Page 35 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Seventeen

Harper

Man, that was weird, Harper thought as he drove his rented Audi coupe up the PCH trying to keep up with Jordan’s speed. By the time he reached valet, Jordan had already gotten the keys to her royal-blue Beemer. “Did you rent or Uber?” she asked.

“Rental…”

“Follow me,” she said simply before ducking into the soft top convertible.

What the hell is going on with her? Harper had been looking forward to an evening of reconnection and food.

He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and saved his appetite for some five-star cuisine with his bestie.

He’d really been missing Jordan and was genuinely glad to see her.

Relieved, even. She looked beautiful—no shocker there, but her energy got strange when they sat down for dinner.

Maybe she was feeling sick? he wondered.

Some female trouble? Jordan was usually a trouper and muscled through whatever.

But maybe this was “self-care Jordan.” Self-care Jordan had been taking her health seriously and maybe registering more of how she was feeling.

Makes sense. Harper nodded to himself. Whatever Jordan needed, he was down to support, even though self-care Jordan had rejected him (again) three years ago on the Brooklyn promenade.

It felt shitty, but she’d been right (again).

Jordan and Harper had always been great as friends and to make that murky with blurred lines, especially right after getting divorced, would have been a disaster for their friendship.

Still, what had been happening over the past four months wasn’t quite their friendship either.

And that’s why he wanted to see her, clear the air.

They had entirely too much history to be anything other than honest. Though at the restaurant, she seemed disinterested, even offended, when Harper brought up their decades-long bond.

“Maybe she didn’t want to discuss it in public or.

.?” Harper mused, attempting to rationalize with himself.

“But we gotta be honest with each other. Right?” These were all questions that needed answers.

But for the moment, Harper had to focus to keep up with Jordan along the winding curves of the PCH.

Jordan put her left signal on between traffic lights in front of the open gates of a driveway at a beachfront house.

“Must be the crib,” Harper said softly. He was already impressed.

A garage door lifted until it was parallel to the ground, revealing space for two cars.

The house, illuminated by the moonlit sky and landscape lights, had a modernist structure that boasted clean lines and glass panels, all shimmering with the golden glow of understated luxury.

It was both untouchable and inviting. Kind of like Jordan. “Nice.”

Oncoming traffic prevented her from making her turn just yet.

As the headlights zoomed by in the opposite lane, Harper could see Jordan was in conversation with someone, moving her silhouetted head as if she was on a speakerphone, gesturing with her hand.

She was animated about something; self-care Jordan was still probably bossing someone around.

The traffic let up enough to let her turn into her space.

At first, she didn’t quite make room for his car, but then the Beemer backed up and negotiated a snugger fit to the left to accommodate Harper’s vehicle.

Even after waiting for oncoming traffic to pass, as he pulled in, he saw that Jordan was still engrossed in her conversation.

She glanced over at him as he put the car in park.

Hmmm, not smiling, he noticed. She wasn’t mad, but she was serious. He shut off his engine.

Harper opened his door and stepped out just in time to hear a woman’s voice on Jordan’s line shout the muffled words “Get it done!” To which Jordan replied, “Goodbye,” while keeping her eyes on Harper.

Business call? Who knows. Maybe it had something to do with the quick bolt out of Nobu.

Even though she didn’t have a steady job, Jordan was always working.

She exited her ride, seemingly unbothered, and walked around to the trunk area where Harper stood admiring her car.

“Nice ride. I always liked the Beemer.”

“Thanks. Come. I’ll give you the nickel tour.” Jordan gestured with her head for Harper to follow her toward the front of the house.

“Everything cool?” Harper inquired as he walked alongside her.

“Everything’s fine.” Jordan’s tone was nonchalant, but definitive as she hit the alarm on her car and moved toward her home’s grand entrance.

“Aight…” Harper responded. Something about Jordan was different.

Did she put on lip gloss or something? And those breastesses were on display differently than at dinner.

Maybe I didn’t notice, Harper thought as Jordan punched her garage door code and the door folded down silently.

I would’ve noticed though…right? They walked along a gravelly path to the sound of ocean waves crashing on the nearby shore, feeling the crisp air wrap around them, cooler than it had been at Nobu.

Jordan punched the code to her outside door to let them both in.

She walked ahead as Harper closed the heavy white wooden door behind him.

He followed her as he watched Jordan ascend the illuminated steps of her lush-ass place.

Also lush AF were Jordan’s legs and the sway of that dress that was flowing but hugging the curve of her ass.

Whew. She’s still fine. But they were friends…

and in some weird place that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Other than Robyn and his mom, Jordan had been the most important woman in his life.

His life…that he felt kicked out of and out of sync with.

He wanted—no, he needed— to right the ship with her.

His homie. The one who kept it real with him from way back.

The blues guitar lick of Tony! Toni! Toné!

’s “(Lay Your Head on My) Pillow” kicked off, echoing its unforgettable rhythmic riff throughout the foyer.

Jordan dropped her car key on the wooden table that looked like it was carved straight out of a big-ass tree.

Harper was already bopping his head to Raphael’s groove.

“This is my shit,” he said, his neck hugging the beat.

“I know,” Jordan responded. At least that’s what it sounded like.

It was hard to tell because the ceiling speakers were dominating the space, filling it with music.

It wasn’t obtrusive. In fact, it was perfectly calibrated to the acoustics of the room and the scenery, and it made the moment breathtaking.

Everything in here had its place. A designer clearly took their time and definitely listened to Jordan (as if they had a choice).

She had a gorgeous home. Each detail a testament to the life of a woman who had conquered worlds and carved her own space on the edge of the sea. Again, no surprise. Harper whistled.

Jordan smiled as she sauntered into her living room. “You like?”

“Ummm, yeah,” Harper said, stating the obvious. “What’s not to like?”

Jordan had always wanted nice things, the good life.

And she got them. She’d earned them. This place—just like her old spot in DUMBO—suited her.

But this was another level. It was grown and sexy.

The sexiest. Just like Jordan. “This is dope,” Harper said as he took a moment to explore.

Jordan sat on the back of her couch, her left thigh lifted to rest on the edge.

Harper stepped over to the windows that fronted the beach and stared at the darkness.

The whispers of the ocean kissed the shore with a soothing rhythm, as if serenading the brilliance of this house’s owner—a sister whose success radiated through every meticulously chosen detail inside.

It was more than a home; it was a statement, a sanctuary, a dream realized, shimmering in the Malibu moonlight like poetry in glass and stone.

Harper shook his head and smiled. She did it again.

“This must be incredible during the day.”

“It is,” Jordan replied. “You should see it.”

Harper threw a brief look to her over his shoulder, and said, half joking, “Well, if I’m invited back I’m sure I would love it.” And then returned his gaze to the wonder outside.

After a beat, he heard, “You don’t ever need an invitation, Harper.

” Jordan’s voice floated over his shoulder.

The tenor in her voice had dropped an octave.

Harper knew he heard it. He furrowed his brow and turned around to look at her.

Her glossy lips parted, her eyes unblinking and staring directly at him.

Her legs were open, and she was half sitting, half standing, striking a model’s pose that accentuated her entire figure.

Damn, Harper thought. She looks sexy as hell.

But when hadn’t she to him? It was taking more effort than usual to maintain his restraint.

Why did they always have to be friends? Because that’s the way this relationship has worked.

Be cool, Harp. Raphael Saadiq echoed that same sentiment: And just reeelax, reeeelax, reeelax.

Chill, Harp. Friend zone. He unfurrowed his brow and responded, “Well, that’s good to know.

” Harper then gave her a warm smile, trying to remain even-keeled.

This was good, Jordan opening the door back up to their friendship.

Had it ever really been closed? Hard to decipher.

The last few months had been odd. But now even more oddly, Jordan was just looking at him.

It was confusing, but there was a vibe. A vibe that Harper has been familiar with since they met as freshmen.

When they were just overachieving teenagers.

When they were seniors in the newsroom dancing and making out to Stevie Wonder’s “As.” The same vibe had been present at Lance and Mia’s wedding on the cusp of his debut novel being introduced to the world.

It’s the same vibe that engulfed them on the night of the movie premiere of Unfinished Business.

Harper had always liked Jordan. He grew to love her deeply.

Their friendship helped him be the man he became.

The author he became. Wouldn’t sex have changed that?

Undoubtedly. But he wasn’t seventeen anymore.

He wasn’t burdened with “making it” anymore.

He wasn’t married anymore either. Still…

Harper swallowed and parted his lips, looking back at her as the haunting harmonics of Coco Jones’s “ICU” began to play. Jordan broke the silence.

“Harper?”

“Yeah?” he responded.

“Come here.” There was nothing ambiguous in her voice, look, or stance. Nothing ambiguous at all. Harper moved toward Jordan, and this time, as he headed toward her and the space between her open legs on the back of the sofa, it sure didn’t feel like he was reentering the friend zone.