Giving In (The Sandy Cove Series Book 1) by M.R. Joseph

here.
I know being a nice guy may be new to you, but you better try, if
your genitals know what’s good for them.”
    This chick is scary, and if I don’t make Harlow
stay, I’ll be afraid to go to sleep at night.
    I take a deep breath in, as I pass two very
pissed off broads, and make my way to Harlow’s door. I reach it and
quietly knock a few times. This is really not my thing, but here
goes nothing.
    I hear her faintly tell me or whomever she
thinks it is to come in.
    I slowly turn the knob and make my way in. She’s
turned so her back is to me and the rest of her is in her closet,
taking out items of clothing. A large suitcase is on her bed, open,
with a few things already in it.
    I close the door behind me and lean against it.
When she turns and sees me, she looks shocked, but surprisingly
calm. Her eyes only meet mine for a split second, and she goes back
to doing whatever she was doing. She addresses me without another
glance.
    “What are you doing here? You got what you
wanted, I’m leaving. Hope you’re satisfied.”
    Why do I suddenly feel bad? That’s not like me.
I don’t feel bad for anything. Not even homeless kittens, but when
she looks at me, I can tell she’s been crying.
    I push off the door, arms still crossed and go
to sit on the edge of her bed.
    “I’m not satisfied, actually. I’m… I’m sorry,
okay. I’ve been hard on you, and we’ve only been in each other’s
company for a few hours. I haven’t been, well, I haven’t been fair
to you.”
    She snorts and gives a small ‘ha’.
    This isn’t going as planned. I better step up my
game.
    “No, I’m serious. I’m just not used to girls
being so…” She stops me.
    “Cold?”
    And I have to agree with her. That night, as hot
as she was, she was cold as ice. I’ve bagged dozens and dozens of
girls and very few stick in my mind, she was one of the few.
    I smirk, “Yea, I guess you could say that.”
    She continues to throw shit in her suitcase,
this time with a little more gusto.
    Yikes.
    “Listen, your friends want you to stay, so does
Porter, and I’m trying to be honest with you.”
    She stops the assault on her clothing and places
her hands on her hips, giving me an amused look.
    “Well, I’m guessing that’s a first for you,
Officer Cruz.”
    I give my best one-sided smile and fiddle with
her scarf that was meant to be thrown in her suitcase, but
missed.
    When I don’t answer, she turns back to her
closet, picking up shoes and emptying hangers. I bring the scarf up
to my nose. I don’t know why. It smells like a chick. It’s soft,
silky even.
    Like a chick.
    Actually, it smells really good. I don’t
remember how she smelled that night, but I imagine that’s what this
scarf smells like. Is this what Harlow Hannum would smell like?
    Does that sound sick? Maybe.
    I throw it in her suitcase, and now I need to
plead my case.
    “Look, you’re right. I’m usually the one who’s
right in a situation, and I’m not a nice guy sometimes, but I don’t
deliberately go around hurting people.” I pause because what I want
to say next may not go over very well, but I have to try before
Morty is served on a bed of lettuce.
    “Um, your friends and Porter tell me you’ve had
a rough year and that you need a break, so I have to convince you
to stay.”
    She turns around quickly and her eyes look
weird, and she looks incredibly nervous.
    “What did they tell you about me? What did they
say? Tell me, you asshole. I need to know.” She’s close to my face,
taking a fist and punching the bed next to where I’m sitting.
    What the hell?
    “Nothing. All they said was that you had a rough
year. They didn’t get into specifics. Chill.”
    This is getting weird to me. She smooths out her
shirt and looks calmer now that she knows what her friends said.
She shuts her eyes and swallows so hard, I can hear it.
    “Fine.” She slowly reopens them, but our eyes
don’t make contact. She looks at her suitcase, stares at it, and
bites