Suddenly You. Sarah Mayberry

because I’m not taking your money.”

      For a split second Pippa almost caved. Almost. But then she thought about how desperate she’d felt this week, and how relieved and pathetic she’d felt when Harry had shown up last night. She didn’t want to be a damsel in distress. She needed to be strong, for both her and Alice’s sake. That was what getting her Diploma of Education was all about. That was why it was so important that Harry let her pay her way.

      “You know what Mick Jagger says. You can’t always get what you want,” she said.

      Then she stuffed the envelope down the front of his shorts and swiveled on her heel, but not before she saw the shock on his face. She raced out the door. She figured she had the shortest of leads before he came after her. Sure enough, she was nearing the car when she heard him calling her name.

      She scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the keys into the ignition and hit the locks. Harry strode toward her, looking for all the world like an escapee from Gladiator.

      “Sorry,” she mouthed as she reversed out of the driveway.

      HARRY STOPPED IN his tracks, hands on his hips, a pissed/resigned expression on his face. She hoped the resigned part signaled he would accept her money.

      She glanced in the rearview mirror to find that Alice was awake again, her blue eyes taking in the world. A smile crept onto Pippa’s face, quickly turning into a grin.

      She’d stuck a wad of cash down Harry’s pants. She probably needed to get out more, but it was the most outrageous thing she’d done in months. Possibly even years. And it felt good.

      You do need to get out more.

      She was still buzzing with triumph when she turned onto her own street. Then she realized that the butterflies-doing-a-lap feeling was still there and in a flash of insight understood it wasn’t nervousness. Not by a long shot.

      It was excitement—because she’d seen Harry.

      That quickly her goofy smile was gone, as was the feeling of triumph.

      Harry was Steve’s best friend. Furthermore, he was as feckless, as childish, as immature as her ex. Another overgrown teenager who viewed life as a big amusement park.

      She didn’t want to be excited about seeing him. God, no.

      She parked and got Alice out of the car. As it had the other night, holding her daughter’s warm, soft body grounded her. Alice was the ultimate invitation to live in the now, to experience only this present moment. Rubbing her cheek against her daughter’s, Pippa let whatever silliness had gripped her this afternoon slide away.

      Harry was not someone to get excited about. Lovely and funny and generous as he was.

      It’s hardly going to be a problem. There’s no reason on earth for you to see him again now your car is fixed and the money sorted.

      She should have felt relieved, but she didn’t. She felt disappointed, which went to show that she really was an idiot.

      HARRY RETURNED TO the garage. The envelope with Pippa’s money lay on the floor where he’d dropped it—after he’d pulled it out of his pants.

      Now, that was a move he hadn’t seen coming. In fact, he still couldn’t quite believe she’d done it.

      Briefly he toyed with the idea of going after her, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in her money. He imagined himself chasing her down, backing her into a corner until she was forced to take the envelope back. She’d protest, no doubt, but he’d look into those rich chocolate-brown eyes of hers and—

      He bent and collected the money, pushing it into his pocket and turning away from the thought that had been about to insinuate itself into his head.

      It wasn’t quite so easy to ignore he had the beginnings of a hard-on, however. All because of a schoolboy fantasy that involved Pippa and a hard wall.

       What is going on with you?

      It was a good question. He wasn’t sure what the answer was. Pippa wasn’t the sort of woman he usually went for. She was older, for starters. Smarter, too. Then there was the not-insignificant fact she was a mother.

      He gave himself a mental shake. It didn’t matter why he liked Pippa or how different she was from his usual type. The important thing was that she was Steve’s ex, and therefore officially off-limits.

      As if his thoughts had conjured him, he heard the distinctive, low rumble of Steve’s new truck pull into the drive. Guilt stabbed at him, but he rejected it instinctively. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

      Yet.

      And it was going to stay that way, because Steve was one of his oldest friends.

      He reached for his T-shirt and pulled it on as he exited the garage. Steve was sliding from the cab of his shiny red truck, a six-pack under his arm.

      “Yo. What’s up?” he called out. He was dressed in board shorts and a loose tank, his hair held back by a pair of sunglasses pushed high on his forehead.

      “You been out today?”

      “Hell, yeah. Suicide was going off,” Steve said, naming a brutal surf beach farther south on the peninsula. “You should have come, man.”

      Harry shrugged. He’d been through this with Steve during that morning’s phone call. “Mel needed my help with installing the rose arbors.”

      Steve tugged a can free from the plastic ring holding it to the six-pack, passing it to Harry. “Don’t know why Mr. Richy-Rich doesn’t hire a bunch of muscle to do it all for him. Not like he can’t afford it.”

      “Flynn likes getting his hands dirty,” Harry said, shrugging to let Steve know that he didn’t want to get into yet another conversation about what Steve would do if he had the Randall millions at his disposal. The truth was, Harry’s brother-in-law never flaunted his wealth and Harry had long ago stopped thinking of him as anything other than a good friend and the man who’d made his sister smile again.

      “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what are we up to tonight? The Pier? Or do you want to hit the Portsea pub for a change, crash at Nugga’s place?”

      Harry led the way inside. “Not fussed. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

      Steve sat on the couch and propped his legs on the table, crossing them at the ankles. “You think that little blonde chick will be working at the Pier tonight? The new girl?”

      “Who knows?”

      “If I had to give her ass a score out of ten, it’d be eleven.” Steve laughed and took a pull from his beer.

      Harry drank a mouthful of his own can, his head full of everything that had happened with Pippa. He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, and he didn’t like it.

      “So, did you call that girl from last week yet?” Steve asked.

      It took Harry a beat to drag his head out of his own thoughts. “Didn’t get around to it.”

      Steve made a disgusted sound. “Dude. What’s wrong with you?”

      “You want her number, it’s yours.”

      Steve paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Seriously? You’re not going to call her?”

      Harry shook his head.

      “Bloody hell. Never thought I’d live to see the day. You losing it in your old age, mate? Having trouble getting it up?”

      “Thanks for the touching concern, asshole, but everything is in perfect working order.”

      Steve laughed and reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. “Did you catch any of the cricket today?”

      Harry paused before answering, unable to shake the sense of unease dogging him. He felt like he was holding back.