Unbelievable fell short as a description for what happened last night went with Harper. I denied the truth that she'd tied me down to my own damn bed to every nosy housemate who'd asked, which was eight guys who sat around the dining room table for breakfast.

Silently, I just shook my head and bit back the stupidass grin that threatened to make its presence known. Internally though, heat rose under my skin because she hadn't restrained my body, just fucking worshipped it.

The erection I'd woken up with this morning was beyond painful. Even after I'd stroked myself off at the memory of last night's round, both in bed then again in my post-Sunday workout shower, the relief was short-lived. My cock inflated every time I remembered the hot, textured treatment from her mouth and tongue in contrast to the cold bite of ice.

Although I could've lived without the one she shoved up my ass.

I should count my blessings that she didn't leave my ass tied to the bed.

What happened after we got out of my bed reminded me that I had more important matters I needed addressed today, intentions that were beyond past due. While I sat upright and disposed of the condom, Harper used the hallway bathroom. When my bedroom door opened, she surprised me when she returned in a pair of gray and white flannel pajamas. The sight released a stronger rush of sensations in my chest that crashed as soon as she held up one hand like she reassured me.

"Don't worry, I'm not staying. My roommate's gone but I'm going to crash when I get back."

Her words stung like she'd slapped me. The invitation that she stayed hung in my eyes as I watched while she slipped on her shoes. She noticed because she leaned over, pressed her lips against mine, and thanked me for indulging her. A loud sigh lifted my chest when the door clicked behind her.

Obviously, I have a lot more work ahead of me.

"I'm taking you out on a date tomorrow."

My words echoed through my mind as I tapped my fingers against the hood of my car. The early Sunday afternoon sun hung overhead and warmed the top of my head and forearms while I waited outside Harper's dorm room.

I'd practically rammed those words into her ear and even though she'd responded with an unenthusiastic, "Fine," I wasn't entirely sure Harper showed up.

Before I drove over here, I texted her and recommended comfortable walking shoes and casual clothes. I wasn't entirely sure how much of Los Angeles Harper had experienced but assumed time out of her dorm room and my bedroom was good for the both of us.

My heart thumped faster when Harper exited her dorm room, even with her head dipped down like she performed a walk of shame. "Hey," I called out and got a tight smile and grunt in response.

She's here though, take the small victory.

In addition to making sure Harper hadn't ghosted me for the date, I drove today because she wasn't the most... patient driver. I was pretty sure she was already frustrated with LA's traffic because every transplant here hated it initially.

Date-wise, I'd considered that Harper and I spent this afternoon at the beach. The Santa Monica Pier area reminded me a little of Santa Cruz but was much more crowded so I'd decided we needed a trip to downtown LA. Hiking or biking she wouldn't have enjoyed and while she might have been interested in a celebrity house or movie lot studio tour, today I'd arranged that we saw a different part of Los Angeles.

Twenty minutes later, the two of us stood inside LA Underground Tours. The small, ground-level business in a building downtown took me longer to find a parking spot for than the actual place.

"We're... going into the sewers." Harper stared up at me.

The way her eyebrows and nose scrunched together, she couldn't have been less impressed with my alternative. By the muscular, tanned guy with curly brown hair and brown eyes who'd stared at her with fuck-me eyes since we first walked inside, I also second-guessed my choice.

"Not exactly," Brian, as his nametag read, chuckled and crossed his extremely ripped arms over his broad chest. A wide, white-toothed smile broke out on his overly puffy lips. My jaw clenched tighter at how his pupils enlarged the longer he puppy-eye gazed at her. "It's a tour of the original, historical heart of the city. We'll see -"

"Educational shit," Harper filled in with a dry, biting voice but her lips curled up slightly at the corners.

"Maybe a little." Brian tipped his head back and laughed louder than necessary at her sarcasm.

"A hundred years ago, LA looked completely different." He pointed a large finger at a hand drawn city layout on the wall behind the register desk. "The tight streets were so congested that locals burrowed underground for transportation alternatives. We'll tour some tunnels that were used by streetcars, moving cash, and even illegal liquor during the Prohibition. LA was corrupt as shit back then."

"So..." Harper's eyes lifted up to me. "We're going underground. How long is this tour?"

"Two and a half hours." Brian's chest puffed up, but his boasting only earned him a slight throat strangulation sound from Harper.

"Two and a half hours," she echoed in a flat voice but aimed a clear 'kill me now' look at me.

"At least we won't be seen in public together?" I offered with a bitten back smile.

Apparently, I'd said the right words because Harper's eyes flicked back to Brian. "Sign us up."

Thirty minutes later and two signed consent forms that we never revealed the speakeasies' true locations, Harper and I stood at the back of a group of about twenty-five people. Given the fanny packs and cameras already poised before we left the tour shop, I assumed most people were tourists. Thankfully, despite a few curious eyes, either no one recognized me or they were too polite.

Once we left the tour shop, Brian's eyes shifted over in our direction from where he walked within the middle of the pack. As if I moved on autopilot, I slipped my hand into Harper's. Her entire arm tensed next to me and she shot me a skeptical look from under her lashes, but I just threaded our fingers together.

"Can't you wait until we're, you know, underground?" she mumbled and tugged her hand gently back, but I gripped it tighter.

"Nope." I grinned at Brian's disappointed expression.

Over the next one hundred and fifty minutes, which Harper jokingly counted down, we actually saw some pretty cool shit. Within dark, musty, giant barrel-shaped tunnels made from old brick and concrete from the 1930's, we saw a speakeasy hidden behind a bank vault-like door.

Even Harper looked interested when we passed another underneath a former piano store where cops illegally drank. It still had a dumbwaiter, rusted over knife sharpener attached to the counter, and an opening that linked it to other secret underground bars.

"All this shit, right under everyone's noses," she murmured and threw me a smirk.

Contrary to Brian's below-only tour pitch, we also walked above ground in the downtown part of the city. He steered us through the historically preserved part, even after new businesses moved in. Both of our eyes glazed over during the architectural details and DTLA art galleries but the street art murals were pretty sweet.

Honestly, I spent more of the tour with my eyes on Harper than the interest points. Once both our palms grew too sweaty, we dropped our linked hands but her shoulders stayed relaxed. The few times she smiled, it was contagious.

"Please tell me there's no more walking," she groaned quietly and rolled her ankles once we sat in my car afterwards.

"Nope, just eating," I assured her, which she smiled at. "And talking."

As expected, her smile twisted into a scowl. "Fuck."

A chuckle vibrated my chest. "Afterwards, if you want."

When she turned her head away, I swallowed against the dryness that crept into my mouth.

That might be a big if, after she hears what I have to say.

"So..." I coughed lightly. "Hope this works."

As I sat across from Harper at a simple wood table with a white tablecloth, she shifted back and forth in her seat. Her eyes looked anywhere but mine and I couldn't help but be amused at how uncomfortable she was on a date in public.

Not that she was much better on our first one.

To ease Harper into us going out, I'd brought her to Carlitos Gardel, a local Argentinian steakhouse on Melrose Ave. It was crowded with a waitlist, but far enough off campus that I was only recognized by the owners Gerard and Max. I'd spoken with them when I'd made the reservation and, USC fangirling aside, they stayed discreet while we entered through the back door and sat outside on their private dining terrace.

Carlitos was expensive but Mom had placed a few hundred dollars in an envelope in my car's glove box before she left. She texted me once she arrived home and her 'use this on Harper' note scrawled on the envelope verified that Harper was behind Mom's flights for yesterday's game.

With Harper's pride, she hadn't even admitted to me that she helped out Mom. In return, Mom's pride wouldn't have her not do something in return.

Even after Harper had walked around DTLA for three hours, she still looked amazing. When we were in high school, in her moments of self-defiance, she highlighted her blonde hair in all kinds of colors like a mood ring. She'd stopped doing that once we went to college but I wasn't sure why.

Face-to-face, I studied her appearance. The candles from the center of the table washed a warm glow over her skin, highlighted her cheekbones and collarbones, and shadows etched the tension in her neck and shoulders.

Her naturally light blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that screamed for my fist wrapped around it while I drilled my cock deep into her. Those light blue eyes, which reminded me of the sky, looked striking against the dark eye makeup and liner she'd applied on the drive up here.

As I studied her slumped shoulders from across the table, I saw more than her exterior. My eyes moved past the black leggings that hugged her long legs and cupped her ass where I wanted my hands. Beyond the sleeveless red shirt that flashed the skin on her shoulders perfect for my teeth to sink into, the way they curled inward showed Harper's discomfort.

It wasn't how her clothes accented her curves, she just looked... pretty.

The idea that she put in effort to look nice put an unfamiliar feeling in my chest, which was completely snuffed out when reality hit me.

Too bad I can't even tell her or she'll just bust my balls over a simple compliment.

To test that theory, I dragged my eyes over her appearance. "You look pretty, Harper."

Her eyes flipped sideways elsewhere in the restaurant and she scoffed, either at my words or the fact a hand-holding couple sat at every table around us. "You don't need to say that shit. You already know that you're getting laid afterwards no matter what, remember?"

I handed her a drink menu with a raised eyebrow. "I assume you need this?"

"Just to take the edge off," she replied in a tight, hesitant voice and skimmed her eyes over the options.

Once our server, Max himself, arrived, I ordered water and she went with a glass of white house wine. He nodded and shifted his eyes towards mine, "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?"

I shouldn't have been surprised when Harper handed her food menu to Max. "Hongos Rellenos and Bife de Lomo, medium well please."

"Very good." He nodded and turned his eyes to me. "And for you, Mister Harrison?"

"I..." My chest rumbled with a chuckle. "Was going to get the same, although I was going to call it a mushroom starter and filet mignon."

"The lady is a few steps ahead of you, Sir." Max winked at me. "How would you like that cooked?"

"Well done," I nodded and handed him my menu.

After he bowed out, my eyes met the amusement that sparkled in Harper's at Max's comment, which faded when her eyes met mine. Just like before he'd approached the table, she squirmed slightly in her seat.

"This place is hella expensive," she muttered quietly. "Sixty-eight dollars for one fucking steak?"

"Dinner's on me," I assured her with a sharp exhale because I'd had the same reaction when I saw the prices. "Payback from Mom over your plane ticket arrangement."

Harper looked away and just lifted her shoulders again. "Even at my expense, she should be at your home games." A smile curved up her lips when she looked at me out of the corner of her eyes, "Although I prefer the version of your face hidden by your helmet."

"What happened to you, Harper?" I blurted out the words before I realized how forward they were. "We had fun on the tour, so why is this so terrible?"

"If you want me to remember all the reasons you've given me to hate you, Jake." Her eyes narrowed at me but the smile that tugged on her lips revealed she still teased, "Then I'll end our agreement before the drinks arrive."

Thankfully, two glasses of water and Harper's wine glass slid in front of us because I gathered my thoughts for a few moments. A sense of guilt flooded through me at her words because she, more than anyone, had very valid reasons to hate me.

I'm also an idiot for how long I've ignored them.

I ignored the sting that erupted as I bit down on the inside of my cheek. The longer I studied Harper's forced half-smile, a heaviness sat on my chest like a three-hundred-pound gorilla.

I was a bigger asshole to her than she ever deserved.

The words she long past deserved slipped out of my mouth, "Harper, I'm sorry."

My apology froze Harper in her seat. Her eyes stayed averted, so I reached over and touched the back of her hand with my fingers. She flinched at the contact and withdrew her hand to her lap, but her eyes lifted and locked on mine. My chest tightened when I realized the obvious fact.

She deserves more than three words.

I swallowed tightly, then admitted in a firm, steady voice, "I was stupid, selfish, and had a lot of anger issues over the years we've known each other. You were the first person I cared about that I treated like shit and... I'm really sorry. If I could go back to when we were fourteen, then I'd kick my own ass for what I did to you."

Harper leaned back in her seat for a moment, like my words had slammed into her. Given my rushed-out word vomit, I couldn't blame her surprise and mentally braced myself for her reaction. I might've also slipped one hand between my legs and braced for a physical retaliation that I deserved.

"And here I thought hard-ons were your only personal growth," she finally replied quietly. Her eyes were serious, for once, when she asked what I knew was a diversion question, "Are you still in therapy?"

Disappointed that she avoided my apology, I shook my head at her question. "As part of my arrangement with USC after I beat the shit out Ryder, I attended anger management classes. After my first two years with no incidents and all other requirements met, the Athletic Department dropped their end of our deal. To keep self-improving, I changed from classes and one-on-one sessions to weekly group sessions led by a counselor."

"I used to go every Tuesday night." I looked directly at her because, unlike others who had their valid reasons, therapy was a subject I wasn't ever embarrassed about. "Until they kicked me out three weeks ago."

All those years since Ellie was sexually assault our freshman year of high school, I'd thought I needed to be proactively tough and protective.

All I ended up being was an asshole with a powder keg temper who looked for the right spark.

Hindsight was everything but I'd found physical exertion helped. During the off-season, my workouts included boxing just as much as football training. The therapy sessions had helped me shift my focus inward and addressed my anger issues. Their tools, like the journals, kept my head clear. Almost like a side effect, my temper had evened out and became a lot more manageable.

Still a work in progress but leaps ahead of where I'd been in high school with Harper.

"Ellie's proud of you," Harper's mumbled words pulled me out of my thoughts. "She told me last year that you didn't have to keep going after sophomore year."

"It wasn't required." I shook my head a few times. "Once the team became mine during my third year, they let me drop the therapy from my scholarship conditions. But I figured my thick head needed as much help as I could get."

From across the table, her eyes glassed over slightly and a lazy smile pulled across her lips. "What?"

"Have you been smashed in the head too many times?" Her head cocked sideways slightly and by the serious look on her face, she wasn't kidding. "I never thought I'd hear the infamously hotheaded Jake Harrison admit those words."

"I deserve that." I admitted with a sigh. My hand covered hers, which curled into a fist but tucked perfectly into my palm. Since I wanted the topic steered back to my apology, I redirected back, "Harper, I was shit to you more times than I can count, and you deserved none of them. One of the reasons I wanted to take you out and talk is to let you know that I'm sorry."

"I'm sure I deserved more than none of them," she muttered and again withdrew her hand, but her eyes stayed on mine this time. "Save your breath, mouth-breather. If anything, I should thank you for breaking my stupid, naïve fourteen-year-old heart."

I... broke her heart?

My stomach clenched hard, like she'd kneed me right in the balls. Sparing the details, she'd done that before, more than once, and her words felt almost as painful. The situation was worse than I'd realized and her reaction drew my eyebrows together. "You can't mean that."

At the time, I couldn't see Harper for anything but my own selfish mistakes that I'd abandoned my younger sister at a party. I'd also unfairly hurled all my initial anger and guilt at her, plus the embarrassment after I'd charged fist-first after Ryder that night. Even drunk, he'd easily beaten my ass.

"No, seriously." She elbowed the table and cupped her chin in her palms. "You taught me early on that I shouldn't get too attached with my feelings. There's value in having that detachment, you know."

My stupidity caused her detachment... That's why Ellie pushed me so hard to apologize.

A sinking feeling spread inside my chest. "Harper -"

"If I say I accept your apology, then can we please talk about anything else?" Anger and annoyance appeared in her eyes, but behind them I saw a flicker of uncertainty. For that reason alone, I knew I'd pushed too far and changed the subject.

"Fine." I flashed up my hands in surrender. Even though Ellie had told me Harper was doing a certification program in UCLA's School of Law, I wanted the answer from her. "Why are you at UCLA?"

Harper's flat, almost bored voice sounded like she was on an interview, not a date. "Transferred for the paralegal program. It's five months but I'm no Ellie with school so we'll see."

I leaned back in my seat for the mental calculations. If Harper needed an extra semester, or even year, to finish her program, then she either finished a semester earlier than me or when I did. USC had me redshirt my freshman year and I earned the starting quarterback position in my third year. That meant I'd be at USC for five years instead of four, the last three of which the powerhouse Trojans' football team was mine to lose.

Despite being the backup and riding the bench a lot my first two years, I'd used the 'free' time wisely. I learned the offensive plays, bulked up on my strength and conditioning, and prioritized my classes, studying, and homework. Most importantly, I went through a very painful self-improvement process with my anger issues.

With the help of people more qualified than me, I learned that my anger was just a front that suppressed the other painful emotions I'd hidden - guilt, pain, and sadness - for years after what happened to Ellie. The same anger blinded any possible trust I'd have that Logan wouldn't treat her badly.

I needed months of therapy before I admitted my faults and even months more before I learned how to let them go. But I was desperate, after I'd reached my breaking point senior year of high school. All my lifelong dreams that I'd worked towards - USC, the NFL, and financial security - were taken away in one moment of angry, stupid retribution where I punched Ryder until he was unconscious with three broken ribs.

Since then, I still had moments where my anger flared up, but my counselors hadn't given up on me. They'd taught me coping mechanisms with healthier outlets than my fists pummeled into someone's face.

Harper knew none of my struggles, since I'd shared very little with Ellie. Both of them had called me out on my anger and intercepted me when all I'd seen was red. I hadn't shared how the fact that both of them deserved a better version of me in their lives was a big inspiration whenever I'd wanted to quit therapy.

One look at Harper reminded me, almost as painfully, how I'd neglected improving my personal relationships. I had a long line of girls I'd fucked over, literally, but she was first in that line and by far the worst in terms of how I'd treated her as a person.

I probably don't even deserve to breathe the same airspace as her right now.

"I think you've stopped listening but depending on how this certification program goes," Harper redirected my thoughts back to the actual conversation, her. "I transferred my Cabrillo credits to UCLA. I could also go back and finish my bachelor's degree, but I'm not excited about that option."

"I'm listening. So, if you did that..." I looked across the table at her. "We might graduate around the same time."

"You know..." Her head slanted slightly as stared at me. "I have no idea what your major is."

"Sports Management." I chuckled down at my water glass, then lifted it for a sip. "I figured if the NFL route didn't work out then I could always go into being an agent or coaching."

"That... makes sense." Her nose slightly cringed.

"What?" My eyes dropped to the fine lines that edged her cheeks near her nostrils.

"Sounds like football is going to be in your life pretty much forever," Harper replied slowly, like she chose her words carefully.

And that right there is why this girl impresses me. She's the furthest thing from a fangirl.

Her nose relaxed when I nodded. With a slight uplift of the corners of her mouth, she added, "At least you didn't say broadcasting. You're better to look at but don't strike me as the next Rachel Sorenson."

Harper's compliment was washed out by the mention of Rachel, which pulled my jaw tighter. "Thankfully, no."

Wait, she just indirectly said -

I must have worn a dumbfounded look with that thought because she added, "Don't read into that compliment too much. If I hadn't known it wasn't a real major, then I would've guessed yours was asshole one-oh-one."

My mouth turned upwards at her lame deflection attempts. "Why paralegal though?"

Her shoulders lifted casually. "Dad hooked me up with a clerical job in the public defender's office. Seemed like a paralegal is a pretty stable, in-demand job. I could do it anywhere in California too, if I decide to stay here."

"If? Don't want to stay in California after you're done?" Given the fact we'd both lived within this state our whole lives, that news surprised me.

Or maybe that's why she wants to leave.

Again, another shrug was her response. "I'll probably stay LA-based for long enough to get some work experience. But I've kinda wanted to try something East Coast, maybe New York City. I'm probably a big enough bitch that I'd fit in there."

Before I had asked about her family ties, she offered, "There's no strings here, Dad does his own thing. I lived with him for three extra years past my high school expiration date and kinda just want to get out on my own. I say this without realizing how far a paralegal's salary goes in New York though."

"I have no doubt wherever you go, you'll be fine." While her family detachment disheartened me, I meant those words. Harper had always been independent and lived by her own rules.

Or more in the sense that she makes her own rules, then breaks them.

"Hey, hypocrite." Her eyes narrowed at me as her fingers traced the rim of her wine glass. "You opened me up, it's your turn."

A sharp exhale passed out my nose and slightly flared my nostrils. "What?"

With zero hesitation, she pounded right into the question I worried she asked, "Why does Kieran hate your guts now?"

Dryness crept up the back of my throat and my palms dampened as I squeezed the tips of my fingers into them. I drew in a slow, deep breath. I wasn't worried that Harper changed her opinion of me, but by how much.

Fuck, this is not going to go over well.