Harder by Blue Ashcroft

new car smell even though it’s probably ten years old.
    I run my hand over the dash, marveling at how different it is from the LeBaron. Doesn’t have as much character as Big Blue though. I win at character.
    He pulls up to the parking lot where Big Blue is parked and waits in silence. I don’t open the door yet. Even though he isn’t speaking, it seems like there’s something he needs to say. I wouldn’t call myself a patient person, but for some reason I give him more time than others.
    “Why not?” He stares forward, gripping the wheel with those long, hot hands and fingers.
    “Why not what?” I ask, though I think I already know where this is going. I want to avoid it, and maybe if I force him to spell it out, he’ll back off.
    “Why not us?” His deep voice sounds troubled. I’m beginning to wonder if befriending him was a mistake. I mean, sure I’ve been attracted to the dude since I first met him last year.
    And I enjoyed flirting with him, teasing him, and thinking about him. But shiz got real when he kissed me this season and I should have realized we probably couldn’t be just friends.
    “Your hair.”
    “My hair?”
    “Yeah. I don’t do long hair, it’s girly.”
    He sighs. “Is that all? If I cut it, would you want me?”
    I sigh and slump against the door. “Probably not. You aren’t my type.”
    “Not badass?”
    “It’s not that. It’s just, you’re too nice for me.”
    He proves my point by studying me with gorgeous, concerned green eyes. Eyes that can look that soft have no place in my life or my bedroom. Everything in my life has been hard. I’d probably crush something soft.
    “Too nice? Isn’t that a good thing?”
    “Not always,” I say. “Sometimes nice is just misleading. I’d prefer someone who is just bad from the start. No disappointments.”
    He rubs his forehead with both hands. “What if they aren’t bad at all?”
    “Then they are probably too good for me.”
    “I doubt it,” he mutters. “I think you’re wrong.”
    “Well guess what, you don’t get to say I’m wrong. It’s my feelings and my feelings are just as valid as yours. Especially about myself. More valid, even.”
    I open his car door but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off and get out of the car. He also gets out, and I can hear his footsteps following me over to Big Blue.
    I lean on my door and fold my arms. He’s followed me long enough. We’ll settle this here.
    “I don’t get it. You’re happy with me.” He folds his arms and glares down at me. His hair is back in a ponytail and his face looks sharper. His nose is long and masculine above full lips, but his eyes are really the stars of his face. Almond shaped with long brown lashes. They’re narrowed at me now, making his eyes a deeper green, almost a forest green.
    I’ve been told my eyes are like mirrors, if so, his right now are like a forest.
    Unending and protected and natural and slightly scary.
    “You’re happy with me,” he says again, studying my face.
    “I know. That makes you all wrong for me. I don’t do happy.” I try to turn to my door and he cages me off.
    “What’s wrong with happy? Isn’t that the point of life?”
    “I missed that memo.”
    “But aren’t you happy here? At work? That’s why you do it?”
    “I don’t know what world you live in, but I do it for money. I do it to pay rent. I do it so I have a roof over my head. Because I’ve been without one before. Not that you would know anything about that, born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”
    He’s silent, and his eyes close, then open with sadness that I know is caused by my words.
    “I’m sorry, that was rude,” I murmur.
    “It’s not that. It’s just, you didn’t have a home?”
    “No, I didn’t. My mistake though. Don’t depend on anyone else, and you can’t be let down. Now I pay for my own house. I’ll never be out in the cold ever again.”
    He frowns, trying to process it. “I don’t—”
    I