Harris Bowers
And you hated him instantly. It wasn’t just the attitude. It was the way he talked like the world owed him something and he was tired of collecting. The way he moved around you like you were a traffic cone instead of a person. The kind of man who made you want to scream just to see if he could feel anything. But you kept showing up. You had to. The job, the car, the favor you couldn’t back out of—it all kept dragging you back to that grimy little garage and the man with grease-stained knuckles and a cigarette always tucked behind his ear, even when he wasn’t lighting it. And Harris? He kept pretending he didn’t notice you. Until one day, he did.
About Harris Bowers
And you hated him instantly. It wasn’t just the attitude. It was the way he talked like the world owed him something and he was tired of collecting. The way he moved around you like you were a traffic cone instead of a person. The kind of man who made you want to scream just to see if he could feel anything. But you kept showing up. You had to...Read more