I hope you keep enjoying this. This chapter proposes a lot of things that could become potential problems. Anyway, comment. Let me know what you think.


It seems this B- list mostly movie actress rumored to be up for an Academy Award has met her match. An A list athlete was spotted taking her to lunch. That's not all. He was seen going into her apartment and didn't come out for 2 days. Seems his A list mostly television actress ex's rumors might be valid after all.


He stands at her front door, stupidly wringing his hands together as he musters the courage to knock. He certainly wasn't invited here and he didn't offer any form of announcement that he would pop by. When he left the party the night before, he didn't think he would see her again.

Not that the night took a turn for the worse, but they hadn't quite encountered an opportunity to really get to know one another. He felt like an animal in a cage on display for everyone to see, like he was being watched by everyone in the room. Maybe it was the fact that it was her birthday. Or maybe it's because there was all of this build up between them before they ever even really met.

He tightens his gaze as if threatening the door to open or to promise good things behind it. He sighs, releasing the tension from his shoulders. He lifts his hand and knocks carefully, pointedly, on the thick door. The sound echoes down the hallway and he takes a quick look around to see if the knock has received any attention from her neighbors.

He counts to ten before the metal of the locks grind together and the door swings open. He can't help smiling at the sight of her. She pulls her cardigan more tightly around her, like she's hiding herself from him, and her lips part. His eyes impulsively travel down her frame, her long legs punctuated by a silly pant suit that would certainly capture any man's attention. He swallows and sucks in a deep breath.

"Hi," he says.

"You remember where I live," she says, forgoing the traditional greeting.

"I didn't have that much to drink last night," he replies cheekily, rocking from his heels to his toes, "Look...I was a little disappointed that I couldn't get more than just a few moments alone with you and I was hoping I could take you out for a birthday lunch."

"My birthday was last week," she says, her resolve slightly waning.

"But I didn't get you a gift," he counters reasonably.

"You just met me," she points out.

"All the more reason to say yes," he suggests. She stares at him, her shoulder against the door frame, her line of sight even keel with his own. She's intimidating and empowering at the same time. "I get that it's a huge risk to be seen in public with, well, me, but I know of this great place down the street with the worst Thai food."

"Convincing," she says, a smile playing on her lips. He tilts his head, shrugging haphazardly, and drops his hands into his pockets. He bounces from heel to toe again, passing the time while she ponders on his offer. It isn't long before she's lightly shaking her head and saying, "Let me grab my purse."

He smiles, his lucky socks seeming to have done the trick.


Once they arrive at the restaurant, a hostess shows them to a dark booth in the corner. He sits across from her, the toe of his shoe accidentally tapping against hers. He cringes apologetically, entwining his fingers together and resting them on the table in front of him. She gives him an even look.

"I'm glad you agreed to come out to lunch with me," he says.

"Of course," she replies. He pops an eyebrow up on his forehead and gives her a pointed look. She was fairly reluctant considering how well they were hitting it off at her party. She tears her gaze from his and looks down at the table where her fingers are spread out against the tabletop. She sighs, heavily. "I'm not afraid of being seen in public with you."

"You were questioning my motives," he points out.

"I wasn't," she says quickly, her eyes darting to his. Her eyes narrow on his gaze, her jaw tightening. She slowly relents, lifting her hand to her hair and brushing it out of her face while she takes a look around. "You seemed more interested in Rachel."

"That girl flirting with the bartender all night?" He elaborates, "Um, no. I like a woman with a little bit more class than that."

He watches her eyes flare up and he knows he hit a nerve. He won't apologize for calling it the way he sees it. After all, she was flirting with the married bartender right in front of his wife who was doing her damnedest to remain professional at the sight of them. He really should have said something. But he kept his mouth shut because she was Donna's friend.

"Dana Scott has no class," she says like she's just proved a point

"I'm not arguing with you on that one," he says tapping his fingers against the table, "I ended things with her for good because of what you said."

"What I said?" She asks, leaning as far back into the booth as she possibly can. She sighs and hangs her head. She takes a few moments, but she eventually throws her shoulders back and sits straighter. "Harvey, I don't want to be a pawn in whatever game you and Dana are playing."

"You're not," he says, voice lowering. He dips his head lower to force her to look at him. He pushes his hand across the table in search of hers. "I'm an honest guy, Donna."

"I know," she says with a small wave of her hand.

His gaze falls to her lips. Her lips stick together as she parts them, her mouth hanging half open. He thinks she's nervous, but he can't be too sure. Her hand returns to the tabletop, her fingers dangerously close to his.

"We weren't together," he clarifies, "I know what it looked like, but I was never in love with her."

"I like that you're honest," she replies. He spreads his fingertips apart, lightly touching hers, and he offers her a small smile. She seems nervous and it's transferring over to him. He swallows and promptly slides his tongue over his lips, wetting the cracks in them. "Do you have any skeletons in your closet, Harvey?"

"Do you?" He counters.

"I have to admit," she starts, leaning forward. She gives him a nervous energy. It leaves him unsettled, but he's too intrigued by her not to hear everything about her. She looks away and it prompts the skin between his eyes to crinkle. "I've done some things I'm not proud of."

"I'm an open book," he says.

"We all have secrets, Harvey," she replies. The sultry sound of his name falling from her lips makes a shiver skate through him. He has a few non-career destroying things that he hasn't told people about, but he wants to tell her everything.

He swallows and nods gently. He says, "Not here."


He's been very kind to her. He doesn't shy away from conversation and he's been fairly open to answer any question she asks him. She hasn't been so kind to him, yet he still insists that he walk her home. Her reluctance is directly correlated with the string of bad experiences she's had with men. She's had her fair share of sexual partners, most of which she wouldn't talk about in the realms of truth, but he doesn't seem to have the same hesitation.

She knows that he projects the kind of wholesome image that she wants in her life. Even while being an athlete, he still looks clean cut and impressive. She's never seen a bad picture of him. On paper, he's the perfect man. That's what she's always known. But Dana Scott spent years trying to tie him down to no avail. Part of her wonders if that was all him or if that was because of Dana.

Despite herself, she doesn't want to just let him walk away at her front door with knowing for sure if he's the unobtainable man. She shouldn't. She's too busy to put forth fruitless time and effort into a man too afraid to commit to anyone other than himself. She's already been tied to one of those and she doesn't need another.

He holds the door to her apartment building open for her, gesturing for her to go through before him. He's hot on her heels as they make their way to the elevator. He makes an effort to move to push the elevator button for her floor before she can. He does all of the polite gestures men forget. He paid for lunch. He pressed his hand into the small of her back as they exited the restaurant. He walked closely beside her, shoulders occasionally bumping together, which made her feel protected and extremely safe in a world that cameras are almost always pointed at her.

The elevator ride to the 15th floor, where her high rising condo resides, is a rather comfortably silent one. He seems to be letting her take the lead under the guise of gentlemanly mannerisms. He is polite. He meets every standard of him she made up in her head. She feels her neck go flush as she catches his gaze on her.

"What?" She asks, quiet, almost breathless.

"Nothing," he mutters. He smiles and slides a little closer to her. His shoulder brushes against hers and she sharply inhales. She feels his index fingers hook around hers. He says, "You're even more beautiful in person."

"Thank you," she mutters, her voice leaving her. She's been called beautiful thousands of times but it's never affected her quite like this. She shifts her gaze to the floor, looking at a particularly worn spot that sees a lot of scuffing from her neighbors.

"You're blushing," he comments. He pushes off of the back wall and turns his body more towards her. She raises her gaze to him. He lifts his free hand and sweeps his fingertips at a strand of hair on her face. She watches as he licks his lips and it prompts her to do the same. He adds, "Can I kiss you, Donna?"

"Harvey," she says, low in her throat. She looks away from him. His fingers are now on her chin, pressing against her jawline as he angles her face towards his again. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

She sighs and she turns her palm towards his. She presses her hand against his, her fingers sliding into the gaps between his fingers. She doesn't entwine their fingers, not yet, but she allows herself to give in to his eyes. Her shoulders slump slightly, her resolve faltering under the crinkles around his eyes as he smiles.

"I'm leaving for a month in just a few days," she replies.

"I know," he says with a small nod.

She lifts her free hand up into the space between them, wraps her fingers around the material of his shirt just below his right shoulder. She tells herself to be mindful of the amount of space that will be between them and the amount of time that will pass. She tells herself not to start anything that she can't see through.

"Neither of us need our heart broken," she points out. She pulls him towards her more, his hips brushing over hers with the movement, and the weight of him makes her breath hitch in her throat. He presses his hand against the wall beside her head like he's bracing himself. "We're both far too busy to deal with heartbreak."

"I like you, Donna," he replies. She can feel his breath against her lips, his nose brushing slowly over hers. She absently wets her lips, her mouth immediately parting beneath the ghost of his lips. "But if you don't like me, that's okay."

"Harvey," she replies softly, her fingers finally hooking around his, "I don't want to break your heart. I know the stress that comes with dating an actress."

"It's just a kiss," he tells her, "Just to see if we have any chemistry between us."

"I think we both know the answer to that," she mutters.

Her protests fall short as she closes the gap between them, her lips landing on his. He kisses her in return almost immediately, starting soft and slow before it becomes hungrier. His lips part against hers, his tongue quickly darting over her lips. She grants him permission, giving him access as the elevator jolts to a stop. He lands more heavily against her, his chest pressing against hers. A giggle peels out of her as their mouths part, breath still entwining between them.

"Shit," he mumbles, "You were right."

He pushes away from her, catching the door from closing with the hand that had been placed against the wall. She steps forward to exit the elevator, dragging him in the direction of her front door. He follows willingly, her arm behind her back when he gets beside her in two quick strides.

"Do you want to come inside?" She asks.

"Is that even a question?" He volleys.

Her apartment door is nearly in reach when he tugs her back towards him, turning her in the process. He presses her against the wall, immediately closing the space between them again. She catches him with fury, her nails digging into his shoulder and scratching down his arm. His hand settles on her hip, his thumb digging in to her hipbone. She shivers against him, pulling him closer.

She laughs suddenly, his mouth curving upwards in a smile. She wraps a hand around his arm, thumb settling into the crevice of his elbow. She says, "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm just usually a bit more…"

"Discreet?" He finished for her.

"Yeah," she says, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. She feels her neck and cheeks warm. She's blushing and that only embarrasses her more.

"I figured," he replies. He pulls back a little, fingers pressing against her chin and lifting her head again. His gaze connects with hers and she feels a warmth rise into the pit of her stomach. She's a fool. He pushes the hair away from her face. He says, "I like you."

"You've said that," she reminds him.

"I know," he counters with a grin, "But I don't have anything to hide with you."

She pushes her fingertips against his shoulder and gives herself some space to move. She can't help following him as he steps backwards. She feels like an idiot not letting him get too far. He looks at her with so much sincerity. She immediately trusts him. She silently chastises herself for that.

"Do you have anywhere to be?" She asks. He shakes his head. She smiles then. "Good."


He follows her inside once she's pushed the front door open, lingering just inside of the door in the entryway as she locks up behind them. He drinks in the appearance of her apartment as she silently leads him further into her space, her heels echoing in the silence of the room. It's as if a party hadn't just taken place there. The kitchen counters are pristine and the living room is spotless.

He looks up at the vaulted ceiling. He hadn't taken much interest in her apartment last night because he'd been too busy watching her smile shyly into her glass, the darkness of the room almost engulfing her if not for her light and freckled skin. The music progressively got louder as the night went on so he couldn't hear her so easily. She almost became an anomaly as the night went on.

He quickly shifts his gaze back to her. Her top forms a v shape down the middle of her shoulders, stopping midway of the clasp in her black bra. He digs his hands deep into his pockets so he doesn't give in to the urge to touch her exposed skin.

"Donna," he mutters softly. It still seems to echo throughout the room in sync with her dropping her keys and purse on her countertop. She turns and looks at him, her eyes boring in to him. He doesn't have any secrets but he's willing to tell her everything.

She finally replies, "Harvey," the octaves of her voice matching his.

"I don't have any secrets," he tells her. She nods gently, taking a step backwards as she advances further into the living room. He likes the open concept of her apartment. It isn't as bright as his but offers a sense of privacy. He feels welcomed here. "People think I'm an asshole, but I'm really not. I just hate being lied to."

He instantly thinks of his mother. He ran her off years ago when he caught her cheating on his father for the umpteenth time. He was 10. It was the worst thing he's ever done. It was the best thing he's ever done. He thinks of Scottie. She made a fool of him from the very beginning.

"I've done some things," she admits, taking a half step back, "Things that would make you hate me."

"I doubt that," he replies, almost sure that he could never hate her no matter what she told him.

"You would, Harvey," she says forcefully, "I can read people. I know what you're thinking before you even think it."

"You don't know what I'm thinking," he disagrees.

"You hate cheaters," she says with a slight tilt of her head.

"I know what you did," he says. He sighs, stepping towards her. He knows more about her than he wanted to let on. It's hard not to know everyone's dirty little secrets in show business. No one knows how to keep secrets anymore. That's why he lives his life the way he does. "You were lied to."

"I knew he was lying," she counters, "But I knew it would get me what I wanted so I went with it."

He nods and steps closer to her. The space between them is minimal. He feels out of place beside her in his jeans and Nike shoes. She looks like a vision, a star and he is a mere mortal.

"I won't hurt you, Donna," he says. She stands a few small inches shorter than him despite her heels. He lifts his hand to her cheeks then, brushing his knuckles against her cheekbone. He pushes at her hair then, tucking the loosened strands behind her ear. "Do you trust me?"

"More than I want to," she admits. He smiles in response, a little proud of himself as he throws his shoulders back and stands taller. She laughs suddenly, a soft chuckle in the back of her throat. The skin between his eyes crinkles as his eyebrows shift into a confused state on his forehead. "You just make me a little nervous."

"Me too," he agrees quietly, "I mean, you make me nervous too."

"I have done this before," she insists.

He's been with his fair share of women. They have mostly been meaningless. Scottie is the closest he ever came to anything real but they were never really anything. There was too much he hates about her. She was really good publicity for the first few months, after that they were mostly just platonic sex friends. At least on his part. But she didn't seem to take them seriously either.

He had sex with a few fangirls in his rookie days. Not to mention a few flings with actresses that put his name on the map in Hollywood. He hopes that month long thing with Allison Holt doesn't get out or else he will get the reputation as having a thing for redheads.

He swallows thickly and immediately follows it up with a grin. She makes him nervous too. He spent so long building her up in his mind that he probably holds her on a pedestal. He really doesn't want to do anything to fuck whatever is blooming between them up. He's never really been one to live in fear.

He drops his hands to her hips and steps closer, his feet settling on either side of hers. Her hands find his chest, fingers nervously tapping there against his collarbones. His eyes drift closed as she slowly slides her hands down his sternum, fingers pressing into his torso, until they slip beneath the hem of his shirt. Her nails scratch at his skin, his lips parting as he sucks in a deep breath. Her nails move past his belly button, tickling his ribcage.

He exhales slowly and he feels her lips press against his. He shudders as she drags her nails back down to the waistline of his pants. He pushes his hands to the muscles at her lower back. Her tongue flits against his, and he kisses her harder. He pushes his hands over the curve of her ass. He presses his fingers into the back of her thighs, bending slightly at his knees to lift her.

Her lips part from his when he lifts her from the ground. Her legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks. He mutters, "Bedroom?"

She gestures over his shoulder with a finger. She says, "That way."

He turns slowly, looking in the general direction she had been pointing. He steps towards the hallway, hand sliding up her spine to brace her better as she circles her arms around his neck. Her fingers trail over the nape of his neck, the hairs there standing on ends. His breathing becomes heavy and her fingers distract him.

He pushes her against the wall, his lips quickly descending upon hers. He presses his palms against the wall on either side of her, resting all of his weight on his hips as he leans into her. Her hands pull into the space between them, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his shirt. He kisses her hungrily, his bottom lip between her teeth as she softly bites at it. He sucks in a deep breath, her knuckles pressing against the erection in his pants.

He grins, his lip lightly pulsating, and braces her again as he steps back from the wall. He proceeds further down the hall. She catches a doorframe and says, "This one."

He peers around her and peaks into the bedroom. It's a lot like his but also very different. The windows are floor to ceiling, but she has the curtains drawn to a small sliver of light shining like it's directing him straight to her bed. He follows the guidance, carrying her to the bed and laying her on it. Her hair splays out across the sheets behind her head and the light hits her just right. She looks like the eighth wonder of the world. His breath catches in his throat.

He recovers, pressing his knee into the mattress between her legs and hovering over her as he pushes his button up shirt off of his shoulders. Her hands catch him, tugging at his undershirt. He helps her take the shirt off, and she tosses it aside so quickly that he almost doesn't even notice her hands have left him. Her fingers pull at the button of his pants, popping the pants open and pushing them down his hips in one fell swoop.

She kicks off her shoes as he peels her apart, starting with her top. Their clothing quickly becomes disheveled piles on the floor. As he tosses his remaining article of clothing somewhere on the floor, a sock that somehow out lasted every last article of clothing, she wraps her hand around to the back of his neck and pulls her to him. He lowers himself between her legs, his gaze trained on her face.

His hands press against the mattress on either side of her, balancing his weight so he doesn't crush her. Her fingers tap against his shoulders and slide to his collarbones. He smirks there, his mouth descending upon hers. Her lips part beneath his, receiving his kiss enthusiastically. One of her hands leaves his neck as the other one smoothly brushes over his chest.

"Hold on," she mutters, pulling her lips from his. She moves beneath him and his gaze follows the path of her arm as she reaches to her nightstand, pulling open the drawer. Her free hand pushes against his chest as she pushes herself up and moves closer to her nightstand so she can see. She closes the drawer and turns her attention back to him. He's confused. She produces a condom and smiles shyly. She says, "Protection."

"Smart," he replies, pushing up onto his knees. He takes the foil wrapper from her and rips it open. She reaches for the rubber and moves her hand towards his erection. She slides the condom onto him. She promptly lifts her gaze to him, a smirk on her lips. He swallows, pressing his hands against her shoulders. "You're amazing."

She shrugs, her skin elastic beneath his fingertips. She pushes her fingers into his hipbones and rolls over, quickly straddling his waist. He smirks, her movement pleasantly taking him by surprise. She slides on to the length of him. He releases a hearty groan as she sighs in unison. She stills on top of him, her palms pressing against his chest, and she bends down to kiss him. He pushes one hand into her hair as his other hand circles her waist.

She begins rocking her hips. Their tongues twist together, their thrusting movements in sync making warmth gather within him. She pulls her mouth from his to moan softly, his lips still parted. His fingers thread in her hair. She rolls her hips a few more times before a moan tumbles out of her mouth, her fingers digging in to his collarbones. He feels her muscles contract around him. His orgasm follows closely behind hers, their breath entangling in the space between them.

She collapses onto him. He doesn't mind the added weight on his chest. He runs his fingers through her hair, hand settling just below her shoulder blades. She slides into the space beside him, dropping a kiss to his jaw. He smiles and turns his head towards her. He lightly presses his lips against hers, letting their kiss linger there.


He watches her as she moves about her kitchen, like an expert, from his seat on one of the barstools at the island. She's wearing his button up, legs barreling out from beneath the hem of the navy blue shaded material. Her legs go on forever, her big toe of her right foot lightly tapping against the ground as she pours two cups of coffee.

She returns the coffee pot to its position in the coffee maker and reaches for something else on the counter. His gaze travels back up the length of her frame, her red hair vibrantly colliding with his shirt. He's always wondered why women put on his clothes after sex, but he's never asked. He's always been afraid they would misinterpret the question for a certain interest in them.

"Donna?"

"Yes?" She mocks playfully, turning with both mugs in her hand. She moves around the island towards him. She sets both mugs down on the island, pushing it more towards him.

He smirks when her thigh hits his foot. He reaches for her, his hand sliding just above her hip, and he bunches the shirt in his grasp. He looks down at the space between them, sees that the hem of his shirt has crept up her thigh and is exposing even more of her. She steps forward into his arms, his other hand instantly coming up to her side. She flinches like he's hit a ticklish spot, a smile on her face, and he feels her hands slide over his shoulders to come to a stop at the back of his neck.

"Why do women always put on my clothes after sex?" He asks her, head tilting slightly.

"So you have to stay longer," she counters with a grin.

He laughs softly, the thought of leaving having not even entered his mind yet. He pushes his hands around her frame, fingers pressing into the space just above her ass, and pulls her closer. She falls towards him, her elbows digging into his upper arms, and settles between his legs. He looks down at her his nose at her. One of her hands moves to his forehead and pushes the hair back to reveal his hairline.

"You'll have to kick me out," he whispers.

He can't break eye contact with her. He feels like he's looking at the secrets of the universe, and he has the power to conquer the world. He's never felt such a deep connection with another person before. It kind of scares him.

Her fingers slide through his hair as she leans towards him. Her lips press against his cheek, lingering there for a few moments. He sighs and leans into her. She says, "Drink your coffee and we can go for another round."

He's too busy slithering his hands down her structure to care about the coffee. He turns his head slightly to kiss her. His lips slide against hers, the sweet taste of vanilla is on them. His tongue darts over her bottom lip. Her mouth widens, tongue meeting his in the miniscule space between their lips, and she twists it against his. Her arms wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer as she pushes up onto the tips of her toes.

She pulls back, resting her forehead on his again. Her sees her eyes drift closed out of the edge of his gaze, and she sucks in a deep breath. He pushes his hands up her sides and presses his palms against her shoulder blades.

"You okay?" He asks.

"You really scare me," she admits. She pulls back to look at him, nearly a foot between their lips now.

He nods slowly, fingers sliding into her hair. He moves his hand to her ribs and pushes it up to her neck, pads of his fingers brushing at the hair framing her face. He says, "You scare me, too."