Read Online Closer Than They Appear by Jess Riley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jess Riley
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cranky looks.
“Ah, you found my weakness,” Harper finally conceded, feeling magnanimous and brave and totally unlike the kind of person who used to wait for phone calls or cry after one too many glasses of wine.
Natalie ordered a Skinnygirl Tangerine Vodka and seltzer, with a lime wedge, because she was on Weight Watchers again. “So what brings you out tonight, Sam?” she breezily asked He Who Shan’t Be Named, temporarily forgetting her commitment to his nickname (or making a point of it, Harper couldn’t tell).
“Ah, you know, the usual. It’s too nice to stay home.”
“Translation: I’m too young and single to stay home,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow. “So who are you here with?” she added.
“Chase, Dylan, Tyler and some girl Chase just started dating.” Natalie used to call Tyler “Ugly Adam Levine.” Most of Sam’s friends had treated Harper dismissively, probably because they knew she wasn’t the only girl in his life, but Ugly Adam Levine had always been kind to her, asking her about her family, her job, the latest movie she’d streamed on Netflix. She glanced around but failed to see any of them, which made her wonder if Sam had seen her first and followed her to the back bar.
The bartender finished pouring and placed their drinks on three coasters before them. Sam handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change.
“This isn’t bad,” Harper said after sampling her beer. Natalie sipped her own drink, eyes scanning the room, still visibly annoyed.
“It’s good to see you,” Sam said. He sounded heartfelt and sincere, and he looked even better in a snug, vintage plaid shirt with mother-of-pearl inlay on the buttons. He had sand-colored hair, deep brown eyes, and a cleft in his chin like an action figure. He’d played baseball in college and still played ball on local summer leagues, giving him a lithe, muscular body somewhere between quarterback and swimmer. He had freckles on his arms as well as his back, Harper knew. She’d once taken a pen to them, connecting the dots to draw an ice cream cone.
“You, too,” Harper said, and she meant it. “How’s work? No trips this weekend?”
“No, I’m off this weekend. I’m doing the Chicago loop these days, commuter flights between Appleton and O’Hare during the week.”
“Oh. No more Atlanta?” Harper asked, careful to keep her voice steady. She noticed he was wearing the thick leather wrist cuff she’d gotten him for his birthday last June. It made him look more like the lead singer in a decent-ish cover band than a guy who ferried businessmen back and forth through the clouds all week.
“No more Atlanta,” Sam said. His eyes fell and he swirled his beer around the glass.
“Well, that’s good,” Natalie interjected loudly, her tone clipped. “Fewer things to lie about.” She looked at Harper, about to say something else when a woman in a drapey red top with shirring on the shoulders came up behind her and tapped her on the arm.
“Natalie?”
Nat spun around. It took a moment for her mood to cycle through irritated to surprised to genuinely pleased to see this person. “Sharon! Oh my gosh! I was just thinking about you.” Sharon Keating ran a small public relations consulting firm in town. Her son played with Natalie’s son Brandon on the same T-ball team. She’d recently divorced, so she tended to be out on the town more than usual these days.
Sharon leaned toward Harper and raised her voice above the din: “Mind if I steal her for a minute? I’m going to try to talk her into working for me.”
Natalie’s mouth fell open. “Really?”
“Yeah. Kim Frederick went on maternity leave, didn’t I tell you? And it looks like she’s not coming back. You minored in marketing, right?”
Natalie nodded vigorously before holding up an index finger. “Excuse me.” She turned back to Harper. “I’ll only be a minute.” She looked at Sam. “Don’t assume this means she’s going home with you.
“Ah, you found my weakness,” Harper finally conceded, feeling magnanimous and brave and totally unlike the kind of person who used to wait for phone calls or cry after one too many glasses of wine.
Natalie ordered a Skinnygirl Tangerine Vodka and seltzer, with a lime wedge, because she was on Weight Watchers again. “So what brings you out tonight, Sam?” she breezily asked He Who Shan’t Be Named, temporarily forgetting her commitment to his nickname (or making a point of it, Harper couldn’t tell).
“Ah, you know, the usual. It’s too nice to stay home.”
“Translation: I’m too young and single to stay home,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow. “So who are you here with?” she added.
“Chase, Dylan, Tyler and some girl Chase just started dating.” Natalie used to call Tyler “Ugly Adam Levine.” Most of Sam’s friends had treated Harper dismissively, probably because they knew she wasn’t the only girl in his life, but Ugly Adam Levine had always been kind to her, asking her about her family, her job, the latest movie she’d streamed on Netflix. She glanced around but failed to see any of them, which made her wonder if Sam had seen her first and followed her to the back bar.
The bartender finished pouring and placed their drinks on three coasters before them. Sam handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change.
“This isn’t bad,” Harper said after sampling her beer. Natalie sipped her own drink, eyes scanning the room, still visibly annoyed.
“It’s good to see you,” Sam said. He sounded heartfelt and sincere, and he looked even better in a snug, vintage plaid shirt with mother-of-pearl inlay on the buttons. He had sand-colored hair, deep brown eyes, and a cleft in his chin like an action figure. He’d played baseball in college and still played ball on local summer leagues, giving him a lithe, muscular body somewhere between quarterback and swimmer. He had freckles on his arms as well as his back, Harper knew. She’d once taken a pen to them, connecting the dots to draw an ice cream cone.
“You, too,” Harper said, and she meant it. “How’s work? No trips this weekend?”
“No, I’m off this weekend. I’m doing the Chicago loop these days, commuter flights between Appleton and O’Hare during the week.”
“Oh. No more Atlanta?” Harper asked, careful to keep her voice steady. She noticed he was wearing the thick leather wrist cuff she’d gotten him for his birthday last June. It made him look more like the lead singer in a decent-ish cover band than a guy who ferried businessmen back and forth through the clouds all week.
“No more Atlanta,” Sam said. His eyes fell and he swirled his beer around the glass.
“Well, that’s good,” Natalie interjected loudly, her tone clipped. “Fewer things to lie about.” She looked at Harper, about to say something else when a woman in a drapey red top with shirring on the shoulders came up behind her and tapped her on the arm.
“Natalie?”
Nat spun around. It took a moment for her mood to cycle through irritated to surprised to genuinely pleased to see this person. “Sharon! Oh my gosh! I was just thinking about you.” Sharon Keating ran a small public relations consulting firm in town. Her son played with Natalie’s son Brandon on the same T-ball team. She’d recently divorced, so she tended to be out on the town more than usual these days.
Sharon leaned toward Harper and raised her voice above the din: “Mind if I steal her for a minute? I’m going to try to talk her into working for me.”
Natalie’s mouth fell open. “Really?”
“Yeah. Kim Frederick went on maternity leave, didn’t I tell you? And it looks like she’s not coming back. You minored in marketing, right?”
Natalie nodded vigorously before holding up an index finger. “Excuse me.” She turned back to Harper. “I’ll only be a minute.” She looked at Sam. “Don’t assume this means she’s going home with you.
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