pauses before asking, “Do you think I’m attractive?”

The question makes my cock stiffen.

I hate the feeling of being this attracted to her. We’ve done stuff before, but why does it feel different now? Why have we been tiptoeing around this for weeks? Is it the fact that she is essentially employed by me now? Did that shift the dynamic in my head so that it feels wrong? Or did that just make it exponentially hotter and I’m feeling guilty about it?

I’m going with the guilt.

My fists clench the steering wheel and I can see my knuckles whiten. I’m trying anything to transfer the blood from my crotch to anywhere. Anywhere at all.

“You know you’re attractive,” I say.

She doesn’t respond, but I can hear her shift in her seat. I glance over, and her face is flushed.

“Then why haven’t we had sex since the night we met?” she asks. “Or done…anything, really?”

My heart races. I glance from the road to her and back again, trying to focus on anything that isn’t her plump lips pouting outward. The red of them is glistening with how she’s licked them again. I remember how it felt the last time they were on me. Glorious.

And then I consider her question. It’s not just the guilt of being the dad she babysits for. It’s also Noah and her obsession with him. Even tonight, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him—both her and Charlotte. What is it about that kid that attracts them?

“You’ve got your ex thing,” I say. “You’re hung up on him.”

I can hear her swallow.

“Noah’s engaged,” she starts, but I shake my head.

“You’re not over him,” I respond. Well at least my erection is down to a semi now. Leave it to Noah to bring the mood down even when he’s not here.

“I’m honestly not sure anymore,” she says.

I peer over at her from the corner of my eye, then take another turn. I almost missed the road.

“Memories can be powerful,” I say, which is true. Sometimes I consider what life would be like if Cara’s mom was more present. Would we have gotten married? Would I have even wanted to?

“He’s not who I think about anymore,” she says.

I tense again.

“What does that mean?” I ask. But of course, I know what that means. I’m just too determined to get myself home and in a cold shower before I can take advantage of it. She doesn’t want me. She wants someone to help her forget Noah.

I almost swerve when I feel her hand touch my leg. It’s slow at first, creeping inward along my tented slacks. The closer she gets, the more it hurts, and the more my thoughts cloud over. My semi grows quickly into a rock-hard painful strain against my pants.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Whatever you want me to do,” she says.

I gulp as her hand gently slides its way farther over the curve of my thigh until it’s right at the edge of me. There’s no way she can’t see the curve of it underneath my pants. It’s hard to hide.

“I think about how attractive you are all the time,” I admit. “In the shop. In the shower. At three in the morning when I’m imagining how you looked on my living room floor…” The admission is a relief, but then it dawns on me that it might have been too much. Her creeping hand tells me it’s not. “I definitely can’t wear gym shorts around you,” I say with a small laugh. “I miss wearing gym shorts.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says.

Then her hand finally touches me, her fingers curving over my length, palm splayed out as she runs it down and back up just once. I twitch involuntarily at her stroke.

I take one hand off the wheel, finally placing it over her own thigh. She inhales sharply, tightening her hold on me. I pay her back in kind, sliding my hand closer to her center, swatting away her skirt, letting the silk fabric tickle the back of my hand as I explore beneath it.

Her thumb extends out to roughly stroke small circles along the side of me. I can’t stop how heavily I’m breathing, willing the layer of clothing between her hand and my cock to disappear. Her touch is so apparent and yet so faint all at once.

I snake my hand upward, tracing the outside of her panty line. So she’s wearing lace. I palm her center. All of it is lace.

I tuck one finger underneath, parting her and entering. She’s already so wet that I slip right in. Her head falls back against the seat with even the first pump of my finger. I edge in a second, granting me a soft sigh. So small. So gentle.

Her hold on me tightens more as she fumbles over my pants to unseat my belt buckle, ripping it from its holdings, unzipping me. One less layer. It’s just her, my boxer briefs, and me. But I’m so hard and the material is so thin, it’s maddening how close she is, how she’s both there and not there all at the same time.

“I forgot how big you are,” she murmurs. I curl both fingers in her once more. She gasps and I adjust myself in the seat so that I pump into her hand.

“Yeah, I’m fucking attracted to you, Saria,” I say.

I one-handedly turn the wheel onto the last street. I can see the distant sign for my auto shop reaching sky-high, indicating we’re only minutes away from parking. The destination turns me on more. I thrust the fingers into her. In and out. A steady rhythm.

“Harry,” she says. Her tone is breathy. Desperate.

I stroke faster.

“Almost there,” she whispers.

Yes. We are almost there.

I pump harder. Her hand strokes the entire length of me, circling her thumb around my tip. I let out a small curse.

She clenches around my fingers and I feel her orgasm around me.

Even as I finally pull onto the gravel lot, my fingers still mindlessly stroking her soaked center, I know we aren’t close to finished.