Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harlow

A fter three more days of being housebound, I’m going stir-crazy because I’m not about to go out in public looking like I tried to hug a porcupine after rolling in a field of fire ants.

It feels like when I was bedridden all over again, but at least I can move around the house. I’m still fighting the urge to scratch the shit out of my skin every two seconds.

I hate how red and splotchy my arms look.

It’s not exactly a pretty view for someone who works at a clothing boutique.

My manager, Ashley, has been understanding, but I hate missing shifts.

I’ve been soaking in the tub, doing the baking soda paste, and lathering on the anti-itch cream.

I think it’s working, but not as fast as I need it to.

I miss my horse and taking her riding.

In between Dad’s naps, we watch TV together, play cards or a board game, and have finished a thousand-piece puzzle.

At this point, all I’m missing is a Bingo addiction.

When the dogs start barking, I know Delilah’s here.

Thank God.

We’ve been texting, and I begged her to come hang out with me after work.

When she’s not traveling and trick-riding, she manages Lacey’s, the luxury lingerie shop downtown. It’s a couple blocks from Rodeo Belle, so we’d meet up for lunch or swing by each other’s stores when we’re both working.

“Hey!” I swing my arms around her. “Thanks for comin’ by.”

“No problem.” When we pull apart, she looks at my arms and chest. “Yikes. Are you positive that it ain’t contagious?”

“Ha-ha,” I mock dryly. “If that were the case, Mama and Daddy would have it, too.”

She chuckles. “Just messin’ with ya. Looks a smidge better, though, than your pictures a few days ago.”

“Could take up to three weeks to clear up,” I groan.

“I stopped by the drug store and got you some antihistamines and calamine lotion. I read up on it and those were the most recommended for dealin’ with the itch.”

“Ooh, thank you. I’ll bathe in this lotion if it promises to do the trick.”

I take the plastic bag from her hand and then we walk into the living room where Dad’s watching The Price is Right .

“Hi, Daddy.” Delilah hugs and kisses him. “How ya feelin’ today?”

“Not too bad.”

Today’s been a good day. We never know how many of those we’ll get with him, so we take what we can get.

“I crushed him in Monopoly earlier,” I say.

“And then I wiped you off the floor in poker,” he retorts.

Delilah barks out a laugh, her blond hair bouncing across her shoulders. “I see nothing’s changed ’round here.”

The three of us sit and chat in between guessing the answers on the gameshow. Eventually, Mom comes home from work. She’s a nurse at the hospital in the next town and works ten- hour shifts four times a week. The other days, she cares for Dad, cleans the house, or runs errands.

Although we have cameras in and outside of the house, I adjust my work schedule based on when my mom will be away so someone’s home with Dad and the dogs. Sometimes I’ll work the evening shifts for a few hours if I’m needed, but after everything we’ve been through, Mom doesn’t like him home alone too long.

“Delilah, stay for dinner. I’m makin’ chili and cornbread,” Mom says once she’s showered and changed out of her scrubs.

“That sounds delicious. Let me help you in the kitchen,” Delilah offers.

“I’m gonna take Moose for a short walk before we eat,” I tell them. “I need some fresh air.”

I put on a sweatshirt and boots, then grab his leash.

As we walk around the block, I pull out my phone to turn on some music and find a text message from an unknown number.

The same number who’s in the group chat and told me the rash was poison ivy.

Unknown: Hey, hope you don’t mind me privately messaging you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk about it with everyone else in the group. I just wondered how you were doing with the rash and if the baking soda paste worked for you.

I don’t know why, but my heart races as I reread his message for the third time. Him reaching out to check on me is incredibly sweet.

Truth is, I’d been wondering who he is and have been tempted to text him before but wasn’t sure what to say. When it comes to talking to guys, I’m…not experienced. Like, at all .

But him being concerned for me makes me smile like a giddy teenager.

Harlow: Hi, not at all. Thanks for checking on me. It’s working well. My sister brought me some meds and lotion to soothe the itch in between being a paste mummy.

Unknown: Ha, that’s good. My brother and I got poison ivy in high school and our mom made us wear oven mitts on our hands so we’d stop scratching.

I snort at the imagery.

Harlow: That’s hilarious. Luckily, I’ve been hanging out with my dad and staying busy so I don’t think about it, but it’s the worst at night when I’m trying to sleep. I have nothing to distract myself so all I can think about is how itchy I am.

When Moose and I return to the house, my nose fills with the aroma of meat and beans, and my stomach growls.

“Dinner’s almost ready, so make sure to wash up,” Mom announces, setting the table.

I check my phone and find myself smiling again.

Unknown: If you ever need someone to help distract you, hit me up. I can’t always sleep either.

This is where I should ask for his name. Or at least how old he is.

If he’s Jake’s age, he’s probably in his early thirties.

But he could be fifty for all I know.

Still, he hasn’t asked for mine, and I suck when it comes to talking to guys, so I don’t ask either.

Harlow: Thank you, I appreciate that!

Mom calls everyone to the table and once we’re all seated, we say grace and then dive in.

Chili is one of my favorites, especially topped with extra shredded cheese and sour cream.

“How’s work goin’, Delilah?” Mom asks.

“Great…we’re enterin’ the holiday shopping season. All the husbands buyin’ lingerie for their wives and mistresses will keep us busy through New Year’s.”

Dad nearly chokes on his food, and I chuckle at Mom’s shocked face.

“What? I caught a guy today!” Delilah exclaims, flinging her spoon around as she continues. “He bought two identical pieces, except one was red and one was black. However, they were noticeably different sizes—one was an extra small and the other an extra large—so I mentioned that to him. I even offered to grab the right one because I figured he didn’t realize they were different. Instead, he threw his credit card at me and said, ‘No, those are the sizes I need,’ so I rang him up, looked him up on social media, and then sent his wife a little hey girl message.”

“Oh my God!” My jaw drops, and I quickly cover my mouth when my mom glares at me for dropping the Lord’s name in vain. “I’ll never understand why men don’t just get divorced if they’re unhappy.”

Truthfully, I don’t understand a lot about men, but that especially.

“Because they’re cowards,” Delilah explains. “They’d rather sleep around than go to therapy.”

“Some like the thrill of sneakin’ around and the possibility of gettin’ caught,” Mom adds.

Delilah shakes her head. “Men are dirtbags.”

“This a bad time to ask if you’re datin’ anyone?” Dad smirks before eating a spoonful of his chili.

Delilah snorts. “There are zero decent or single men in this town. Heck, maybe the state.”

“You ain’t gettin’ any younger,” Mom reminds her. “Especially if you wanna have children.”

Delilah’s deadpan expression causes me to laugh because the last thing on her mind is getting married or pregnant.

“If you’re holdin’ your breath for grandchildren, you’re better off waitin’ on Harlow.”

“Me?” I gasp. “I’ve never had a boyfriend, remember? I’m the last person to depend on givin’ y’all grandchildren.”

“Yeah, but you’re not even twenty-one. You have plenty of time,” Delilah says. “I’m basically an old maid.”

I scoff. “You’re thirty, so I don’t think so.”

“There’s no rush,” Dad interrupts. “When you find the one , then you’ll know it’s time. Until then, focus on your own dreams and goals. Marriage and babies can wait.”

I appreciate his words because at this rate, I’ll be single for a long time. Not that I’m overly eager to find a boyfriend, but it’d be nice to have someone special to spend time with. However, I’m not a go-out-and-party type of person, and even when I’m legal to go to bars, I’m not sure how often I’ll want to. I can’t imagine meeting a guy at a bar and it working out.

But maybe the universe will prove me wrong and my Mr. Right will walk into my life when I least expect him to.

“Oh, hello, McDreamy…” Natalie singsongs as soon as Dr. Shepherd appears on the screen.

I chuckle around a handful of popcorn, nearly choking at her words.

“He ain’t that good-lookin’,” I say.

“ What ? You better get your eyes checked.”

I roll them instead.

Natalie’s crushed on him since we saw the very first episode of Grey’s Anatomy .

We started watching the series together when we were only thirteen years old and roommates in the hospital. It’s been seven years and we’re still trying to catch up.

Our parents met first since we were brought into the emergency room a day apart. There had been a huge pileup on the highway with several traumas and to make space for them, they put us in the same room.

Natalie had been hit while riding her bike and needed several surgeries on her abdomen, pelvis, and legs. It took her two years of physical therapy to walk again.

I’d been put on life support while they waited for the swelling in my brain to go down and then had to prioritize which part of my body needed surgery first.

When we were both lucid and could finally talk, we became recovery buddies. I spent weeks at a time there with her and when one of us had to go back as an inpatient, we’d often visit each other and start up the show where we ended it.

Since we live two hours apart, we video chat at least once a week to watch a few episodes together.

“I’m still bitter about McSteamy.” I frown.

We’re only on season ten, and I’ve cried more times than I can count, especially when he died. I’m attached to most of the main characters and that’s why I can only watch a few episodes at a time.

“Maybe you should find your own instead,” Natalie says. “McNasty.”

I huff out a laugh. “Funny enough, we were havin’ a similar conversation at dinner tonight.” I continue explaining Delilah’s lingerie story.

“You should try a datin’ app. I’m sure there are plenty of eligible bachelors you’d like.”

“Uh…I dunno. That seems like a million percent out of my comfort zone.”

“Says the extrovert. You can make conversation with anyone.”

“Not with cute guys,” I retort. “I always assume they’re way out of my league and wouldn’t be interested.” Considering my lack of experience, I’m not sure guys would find that attractive when I tell them I want to wait before getting into the physical stuff.

“Harlow, I ain’t sayin’ this as your bestie or because I’ve known you a long time, but I’m sayin’ this as someone who has eyeballs. You’re stunning . Like, drop-dead beautiful. And I should hate you for it because you don’t even haveta try. If I was even a smidge bisexual, you’d be my gay awakening.”

I burst out cackling so hard that it causes my side to cramp.

“You”—I wipe my cheeks from the tears she made fall—“are ridiculous.”

“But you know it’s true. I bet you a hundred bucks you’d get ten messages from guys within the first hour of your profile being active.”

“I don’t even know what that means. I’ve never been on a datin’ app.”

“You swipe on the profiles you like and if they swipe on yours, you’re a match. Then you can either message ’em or they’ll message you. There are variations of how it works dependin’ on the app. Some have it where the woman has to message first.”

I curl my lips, hating the sound of that.

“And what if they ask to meet up but look nothin’ like their photos?”

“That’s why you always assume they won’t and deduct half the points for his looks. So if his photo is a ten, he’s now a five. But if his personality is a seven, his overall average is a six. Truthfully, though, I’d probably fold for that.”

I snort because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

“And what if I’d like to find an average-lookin’ nice guy who won’t pressure me to get drunk or have sex with him on the first date?”

“Oh…well, then you’re gonna need to download a different type of app for that.”

“Which one?”

“Virgins ‘R Us.”

She says it so seriously that it’s not until her face cracks with a smile that I know she’s fucking with me.

“I hate you.”

“Ha! No, you don’t. You love me.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I firmly believe Natalie’s so boy-crazy because she spent her early teen years in the hospital, like me, except she also went to an all-girls high school. So as soon as she went off to college, she found the first hot guy to pop her cherry.

We continue shit-talking and watching our show together until midnight. After she pressures me to show her my arms and chest rash mural, we say good night.

Before I go to bed, I take two of the antihistamines and dab on some calamine lotion. Since I don’t want to get it all over my blankets, I’m stuck lying on my back like a statue, which is as uncomfortable as it sounds.

Thirty minutes of staring at my ceiling has me grabbing my phone and pulling up the text thread with the unknown guy.

Harlow: Hey, sorry it’s so late. Any chance you’re awake?

When the text shows delivered, I second-guess sending it.

What would I even say if he is awake? Or what if he only said I could text him to be nice and didn’t mean it?

Ugh .

This is why I’d suck on a dating app.

But maybe Natalie’s right. I’ll never get comfortable with the idea of dating if I don’t put myself out there and try.