Harper possessed a rare talent - she could blend two worlds that the universe swore could never coexist: her humdrum life as an accountant by day with her steamy famous alter ego crafting erotic tales online by night.
But her double life unravels in...
❝I bet you got pushed around Somebody made you cold But the cycle ends right now 'Cause you can't lead me down that road❞
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I missed the dinosaur-sex.
Not the having of it, no. But after enduring my new roommate's self-inflicted torture of playing Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Jeremy Zucker on repeat for hours every day, I'd started having a newfound appreciation for the dino-wails I'd heard coming through the walls just the week prior.
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.
My hand shook off balance, the blues on the edge of my paintbrush crushing into the wrong portion of the canvas. I stared at the thirtieth mistake I'd made in the last hour.
This was no New York skyline I was painting. This was a New York disaster.
I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake.
"Shake it off! Shake it off, ooh-ooh!"
That's it.
I threw my paintbrush back on the palette and rose to my feet, marching out of my room and down the hall to hers. I didn't bother knocking like any decent adult man would do. That was a courtesy reserved for decent adult women who weren't tone-deaf.
I twisted the door handle and threw it open, barging into her room.
"Would you turn that racket down?" I shouted, then looked around, greeted by empty air. She was no where in sight.
"Down here, chico."
My gaze fell to the floor. There was a pink yoga mat propped near the foot of her bed. And oh, she was on it. Doing butt bridges or whatever they were called.
Her hips and ass were raised in the air with her arms extending flat on the floor, neck perfectly still. Her face was red and sweaty, veins popping in her forehead as she held the position and stared at me, eyes intense with murderous concentration.
"I never miss a beat..."
She. Was. Still. Singing.
I resisted the urge to sushi roll her into the mat, carry her to the bay window in the living room, and yeet her out into the street. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the way her eyes fell to what I wore. She was fighting a smile.
"What corner of hell did you come from, lady?"
Her lips stopped twitching and her ass fell back to the floor. She sat up and took the towel off her bed, mopping her face.
"It's Harper. Not lady."
"Yeah, whatever," I muttered and moved over her to the small desk set up against the wall. I ignored her protests and closed her Spotify, welcoming the silence that followed.
