Chapter 16 Harper
Harper
Meet us at the theater in an hour, the text from my best friend reads, followed immediately by another:
We’re going to the movies for a double date and you can’t say no…
Double date?
My stomach drops. Is she referring to Easton?! How long have they been planning this? I start to type, just as another message from her pops up.
Macy: Promise me you’ll take Easton home so I can be alone with Marcus after?
A smiley face follows it before I can say no. Setting my phone down, I groan. She knows I can never resist her when she begs!
My bestie is one clever manipulator, I’ll give her that.
An hour later, I pull into the movie theater parking lot and begin the search for a spot, one row after the next, driving farther and farther from the entrance of the building because of all the vehicles that beat me to the good spaces.
I park in the last row.
Tug at the hem of my denim skirt when I slide out the driver’s side, then futz with my top—a cropped T-shirt—so distracted by my outfit that I almost forget my keys.
This isn’t a real date, I remind myself as the marquee lights of the theater flicker and glow in the dark evening sky, casting a neon radiance across the pavement.
The place is busier than usual. Loud.
I do a quick scan of the lobby—couples, families, and groups of friends in line for tickets and snacks—spotting Macy first, her brown curls swaying as she flirts animatedly with Marcus.
As if sensing me, my best friend looks up and waves, her smile wide and genuine, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
I relax a little, my body less tense.
But then I see Easton.
Standing off to the side, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, he is the picture of casual indifference as he glances this way and that.
Looking for me? Probably not, but a girl can hope.
I straighten my spine when our eyes meet; his go straight to my face…my shirt…my skirt…my legs as I approach, and I catch a small quirk to his lips. A subtle look of appreciation.
“Hey, you,” Macy chirps, saving me from my self-consciousness, wrapping me in one of her quick hugs before turning back to Marcus.
She bounces on the balls of her feet. “So. We were thinking about seeing that new horror movie. You know—the one with the creepy doll that terrorizes her entire family?”
“I heard it has tons of jump scares.” Marcus grins. “What do you think?”
I glance at Easton. I can’t help but notice how the blue of his shirt brings out the blue of his eyes. Le Sigh.
“You good with that?” I ask him.
He nods. “Since I’m not the one who has to hold Macy’s hand when she freaks.”
Macy nudges him with her shoulder, bumping his closer toward me. “You can hold her hand instead.”
Easton’s gaze darts to mine.
Tension fills the air.
For a split second, his eyes fall to my chest. Stomach.
My stomach flutters.
Butterflies? Could it be?
“Let’s get the tickets before all the good seats are gone,” I proclaim, breaking our contact and ignoring Macy’s matchmaking scheming. “I hate sitting near the front.”
Easton agrees. “Same.”
Together the four of us make our way to the ticket counter, where three very bored-looking teenagers stand behind touch screens, not looking up as we approach. Macy generously pays for everyone—compliments of her parents—while we wait.
Easton leans in closer, close enough that I can feel his warm breath against my ear. “You owe me one.”
I glance at him, puzzled. “Owe you? For what?”
Easton falls into step beside me, our arms accidentally brushing.
I ignore the spark.
“I’ve lost count of all the things you’ve roped me into at this point. Showing up tonight. Prom. Decorating.” It sounds like he’s teasing? “Now we’re on a date.”
“I had no part in this,” I whisper at him. “I was just as roped in as you were. So technically this doesn’t count. You could have said you were busy.”
“This counts,” he insists, glancing up at the theater menu for snacks, ordering a large popcorn, candy, and two large soft drinks.
“It doesn’t.” I shake my head. “You won’t convince me otherwise.”
He turns to face me while he digs in his wallet and pulls out cash to pay for our food. “Why are you so stubborn?”
My mouth opens. Closes.
I flounder like a guppy. “I’m not?”
Easton laughs, taking the soda while I grab everything else. Popcorn. Napkins. Stick two straws in our soft drinks.
We walk side by side.
“I, uh—told my mom about prom last night.”
It didn’t occur to me that he would have to tell his parents he’s going to the dance. Not just any dance—PROM. I mean, it’s a big deal. Of course he’d need to tell them. I highly doubt he’s going to go shopping for his own outfit.
“You did?”
He sucks from one of the straws as we walk toward cinema 12.
“I didn’t give her the sordid details—you know, the extortion or whatever—only that I was thinking ’bout asking you so she isn’t caught off guard when it happens.” He pauses. “My mom is an attorney, by the way—she’d probably sue you for blackmailing me.”
An attorney? That is not good!
“I’m glad you warned her. I would hate to be sued,” I joke, brushing a hair behind my ear. “Did you mention my name, specifically?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
I grin at his back as we slip into the darkened theater, previews already rolling. They’re my favorite part of being in a theater, so I’m bummed to have missed the first few. I plop down next to Easton as the massive screen illuminates the room.
Our thighs touch.
Unable to shake the giddy feeling bubbling up inside me, I wiggle in my seat.
Prom. HE TOLD HIS MOM ABOUT IT!
I am one step closer to having an official date for the dance!
One. Step. Closer.
Seriously. The fact that he told his mom makes it real. The fear that he could back out of the deal dwindles…
I hide my grin by taking a sip of soda, sucking through the straw, shooting a sidelong glance at him; the glow from the screen casts a shadow on his face.
His jawline.
It belongs in a cologne ad, or—ugh, I don’t know. It feels rude and unfair of the universe to attach that jawline to someone who spends half his time making dumb jokes.
And the lips.
He has such nice lips…
Kissable.
I bite my straw, tearing my gaze away before I embarrass myself.
This is not part of the plan.
Macy and Marcus are lost in their own little world, leaning into each other, holding hands, their whispered conversation drowned out by the booming audio.
I sneak a glance at Easton, at the slope of his nose. His chin.
So cute.
Unfortunately, he catches me looking. He quirks an eyebrow.
“What?” he demands.
I react too slowly, brain still caught on cute, cute, cute, so I scramble for a response, giving him a weak little, “Nothing.”
I can see him smiling. “You were staring at me.”
A scoff leaves my throat as I shift in my seat, trying to act unfazed. “Please. You’re literally right next to me. Where else am I supposed to look?”
“The screen?”
I roll my eyes, taking an aggressive sip of my soda. “God, you’re annoying.”
I keep my eyes forward, pretending I don’t notice him watching me, but I can feel the weight of his curious gaze. It lingers, and I hate that I like it.
Something about tonight does feel different.
As if we’re not two people stuck on a double date because Macy demanded it. As if we’re not just fulfilling some weird social obligation because of our best friends. As if maybe—maybe—this is something real.
A girl can pretend, can’t she? No harm in that.
Does he feel that way, too?
Glancing down, I look at our arms, both on the rest between our seats; I could move my hand—put more space between us—but I don’t.
Neither does he.
My heart flips. I exhale.
It must have been louder than I intended, because he nudges me, leaning over the armrest to whisper, “What was that sigh for?”
“Huh?” I play dumb.
“Are you bored already? We’ve been sitting here less than twenty minutes.”
“I’m not bored.”
Confession: I have zero desire to sit through a movie about a doll who comes to life and murders her entire family.
Such a fun time. I’d rather be watching a rom-com, but hey—this two hours of torture means I get to sit next to him and bask in his nearness.
Bask in his elbow touching mine on the armrest, our hands meeting in the tub of popcorn.
He continues leaning toward me, invading my space. “You’re definitely acting weird.”
“No I’m not,” I protest. “You must be imagining things.”
“Whatever you say.”
Easton shifts away, facing forward again, his focus locked on the screen. Shadows stretch across the walls, the eerie glow of the movie making everything feel more intense. That ugly-ass doll and her unnerving expression will haunt me in my dreams tonight…
I shiver, reaching for the popcorn—not because I’m hungry for it but because I need something to do with my hands, something to ground me.
I can’t stop sneaking glances, no matter how hard I try. He’s too irresistible, too effortlessly distracting. And now, watching him is way more interesting than watching the actual movie.
I want him to look at me.
Every now and then he shifts in his seat and our arms brush—and each time that happens, a jolt of electricity shoots through my body.
Gah!
I adjust my seat, moving the footrest up, then back, wishing I had a blanket. Peel open the chocolate candy Easton bought and then plunk the bucket of popcorn in my lap. I settle into a routine: handful of popcorn, handful of chocolate.
I am eating my anxiety away.
“Are you even paying attention?” His voice comes out of the dark, low and accusing.
I pop a Sno-Cap on my tongue. Let it melt. “Nope.” Not even a little.
“I thought you wanted to see this?” he whisper-hisses.
“Who told you that? Like I said, I am as much a hostage to them as you are,” I inform him indignantly. “Never would I ever pick a movie like this. It’s horrible.”
Horror is not my vibe.
“We could have gone to see a comedy or something—we didn’t all have to see the same movie.”