“I’ll drop you off at work tomorrow and take it to the shop,” he says, and I smile.

“Thanks, honey.”

“No problem, Angel. Now, are you finally going to fucking kiss me?”

“I don’t know.” I grin, and he growls, lifting a hand, tangling his fingers into my hair, and bringing my mouth close to his.

“You don’t know?”

“You could kiss me,” I suggest, looking into his beautiful eyes.

“I could,” he agrees, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes drop to my mouth.

“Harlen?”

“Yeah, baby?” His gaze lifts to meet mine and I slide my fingers up into his hair, putting pressure on the back of his neck.

“Please kiss me,” I whisper, and he smiles right before he slants his head and places his lips against mine. Feeling his tongue touch my bottom lip, my mouth opens and he slides in. Liking that so much, I whimper into his mouth and lift myself higher to get more of him. Then I groan in annoyance when I hear the timer for the stove go off. “That’s dinner,” I tell him, after pulling my mouth from his, and he turns to look toward the kitchen.

“You cooked?” he asks, not even holding back his surprise.

“Yes.” I grin, wrapping my hands around his shoulders and pushing back, but he doesn’t budge, not even an inch.

“What’d you make?”

“Cowboy casserole.”

“Don’t know what that is, but it smells fucking amazing.”

“It tastes amazing too, unless it’s burnt, so you need to let me up so that doesn’t happen,” I say, and he kisses my nose then pulls me up from the couch to stand in front of him. I walk into the kitchen and grab a set of potholders as he goes to the fridge to grab a beer. Pulling the casserole dish out of the oven, I smile when I see the tater tots are the perfect color of golden brown and the cheese is melted and bubbling.

“You made tater tots?” he asks, and I turn to look at him, finding his brows drawn together.

“No, I made cowboy casserole. It just has tater tots on it,” I correct, setting the dish down on another potholder. Then I go to the fridge to pull out the salad I made earlier, a couple of kinds of dressing, and a tub of sour cream, which is a necessity when you’re having cowboy casserole.

“What’s this?” he asks, and I look to where he’s standing at the island and see him leafing through the folder for the class that I left there.

“That trauma class I wanted to take, the one I didn’t get into.” He nods, knowing what class I’m talking about, since I told him when I found out I didn’t get accepted. “A student dropped out, so I have a spot if I want it,” I finish, watching him take a swig from his beer and his eyes come back to me.

“You don’t seem excited,” he observes, and I turn to grab two plates from the cupboard.

“I don’t know how I feel about it yet,” I say, avoiding looking at him.

“Why’s that?” he pushes, and I wonder how to tell him, or what to tell him exactly.

“There’s a doctor at work, and he kinda makes me uncomfortable. He’s the one who recommended me for the open spot in the class,” I confess, placing scoops of the casserole on each plate along with some salad.

“Look at me,” he growls, and even though I don’t really want to look at him, because the energy in the room has shifted and he sounds angry, I still turn my head to meet his gaze. “How’s he make you uncomfortable?”

“I just don’t like the way he makes me feel. And one of the nurses I work with says she’s heard rumors about him and that there are other nurses who have lost their jobs while he’s kept his,” I admit quietly, and his jaw clenches.

“You never mentioned this before.”

“I know.” I watch his knuckles turn white around the beer in his hand. “I didn’t want you to worry.” I take a step toward him, watching him pull in a deep breath, and I rest my hands against his chest. “I’m probably just overthinking this, and who knows if the rumors are even true?”

“Who is he?” he asks, and my stomach twists.

“I’m probably overthinking this and worried about nothing,” I try again, and he dips his face closer to mine.

“Who is he?” he repeats, ignoring me.

“Harlen—”

“Who the fuck is he, Harmony?”

“His name is Hofstadter, but you can’t do anything to him. The only thing he’s done is ask me out. That’s it. He hasn’t technically done anything wrong.”

“He asked you out?” he clarifies, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper, and my eyes slide closed. Shit. “He asked you out?” he repeats once more, and my eyes open, meeting his.

“I… yes, but I told him no, obviously.”

“So you turned him down, and in return, he got you into a class that was full and has already started,” he surmises, and I feel my stomach drop. “Fuck,” he clips, and his eyes go over my head.

I slide my arms around his waist and rest my ear over his T-shirt covered chest, listening to his heart as it pounds heavily against his rib cage.

“Please calm down,” I whisper, and his arms slide around me, one going around my waist, the other around my shoulders, holding me tightly against his frame.

“You tell me if he does anything. I don’t give a fuck if it’s him offering you a fucking tissue after you sneeze, or a piece of gum. You tell me about it,” he orders, and I nod my head. “Take the class.”

“What?” I tip my head back to look up at him, and his face dips to meet my gaze.

“He might have given a recommendation, but you would have gotten in on your own eventually. He can’t hold that shit over your head, and if he tries, I’ll deal with him personally.”

“Harlen,” I sigh, dropping my eyes from his, and his arms give me a squeeze.

“He know you got a man?” he asks, and my body locks. “He doesn’t know,” he mutters, and I bite my lip.

“I didn’t have a chance to tell him,” I admit quietly, keeping my eyes off his.

“Right.”

“I was going to,” I defend quietly, not wanting him to think I wouldn’t tell him that I have a boyfriend.

“I believe you, baby.”

“Promise?” I question, tipping my head back to look at him, and the moment our eyes lock, his search mine.

“Promise.” He dips his head, brushing his lips across mine.

“Good.” I wrap my fingers around the side of his neck then lift up on my tiptoes to touch my mouth to his, and his arms tighten around me.

“You need me to help with anything?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I got it covered.”

“All right, finish up, babe. Let’s eat before it’s cold.” His lips touch mine then the top of my head before his arms loosen. I study him for a moment before I let him go and finish making our plates while he watches, leaning against the counter and drinking his beer.

***

Laying sprawled out on top of him, three hours and two servings of casserole and a slice of chocolate pie later, I stare blindly at the TV, trying not to think about what he meant when he said he would deal with Dr. Hofstadter personally, and failing miserably.

“Thanks for dinner, baby.” His words whisper across the top of my hair, and I lift my head off his chest to look at him.

“You’re welcome.” I run my fingers across his bearded jaw.

“It was the shit, even if it was tater tots.” He grins.

Laughing, I say, “Thank you. But I kinda guessed that when you finished off three servings.”

Smiling, his fingers run along my cheek then his voice drops. “Stop overthinking what I said earlier.”

“Are you a mind reader?”

“No, I just know you and that brain of yours.” He taps my temple with his index finger.

“Whatever,” I mutter, annoyed that he can read me just as easily as my sister can. Dropping my temple back to his chest, I look at the TV.

“Babe,” he calls, wrapping his fingers around my ear and sliding them around my lower jaw, forcing me to look at him again. “It will be okay.” Studying the soft look in his eyes, I believe him. “Promise.” He drags me up his body with his hands under my arms then puts pressure on the back of my head until our mouths touch. “You believe me?” he asks, against my mouth, and my eyes close.