A Sketch Away From Perfect

Harper

"You should totally do it. My sister made loads of money. I think she paid off all her student loans!" McKenzy says, tapping the 'Apply' button on the screen insistently.

I look at https://atalooseend.com like it's a snake that's going to bite me. How did it come to this?!

"You're a poor, starving artist who doesn't sell enough pieces to cover the rent," she answers my unspoken question, her tone flat. "You have student loans so far up your ass you can taste the red ink! Trust me, this is your best option."

"But... what if they want sex?" I question, wondering if I have it in me to become an escort. I've never done anything like that before, though I'm certainly not a virgin.

McKenzy stabs her finger at the bold, red, 64-font words on the 'About' page. "'Dates are NOT required to or encouraged to provide sex or engage in sexual acts'. It's even in the legalese we read in the sample contract. Big and bold. In fact, if we go to the home page..." She reaches over my shoulder and maneuvers on my touchpad. "Ah, yes. See? They've practically got a neon sign with flares going off around it."

I have to admit, the website is making that point abundantly clear. "Still, dating for money? Isn't that a bit, you know, whorish?"

"Honey," she says, "you're at the end of your options. You're a beautiful, sophisticated, twenty-five-year-old starving artist. Shake that booty. Shake it now."

Then she hip-checks me out of the way of my own laptop and stabs my touchpad, lighting up the 'Apply' button.

"I'll just fill this out for you, if you're too nervous. Or proud." She winks at me. "You know, you're far too stuffy for a sexy woman your age. Live a little. Just give me your social security number and payment info when I ask for it, and you'll be all set."

I sit down on a plastic-and-metal chair creation of McKenzy's and try not to let out my internal scream. But she was right. If I'm going to stand on my own two feet and stop asking my parents for money, this is how it has to be.

"How's the 'rents?" she asks.

I swear she's a mind reader. "Pissed. They said if I ask for rent money one more time, they're moving me home, whether I want to go or not."

"Daaaaaamn." She fills out a few more fields.

I lean forward. "Just what the heck did you put in the 'interests' box?!"

"Big dicks." McKenzy rolls her eyes. "Relax. Art. Nature. Long walks on the beach. A good book. Partying-"

"I don't enjoy partying. I haven't done that since college," I object.

"Yeah, but they don't need to know that," she replies. "I mean, you're going to be a rent-a-woman. You're supposed to sound like you're a good time."

I groan. "McKenzy..."

"Relax. I've got this. You just go finish that painting you've been putting the 'finishing touches' on for a month." I can hear the condescension in her tone.

"You once wrestled with a coffee table design for the better part of a year," I protest.

"That was different. With the model, I can make more than one of its kind."

I see her type 'sexy and single' in another box and want to throttle her. Instead, I look away and respond to our conversation. "What do you think a lithograph print is?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's never the same as having the original," she mutters. "Okay, social security and payment info."

Thinking about my debts and knowing I've been utterly defeated, I sigh out the number. "And the email address for my payment method is michaelvernonfan33@gmail.com."

McKenzy swings her head around. "Are you still crushing on that guy?"

"I'm not! McKenzy, he's my favorite artist. I'm not crushing on him. I admire him and his work," I explain with failing patience.

"I get you. I get you. But I'll bet you'd pose naked for him and then roll around in the paint if you could." She giggles.

I rub my temples. "He's married."

"Well, shit. There goes a perfectly good fantasy," she laments.

"Are you done yet?"

McKenzy cracks her knuckles. "Aaaaand 'Submit.' Congratulations, you're a registered escort."

I throw a fuzzy decorative pillow at her. "Date. I'm a date!"

"I know. I'm just messing with you." She steps away from my laptop humming, proud of herself.

I feel sick to my stomach, nervously going over to see the profile she's made. "McKenzy, this isn't me!"

"Of course it's not you," she replies. "It's the you that you need to be to hook a man."

The profile picture in particular mortifies me. "I am not using a beach shot in a bikini as my picture!"

"You should actually add a lot more pictures," she muses. "They'll want to see you from every angle."

I consider shutting the whole thing down right then and there, but then my banking app pings my phone to tell me my balance has reached zero dollars.

"I'm changing the profile pic," I grumble. I look at my phone again and wince as the bank app continues with another push notification, letting me know something bounced. "And... maybe add a few more."

McKenzy claps me on the back. "That's the spirit!"

* * *

Two hours later, I've got what I think is a profile I can live with, sans bikini pics. I am just drying my hair after showering off flecks of paint, when my laptop dings. Curious, I look at my phone then realize I haven't downloaded the At a Loose End app. It has to be the app. Everything else is synced to my phone.

I cautiously flip my laptop open, almost afraid the website will suck me in and deposit me at the feet of some pervert. Taking several deep breaths, I remind myself that I get the final say on who I choose to "date."

My avatar in the upper right corner winks playfully at me, tempting me to look at the request.

I have no choice. It's this or move back to Otsego to live with my parents. There is no way I'm moving back home..

I click on my avatar, and the very helpful drop-down shows me I have one request–and a message. I think I can handle the message. Actually, accepting the request might require some huffing into a paper bag first.

ScottIAm: Hi.

'Hi'? That's all I get? I look at his avatar, an ear of corn, and see a green dot indicating he's online. I decide to respond. If I can feel him out, maybe I'll feel better about accepting the date.

ArtIsMyLife33: Hi. I'm Harper. This is actually my first time

Oh, right, let's start with that, Harper. Great start there. I shake my head at myself. At least I didn't embarrass myself right off the bat.

ArtIsMyLife33: Hi. I'm Harper. Are you interested in a date?

Would you like to chop me up into little bits in your van? Ugh. Get it together, girl!

ArtIsMyLife33: Hi. I'm Harper. I hear you need a date.

I bang my head on my screen, causing the touch screen to get mad and try to minimize everything. No, Harper, he's contacting you because he needs advice on how to make a casserole. I restore my Internet window.

ArtIsMyLife33: Hi. I'm Harper.

Enter.

Done.

...

Fuck.

ScottIAm: ...

ScottIAm: Hi, Harper. I'm Scott. Pleased to meet you.

What am I supposed to say to that? 'Pleased to meet you too'? I'm not exactly pleased. I'm desperate.

ArtIsMyLife33: Listen, I'm here for your wallet, you're here for my arm candy, let's just get this over w

I take a deep breath through my nose and let it slowly out of my mouth. I need to feel this guy out because, as much as I don't want to move back to Otsego, I want to end up being pulled from the Mississippi in pieces even less.

ScottIAm: This is kind of awkward, isn't it?

Yeah, no shit.

ArtIsMyLife33: Yeah, it kinda is.

ScottIAm: Your profile says I'd be your first date. You just started today? I'm not being creepy, I swear. I'm just curious about... you know... why.

Isn't that the million-dollar question. Actually, I'd happily settle for a couple of thousand to resuscitate my bank account. I can hear it panting from here.

ArtIsMyLife33: 25-year-old starving artist. No great mystery there, I guess.

ScottIAm: You're really an artist? That's cool. I'm an organic farmer. I don't know if you looked at my request yet, but I'm completely vetted, and I promise I've had all my shots, and I don't bite. What kind of art do you do? That's not in your profile, and I don't see any pictures.

ArtIsMyLife33: My friend made my profile. I was too chicken, to be completely honest with you. If we hit it off, I'd love to talk to you about my art. You would be my first date. I know it probably says in the request, but where do you need me to go and why?

ScottIAm: Cousin's wedding this Friday. I'm trying to keep my family off my back about marriage, so I need a stand-in girlfriend. Can I see some of your art? I'm really curious now.

I eye the expectant little chat bar with its seductive plus sign for adding photographs. What the hell? I'm an artist. I should be happy to exhibit my art wherever to whomever! I click the plus sign and attach a high-quality image of one of my paintings.

ScottIAm: That's beautiful. Have you sold it already?

I wish. I open the image and stare despondently at my colorful, abstract oil painting of a lake scene.

ArtIsMyLife33: No bites yet.

ScottIAm: I lied. Maybe I do bite.

I laugh.

ArtIsMyLife33: LOL, seriously, I don't expect you to buy my artwork in order to get me to be your stand-in girlfriend. But thanks for saying it's beautiful.

ScottIAm: Is this where I should drop the line, "But not as beautiful as you"?

I laugh harder. I am starting to like this guy.

ArtIsMyLife33: You want some crackers with that cheese?

ScottIAm: Lol. So, would you consider giving this a try? It's my first time too. I figure we can help each other through it.

My fingers hover over the keys. Then, I make a decision.

ArtIsMyLife33: Yeah. Let's give this a try.

ScottIAm: Great! So, I think you just accept my request or something, but do you know where you'd like to meet so I can pick you up? I don't want you to feel like I'm stalking your address.

With a snort, I give it some thought.

ArtIsMyLife33: Let's meet at the Hampden Co-Op. It's not far from where I live.

ScottIAm: Sounds great. Pick you up at 11:00 AM?

ArtIsMyLife33: Sounds great. But Scott, one thing. If you chop me up and throw me in the Mississippi, I am going to haunt you for all eternity.

ScottIAm: Lol! Same, Harper. Same.

Then Scott signs off, his green dot going a vacant white. I sit back in my chair, feeling stunned but also a bit relieved. It seems like my first date is actually going to be okay.

I pull up Scott's profile, just to double-check before I pull the trigger and Lord, have mercy. I do a double-take at his profile pic. How can a man that handsome have to buy a date to stand in at his cousin's wedding?! Chestnut brown hair, sky blue eyes, boyish grin, and the cutest dimples I've ever seen!

After giving it some thought, I decide that's probably exactly why he's hiring me. He doesn't want any weird set-ups by family members trying to marry him off. With me, there's no chance of any messy romantic entanglements.

No chance at all.

Harper

I try not to pull a Marilyn Monroe as the wind whips the flared skirt of the sleeveless aquamarine dress I am wearing. McKenzy loaned me a pair of high-heeled, strappy sandals to match, and they aren't helping the situation much as I teeter along the sidewalk, expecting to be swept away like Mary Poppins.

As I turn the corner onto Raymond Avenue, I pause to adjust one of the straps on the right sandal.

"I should have worn tennis shoes," I grumble, even though I know that wouldn't be appropriate. It's my own fault for losing one of my own silver slippers. Not in a Cinderella way, but in a this-closet-is-an-unholy-vortex way. I'm sure, when I finally get around to cleaning it, the missing slipper will reappear. .

"Yeah, when I'm being moved to a nursing home," I mutter. I catch my reflection in one of the storefront windows and pat back a strand of my hair. At least that's clipped up in a twist so the wind can only do so much damage.

In the reflection, I also see a police car. I swear the side says Otsego.I spin around, but the car is already speeding down the block.

"That's bizarre." I think of my ex-boyfriend, Jack Collins, for a second or two. He's an Otsego cop, but Otsego is forty minutes away from St. Paul. I shake my head. "Pretty soon here, I'm going to need a tinfoil hat."

"It'd match the shoes," a low voice chuckles.

I look up and straight into the warmest blue eyes I've ever seen in my life. I smile when I recognize it's my date–Scott.

"Uh, hi," I say, embarrassed about being caught talking to myself.

He sticks out his hand. "Hi. I'm Scott Bauer."

Sheepishly, I shake it. "Harper Ward."

"I could get you a tinfoil hat, if you like." Scott grins. "It'd make a real statement at the wedding."

"A statement like 'look who showed up with crazy'?" I smile back.

"Hey, as long as I show up with somebody, it'll be fine." Scott offers me his arm. "Since you're about to fly away any minute now, I figure you'd better hang onto me while we walk to the coffee shop."

I look down at my skirt, which is already trying to get tangled around a lamppost. "Yeah, good plan."

Surprisingly, Scott leads the way. I eye him suspiciously. "You researched the area before, didn't you?"

"Yes," Scott admits with a grin. "I'll bet I even know where you live."

"Is it that obvious?" I laugh.

"You're an artist. Carleton Artist Lofts is nearby. It just seems to make sense. Am I wrong?" Scott asks. We enter the coffee shop, and I get a strong whiff of ground beans.

I chuckle. "And here I thought I was being so stealthy."

Scott pulls out a chair for me at one of the pleasantly beat-up tables. "Don't worry about it. I moonlight as an amateur detective."

"No, you don't," I snort.

His dimples deepen as his smile widens. "No, I don't. But I'm not going to give you too much crap over it. I think you've learned your lesson. And since I'm not the Mississippi River Slasher, you don't need to worry. Just, maybe, pick somewhere a little further away from home for a meeting point next time, yeah?" His beautiful blue eyes are genuinely concerned.

"Point taken," I agree.

"So," he says without sitting down. "What can I get you?"

"A London Fog would be great, thanks. But you don't have to buy me coffee. I mean..." I feel my cheeks heat up.

Scott winks. "Let me buy myself into your good graces. I figure we could at least get to know each other a bit before I sweep you off to the wedding."

"Okay." I relent. I mean, what else am I going to do?

Scott goes to the counter and comes back with my London Fog and a drink for himself. He sits across from me, sipping what I can only imagine is very strong coffee, from the fragrance.

"Tall, black coffee?" I guess.

"Got it in one. Didn't know you were a psychic too. Is that what you're doing on those 'long walks on the beach'?" Scott teases me.

I groan and drop my head on my arm. "Don't remind me. Tell me she took out the partying bit?"

"I could kind of tell from the profile pic you chose that you weren't the 'party girl' your friend made you out to be. Not that you don't enjoy a good time, but most of the 'party girls' on that site are holding a beer in one hand and a cropped-out ex in the other," Scott laughs.

"Oh, God." I peek up at Scott. "I'm not a crazy cat lady. I swear. I don't even have a cat."

"You're not a crazy cat lady yet," Scott corrects me. "And I like that about you."

I pull out my phone to check my profile. "She didn't seriously put that in there..."

He puts a hand over mine. "No. That was a personal observation. I think you're a hard worker, like me, and serious about your success, so you don't go out making Girls Gone Wild videos and drinking until you're dancing topless on tables. You're just the kind of girl I want." A charming blush creeps into his tan cheeks. "I mean, as a date." A cough. "To my cousin's wedding."

I smile at him and put my phone away. "You won't see this again for the rest of the night. I just had to make sure McKenzy didn't go totally wild. She has the login, you know? She could do anything. She wanted to make my profile pic a bikini shot!"

"That would have been nice," he admits. "But not what I was looking for. I was looking for you."

I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. We stare at each other for a long moment, something magnetic happening between us.

Then Scott clears his throat. "We should probably go to that wedding."

"Yeah, probably." I start to stand, but Scott rushes to pull out my chair for me. He's attractive, and a gentleman. I am so doomed. "Hey, Scott?" I say as he offers me his arm again.

"Hey, Harper?" he echoes with twinkling eyes.

"Would it be out of line for me to say I wish we weren't going to a wedding, and this was a real date?"

Scott's eyes soften. "No," he replies. "You wouldn't be out of line at all."

* * *

Scott

Holy fuck, this woman is hot!

I'm tempted to tell my cousin my truck broke down and take Harper to some fancy Minneapolis restaurant. One of the ones with the cloth napkins and champagne I would feel completely out of place in. It would be nothing like the farm, but for Harper, it would be worth it.

I give myself a mental shake. If I don't go to that wedding, I will never hear the end of it and I need Harper to be my shield. So, no cloth napkins for us,, not tonight, at least. Still, it's hard to focus on going back out to the church in Vermillion and later dancing at The Wexford at the Emerald Greens Golf Course.

Dancing. I feel the warmth of Harper's hand through my light jacket, and I'm glad I'm not wearing a tie, just a nice white shirt. If I had been wearing a tie, I wouldn't be able to breathe. She smells like lilacs.

I am in so much trouble.

Harper is strawberry blonde with long hair that curls in soft waves, begging to be wrapped around a man's wrist. Her eyes match her dress perfectly, a cheerful aquamarine. With a smoking body and the cutest little sprinkling of pale freckles across her nose, there is no doubt in my mind she would be incredible in bed–but that's not why we're here, I remind myself.

"She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" begins playing in my head on a loop, and it's all I can do not to snicker at my stupid thoughts. Though I can see Harper riding my tractor, perched right in my lap. Suddenly, my pants feel a little too tight.

Luckily, my workhorse of a Ford F-450 Super Duty King Ranch comes into view, huge compared to the city folks' cars parked along the street in front of and behind it. I'd given her a good washing before coming to get Harper, but there is still a little bit of dirt clinging to the mud flaps.

Harper gives a low whistle. "Is that yours?" she asks, pointing right at Big Bertha.

"She sure is," I reply proudly. I unlock the truck and swing open the passenger door. "Watch your step," I say, helping her up. For all the times my mom asks me why I don't get around to putting running boards on Big Bertha, I can finally tell her. It's because one day, I was meant to put my hands on Harper's waist and lift her into my truck.

"Thanks," Harper says. The most adorable blush touches her cheeks, making those cute little freckles stand out even more.

"Any time. Seriously, any time," I respond. My voice is more growly than usual. I probably look like a horny teenager. Hell, I feel like a horny teenager.

"I think we're supposed to go to the wedding now," Harper murmurs throatily, and it goes all the way to my groin.

It also means I've been caught staring. "Right." I close the door, careful not to catch her dress, and run around to the other side of the truck.

I get in, throw the truck in gear, and squeeze out of the parking spot. Two idiot sedan drivers gave me a couple of inches on each bumper. Stupid city folk. Maybe you could get a Smart Car out of here without a problem, but this is gonna be tight.

"That was impressive," Harper remarks when I finally ease Big Bertha free. She puts a hand on my knee.

I show all my great driving skill by almost rear-ending a Cadillac. "Thanks." I gulp.

"Sorry," Harper says, starting to remove her hand. "I shouldn't have-"

I grab her hand and put it back right where it was. "You definitely should have. Just give a man a little warning next time. It's not every day I get a sexy woman groping my thigh." I grin so she knows it's a joke.

"Oh, Scott, if I was groping your thigh, you'd know it," Harper shoots back.

Her wit is going to be the death of me. Sure, she's hot, but this easy banter between us is something I've never had before. "I'm sure I would."

I hold Harper's hand in my lap all the way to Vermillion, not minding the forty-minute drive one bit this time. The church rises tall and beautiful on one of the main drags. I'm tempted to drive right past it and into a cornfield. I'm willing to bet Harper will show me what it really means to grope my thigh if I do.

Focus. Janet's wedding. Janet's wedding! I force myself to imagine the chewing-out I'll get from my mother if I don't attend.

Reluctantly, I park near the church and go to help Harper out of the truck. She slides all the way down my body as I pull her out and set her on her feet.

"Holy fuck," I groan. I'm sure Harper can feel the problem between us.

Harper bites her lip. "Maybe I should stand in front of you for a minute while you convince your friend it's a bad time to make an appearance."

"Yeah, I think that'd be a good idea," I agree. But I still have to move her a couple of inches away from my body, or the problem's never gonna go away.

"So, what's organic farming like?" Harper asks.

I smile at her, knowing she's trying to help. "It's hard, but worth it."

Harper glances down at the word 'hard,' and I have to laugh.

"I like hard things," she mumbles.

Harper

Okay. You can do this. I throw my shoulders back and walk on Scott's arm, exuding confidence. At least, I think I'm exuding confidence. I've never been anybody's fake date before.

"You don't have to smile like that. Your face will break in half," he whispers to me, his arm shaking with repressed laughter.

Okay, so, not so confident then. I'm a little embarrassed, but I think my smile's genuine now. "I don't want to screw this up for you," I confess.

"If you do, you can make it up to me by letting me buy you dinner sometime," he murmurs back.

My spirits perk up at that possibility. I mean, the chemistry between us is undeniable. "How about, if I screw up, I buy you dinner, and if I knock it out of the park, you can buy me dinner?"

Scott engulfs my hand with his warm, rough palm. "Works for me."

When we enter the church, a gray-haired woman in a floral dress spots us and rushes over. "Scott! Thank heavens. I was almost afraid you'd miss the wedding!"

"Mom, I'm still fifteen minutes early," he replies with a chuckle.

"Yes, well, you're just lucky the family pictures are after the service, young man," she says, shaking her finger at him. Then she spots me. "Oh my, is this her?"

He lets go of my hand to slide his arm around my waist, tucking me into his side. "This is her."

"Oh, my dear, you are lovely." His mother takes my hands in hers. "Scott's been awfully secretive about you. He says you've been dating for months, but does he introduce you to his mother? Hmph. He hasn't even told us your name!"

"Harper," I say, giving him the side-eye. It'd have been nice to be prepared for this scenario but I smile anyway. "It's my fault. I didn't want to meet the family until we were sure things were serious." Take that, Scott Bauer!

He has a coughing fit.

"Oh, dear, you're not getting sick, are you?" His mother puts her hand to his forehead, though it requires the diminutive woman to go all the way up on her tip-toes.

"I'm fine, Mom. Wrong tube, that's all," he says.

"Well, take a lozenge just the same. It has Vitamin C." She fishes in her clutch and pulls out a cough drop.

He takes it and starts to put it in his pocket, but she clucks her tongue at him. "It's not going to do a lot of good in there."

"Here," I chime in, taking the lozenge from him. "Let me help." I unwrap it and pop it between his surprised lips.

His mother beams. "What a sweet girl you are. Please, call me Marjory."

"Marjory, it's such a pleasure to meet you," I respond. "Seeing what a nice person you are now, I wish I'd asked him to introduce us sooner!"

She blushes. "You're such a dear. All right, let's get ourselves seated."

One of the two ushers shows us to a pew on the bride's side. As we sit down, Scott begins to crunch down on the lozenge.

His mother rolls her eyes. "Scott, dearest, what good is it going to do if you don't suck on it?" She dives into her purse again.

"Yes, honey, what good is it going to do if you don't suck on it?" I ask innocently.

He chokes for real this time.

The man next to Marjory, who I assume is Scott's father, reaches over and pounds him on the back. "Swallow, then breathe, son."

Scott's eyes are streaming, but he manages a nod.

Marjory comes up with another lozenge. "Here you are, dearest. This time, suck on it. It doesn't work unless you suck on it until it's done."

A thousand dirty thoughts cross my mind, and I'm sure all of them are reflecting in my eyes as Scott takes the new lozenge. He ends his last cough on a gulp, then pops the lozenge in his mouth.

"Remember," I tease in his ear. "You have to suck on it until it's 'done.'"

"I am so getting you back for this," he murmurs, the lozenge clicking against his teeth.

"I'm looking forward to it." I grin.

The music starts, and we put our friendly war aside. For now.

I expected the ceremony would be beautiful. I didn't expect to get teary-eyed at the I do's, but hell, I'm an artist. Sometimes things just affect me.

"Oh, my dear, here you go," Marjory says between her own sobs, handing me a tissue.

I dab my eyes. Scott squeezes my hand, giving me the most tender look. At least he doesn't think I'm hamming it up. I like that he knows I'm being sincere.

After the bride and groom kiss and make their way down the aisle, we all start filtering out, passing through the receiving line. I get to Scott's cousin Janet, the bride, and she stops me, gripping my hand. "You're Scott's girlfriend, aren't you?"

"Yes," I reply, nervously watching the guests build up behind me. "I'm Harper."

"I'm Janet. Well, you probably know that already. I love your dress," she says, looking me up and down. "You are so pretty!"

"Not as pretty as you. You look amazing," I gush back. A bride should always be the prettiest one around on her wedding day.

She smiles, making her look positively radiant. "It took hours. But I think I turned out all right. You've been dating Scott for a few months, right?"

The line has become a traffic jam behind me. "Yeah, a few months. Um... shouldn't you be greeting the other guests? I don't want to be a bother."

"Pfft. They can wait. It's my wedding day." She winks at me. "Scott never told me what you do. Are you a student? You look awfully young. Scott is thirty-one, you know?"

"Uh, I'm older than I look. Twenty-five," I reply. "I have a Master's degree and everything. I'm an artist. Mostly, I work in oil paint."

Janet squeals. "That is so cool!"

"Janet," Scott interjects. "You really do have to greet the other guests before they start to mutiny."

She huffs at him but finally lets go of my hand. "We'll talk later," she promises me.

"Sure, sounds great." I let Scott hustle me along through the rest of the line and out to his pick-up.

"My family really likes you." He smiles at me.

"Yeah, thanks for the heads up," I snort.

He blushes. "Sorry. I forgot to tell you."

"Big thing to miss." I give him an evil smile. "Did you suck on it until it was 'done'?"

"Oh, baby," he purrs back as he starts the truck. "I'm just getting started." He winks at me, and my stomach tightens into a ball of fire.

Oh my.

* * *

Scott

I've never been as bold in my life as I am with Harper. That lozenge banter was something I don't know whether to thank or curse my mother for because, not only am I thinking about things I could be sucking on instead of a lozenge, but I'm thinking about things Harper could be sucking on as well. Fuck, there is nothing I'd like better than tangling my hand in that ocean of rose gold waves while she bobs up and down on my dick.

"Problem again?" Harper asks innocently as we pull into the parking lot for the Wexford at Emerald Greens Golf Course.

I look down at the bulge in my pants and shrug, trying to be nonchalant. "Guess so."

"I guess I'm leaving you in the truck then," she teases, starting to open her door.

I reach across her to close it. The scent of lilacs tickles my nose and does not help my situation one bit. "You really want to go in there without me? My family will be all over you."

Harper taps her chin as though she's considering it.

"Please," I beg. "Don't leave me here like this."

"I won't. I was just kidding," she replies. She looks down at my bulge again.

"Harper, that's not helping." I sigh.

"Sorry." She looks out the window as the other guests get out of their cars and head into the venue. "We can't stay out here forever. Can't you think of granny panties or something?"

"Even if you were wearing granny panties, I'd still want you," I murmur, knowing I'm being too forward but not able to stop myself.

She smiles at me, which only makes the situation worse. Then she starts fumbling in her purse.

"Please don't be going for a lozenge," I groan.

"I'm not." Instead, Harper pulls out a sealed packet of tissues.

I raise an eyebrow. "What's that for? Are you afraid the reception's going to get to you too?"

"It probably will," she replies. "But that's not what I'm pulling them out for." She peels open the packet and pulls out three tissues.

"What are you...?" I ask, then trail off. "Harper, if you're thinking of helping me out, you have to know, you really don't have to do that."

She flashes me a coy smile. "I know I don't have to, and I don't want you to think I'm some sort of a slut who usually does shit like this on the first date. But you and I have a connection, don't we?" She sets the tissues aside.

I nod, unable to speak at the moment as her tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip.

"Well, then, Scott, if you're willing, I'm happy to help you out."

"Okay..." I manage to verbalize. My eyes just about bugging out of my head as Harper reaches over and unzips my pants.

"Damn, this problem is bigger than I thought," she mumbles, fishing my dick out of my boxers.

I can't breathe. "Shit!"

Harper grips my cock and starts stroking it from base to tip. At first, I manage to take a look around the parking lot, noting we're secluded, but then, I can't concentrate on anything else at all. This girl is amazing, and I really want to kiss her while she strokes my cock, but I also don't want to interfere.

"Oh... God... Harper..." I moan, my head arching back against the headrest.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," she murmurs, sliding her hand faster and harder up and down my shaft.

I grab the tissue from the console just in time to keep my pants and her dress from getting cum-stained. "Fuuuuuck."

She releases my dick. "There. Problem solved."

I'm still panting and seeing sparks at the edge of my vision. "Holy fuck."

"Ready to go in now?" she asks.

I swallow hard. "Just give me a minute. Some sexy lady just had her hand on my dick."

"Wonder who that could have been?" She grins.

Once I'm calm and have put myself back together, we're able to trickle in with the last of the guests into the Wexford.

"There you are!" Janet pounces on us the minute we're inside. "I've been wanting to do the bouquet toss."

"Before dinner?" I ask, confused.

"The caterer went to the wrong venue, so we're making it up as we go until they get here," Janet confides.

"Oh. Sorry to hear that," I reply.

Janet shrugs. "Weddings, am I right?" She waves Harper over to the gaggle of other women waiting for the bouquet toss. "One... two..." she calls with her back turned.

I know it's a setup the second Janet yells, "THREE!" and the women all part to the sides. Except a very confused Harper who is left holding the bouquet.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Janet squeals as though this is a surprise. "Now, if only Scott could catch the garter."

I sigh inwardly as Conner, Janet's husband, winks at me. I'm definitely going to be catching the garter, whether I want to or not. But then, everyone thinks Harper and I have been dating for a few months. They think this is a cute way to get us 'thinking about the future.'

Before I know it, garter banded around my arm, I'm dancing with Harper, the bouquet clutched between our joined hands.

"I thought the bride and groom were supposed to have the first dance," Harper whispers to me as "Love Me Tender" plays over the DJ's loudspeakers.

"Janet is nothing if not unconventional and a hopeless romantic," I reply. Tired of the hard stems between our hands, I twirl us past a nearby table and drop the bouquet onto it. "For that matter, they may have danced before we even came inside."

"That's true." She gives me a nefarious grin. Then, to my surprise, Harper lays her head on my shoulder. "Thanks for putting the flowers down. That thing was getting uncomfortable."

"I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable." I smile down at her. "Though, I do have a question."

She looks up. "What question?"

"How would you feel about staying at my place tonight?" I ask. Or rather blurt. I grimace. Smooth, Scott. Real smooth.

Harper regards me with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she grins. "Well, I don't think either of us have sucked on it until it's 'done' yet."

I bark out a laugh. "Is that a yes?"

She goes up on her toes and presses those perfect pink lips against mine. I gasp and press her to open, which she does. When we finally come up for air, she murmurs, "What do you think?"