Chapter 16 Harper #2
I gawk at him. Now he tells me?
I pop another kernel into my mouth and chew thoughtfully, debating whether I should say what’s on my mind. It’s risky, but the theater makes me feel undercover, like anything said here doesn’t count against you.
So I decide to be honest.
“I’m not paying attention,” I mumble out the corner of my mouth. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about prom.”
“Oh you have, have you?” He laughs softly. “Why does that not surprise me? And just so you know—you’re allowed to change your mind about it if you want.”
I turn to him, surprised. “Why would I change my mind?”
Prom with him was my idea! He is my ideal date.
Easton shrugs, his big hand digging into the popcorn. I have to move mine out of the way so his fits in the bucket.
“I don’t know.” His expression is impossible to read in the dim light. “Just thought I’d give you an out if you wanted one.”
I shake my head, a playful smile pasted to my lips. “We’re locked in, remember?”
He frowns. “How could I forget?”
Oh.
Oh…
The way he says it…
It’s not lighthearted. Not teasing. It lands heavier than I expect, laced with something that makes my stomach drop. My heart races, but not from excitement.
The inflection in his tone sends heat straight to my cheeks.
For a split second, his irritation is written all over his face, unfiltered and sharp. And it stings—worse than I could have imagined.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have thought we were flirting, that this meant something to him?
I was fooling myself, that’s how. For Easton, this isn’t fun.
It’s not exciting.
It’s an obligation, a deal he got roped into.
I am someone he has to tolerate.
“I…”…don’t know what to say to that. “Am I that bad?”
“Harper.” He looks concerned, like he’s tracking my reaction. “I’m fucking with you.”
Ah.
Well.
“Could have fooled me.”
I move my seat back to its upright position and struggle to stand, then shove the bucket of popcorn into his hands, toss down the Sno-Caps, and grab my purse. Head toward the stairs, taking them as fast as I can without toppling ass over teakettle, panic and embarrassment propelling me forward.
Omg. He must resent me.
I am such an asshole forcing him to go to this dance with me because I didn’t want to go dateless—as if being dateless were a big deal. It’s not! Dozens of my classmates go stag! WHO CARES ANYMORE WHO GOES TO THE DANCE WITH WHO?
Me.
I care.
The meaning behind his words horrify me. When I reach the lobby, adrenaline makes everything a blur.
My heart is pounding in my chest so hard I can hear it, so loud it drowns out the noise around me—the hum of the drink machines, the chatter of people waiting in line, the people loitering. Playing on their phones. Standing around waiting for the upcoming showings.
I weave through them.
My only plan: Get out of the movie theater, get to my car, get away from Easton and his smirk and cute smile and stupid, stupid comment.
He’s just fucking with me?
Does he think that’s funny? That he is funny?
’Cause he’s not.
I push through the heavy exit doors, cool night air hitting me like a slap to the face. It’s refreshing, but it does nothing to calm the storm brewing inside me.
I’m furious—with myself.
Ashamed.
“Forever embarrassed,” I rant. “I should make goddamn bumper stickers and sell them online.”
I walk briskly, my head on a swivel. Left. Right. Scanning the parking lot for evildoers, always vigilantly aware of my surroundings, like all girlies should be.
The faster I walk, the farther I get from the building, closer to my dumb car, parked in the last row. My feet move as if on autopilot.
“Harper! Wait up!”
His voice is louder and closer than I expect, and I whip around, startled that I didn’t notice I was being followed. So much for my Spidey senses and being vigilantly aware of my surroundings to ward off an attack.
Shocked, I watch Easton jog toward me. His expression is one of concern: brow furrowed, mouth downturned. He stops short several feet away, giving me space. One hand in his jacket pocket, one around a popcorn bucket.
I stare at it, desperate for something to focus on besides the dull ache in my chest. “Still hungry?”
“No.” He looks down at it. Shakes his head. “It’s still part full and I didn’t want to waste it.”
Something about that has my throat tightening. Then my mouth twitches, threatening a smile I don’t actually feel, my feet shuffling against the pavement.
Ugh! Why does he have to be so cute?
“I didn’t mean—” he starts, then stops. Takes a few breaths, in and out, hugging the bucket. “Listen. I was joking.”
There’s something raw in the way he says it…like he’s waiting for me to believe him. Like he needs me to.
I should be relieved. I should let it go.
But the damage is done.
I feel like a child. “You don’t have to apologize.”
This is entirely my fault; I misread the situation. I genuinely thought he was coming around and getting excited about spending time with me. I’m the one who opened my mouth and told him I was thinking about prom when we were supposed to be watching a movie.
I am the one who ruined the moment.
“Harper, I wasn’t being serious.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up in a million directions. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you have to cut me loose.”
“It sounded like you were asking for an out—like you don’t want to go with me.” I can’t keep the emotion out of my voice, the sting of his words already racing on a loop through my brain.
GOD, I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH RIGHT NOW.
I FEEL SO GUILTY.
The look he’s giving me right now…
“What? No. That’s not—” He stops talking, jaw tightening like he’s biting back the truth. Because we both know what this is: He doesn’t want to go.
Not really.
Yet here he is, grasping for the right words—any words—that might make me feel better, holding a damn popcorn bucket because that’s what he does! He is nice! He smooths things over. He tells me a half-truth to spare my feelings.
But I notice.
And it hurts.
“Harper, I plan on asking you.”
“Pfft.” I huff, shuffling my cute shoes on the cold pavement. “You want to go to the dance with me the same way you want to spread glitter and paint and hang out with me in my garage.”
To say I overreacted by storming out of the theater is a gross understatement, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
The pain and embarrassment and hurt inside me is real, slowly simmering beneath my hard candy coating.
“I’m way better at painting than I thought,” he says at last, which lightens the mood. “I still have glitter in my fucking hair.” To illustrate, he shakes his head, pretending to pick a piece of fairy dust off his shirt. “See?”
I smile sheepishly.
Easton is such a good guy.
“Yes, you’ve been giving it one hundred percent.”
“Always.” He pauses. “I’m committed.”
Committed. Not to me, obviously, but my heart still flutters.
“So.” He glances over his shoulder at the massive movie theater looming in the distance, the neon sign of the marquee glowing. “Now what do we do?”
I have no idea. My mind should go to the logical answer—we go back inside, finish the movie, pretend my storming out like a spoiled child never happened.
“What if we don’t go back?” he suggests.
I personally wasn’t planning on going back, but I’m surprised to hear those words come out of his mouth. “You want to bail on the movie?”
He studies me for a second, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“I think we both need some air. We could, I don’t know—drive around or whatever. Plus, you’re my ride home, remember?”
I glance down at the popcorn in his arms. “Are you bringing that with us?”
“I have to. It’s my date.” Easton chuckles at his jest. “My brother can have it.”
“You have a brother?”
He nods. “And a sister.”
Huh. I didn’t know that.
The parking lot is emptier now, the rows that were packed earlier sprinkled with empty spots. I click the unlock button on my keys as we reach my car. We climb in, the doors closing with a thud that seems to echo.
Once I start the engine, its soft hum fills the silence between us.
For a moment I say nothing, my hands on the wheel. Should I put on a playlist? Should I drive in silence?
Too many decisions, if you ask me.
In the end, we do drive in silence, the dark streets of our small town familiar yet somehow different tonight. The streetlights are a blur as we go past, and I find myself relaxing in the comfortable quiet we’ve settled into.
It’s nice like this.
“Um,” I finally say. “I can’t remember where you live.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us there.”
Easton guides me from street to street until we’re at the entrance of what must be his neighborhood, and I slow to a near crawl, drawing out our time together so it lasts longer.
I’m greedy like that—not that you blame me.
The Westermanns’ yard is dark and quiet as I pull into his driveway. I put my car in park but don’t cut my engine. I let the low sound of it idling fill the space between us.
“Do you wanna come in?”
“Inside your house?” I can hardly believe my ears.
“Yeah, inside my house.” He laughs. “To hang or whatever.”
OH MY GOD, are you kidding me?! YES! my brain screams. Yes! OF COURSE I WANT TO GO INSIDE YOUR HOUSE.
OBVIOUSLY!
Being inside his house—just the two of us alone, without our friends—feels like a thing. Like a step into uncharted territory that I don’t know how to navigate, different from being alone with him in my garage.
Intimate?
Fear of the unknown gnaws its way into my gut and I shake my head. Big scaredy-cat.
“No, I th-think…” My voice wobbles. “I think I should probably head home.”
For a moment we sit, Easton nudging the bucket of popcorn with his foot. He doesn’t disagree with me or attempt to sway my decision, but a part of me thinks he looks kind of disappointed—as if maybe he was hoping I would say yes.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says at last, deep voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course.” I cringe inwardly at how buddy-buddy I sound. “Anytime.”
I fiddle with the hem of my denim skirt.
After another few beats of stillness, Easton shifts in his seat and turns to face me, seat belt straining against his muscles.
“Harper.” There’s something new in his voice that makes me meet his gaze rather than avoid it as he says my name.
“Hmm?”
He’s leaning toward me.
I think.
Are his eyes searching mine? It looks like they are…but it’s also dark in here and there are shadows? It could be shadows. Yeah. That must be it.
Why am I so bad at flirting?! Not that he’s flirting. He’s…
He’s…
I don’t know what is happening right now.
“Thanks for the ride home,” he tells me again.
“You already said that.”
“Oh.” His voice is so low. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Too much apologizing already for one evening. How much more can we take?
Wait.
Why is his face so close?
Is it? “Is this my imagination?”