Chapter 21 Easton
Easton
Don’t do it, man.
Don’t you dare fucking kiss her again…
Harper’s eyes search mine, wide and questioning, her voice barely a whisper.
“What are you doing?”
The truth is: I have no fucking clue.
My brain is a mess, my heart’s pounding as if I were standing center ice for the puck drop at the beginning of one of my games, and all I can think about is how close she is, how I can smell her perfume mixing with the scent of paint and the last candle that was burning in Mom’s shed.
My mouth is dry, and all I can manage is a feeble “I have no idea.”
Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth: I know what I’m doing, even though I also know I should walk out the door to this shed and take my mother’s glasses straight to her.
This is the worst idea ever.
I like Maddie Miller.
I’ve always liked Maddie Miller, and now she’s finally speaking to me!
Do not kiss Harper Conrad again, dude.
Do not ruin your chances with Maddie!
Too bad I never fucking listen—not even to myself.
I reach out and gently brush a stray strand of Harper’s hair from her face.
The moment my fingers graze her cheek, a shiver runs through me, and I swear I see it ripple through her, too.
I should step back. I should turn this into a joke or do something to defuse the tension.
But I can’t.
Something about her right now standing in this soft light makes her look so damn pretty. The sun. My mom’s chandelier above us.
All the pink.
JUST GO FOR IT.
Look at her. Look at the way she’s staring up at you.
That mouth.
Those lips.
They taste so fucking good.
The gap between us closes; our breath is mingling. There’s a split second when I hesitate, giving us both one last chance to pull back and walk away. It comes and goes in an instant…
“Easton,” she murmurs, and it’s not exactly a warning. In fact, the way she says my name makes my pulse spike. Adrenaline high.
A rush.
“Yeah?” My voice sounds hoarse—more a growl than anything as my fingers linger on her cheek, thumb tracing the soft curve of her jawline. How am I just now noticing how cute she is? The freckles on her nose?
The flecks of red in her silky hair?
She’s leaning into my touch now and it’s driving me insane.
“Are we…?” Whatever words she’s about to say die on her lips, replaced by a shaky exhale. “Is this…?”
I don’t know what she’s asking, so I can’t respond, instead closing the distance between us, resting my forehead against hers.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
“Harper, tell me to stop,” I whisper, my voice low, barely controlled. “If you don’t want to kiss me again, tell me and I’ll stop.”
She shakes her head the tiniest bit.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Please, don’t stop. I want you to kiss me.”
That’s all I need to hear.
My hands slide down to her waist to pull her closer, palms landing at the small of her back, and suddenly her body is pressing into mine like she’s been waiting for me to touch her this entire afternoon. No hesitation, no holding back. I can feel the tension flee the moment my lips are on hers.
I moan.
The kiss is fire.
It’s nothing like the first one—we seem to know what we’re doing now, and waste no time pressing our bodies against each other.
Harper moves her hands to the back of my neck, inching her fingers into my hair, tugging me closer, deepening the kiss until I’m drowning in her.
I drown in the taste of her, in the feel of her pressed against my solid chest.
It’s a messy, frantic kiss. Our lips and teeth clash and our breath mingles in a way that’s chaotic and perfect.
And damn, she’s so soft in all the places I’m not…
Warm.
I can’t get enough of her.
“Shit, Harper.” I groan into her mouth, hands gripping her waist tighter—like I’m afraid she might slip away if I don’t. But she’s not budging from this spot—she’s right here with me, kissing me back with the same urgency.
Harper gasps when I inch my hands up her rib cage.
“You’re killing me,” I say.
Her lips are swollen, her cheeks are flushed—and there’s this look in her eyes that’s driving me wild. “You have no idea what you do to me,” I whisper.
Jesus, what are you saying? You sound like an actor in a bad play…
“What am I doing to you?” Her voice is a bit shaky when she asks, but her fingers are still tangled in my hair.
“Confusing the hell out of me.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.
I capture her lips in another kiss, slower this time.
More confident.
Harpers moves her hands from my hair to my shoulders, sliding along them like she doesn’t want to stop touching me either.
I break the kiss again—for the briefest second—long enough to catch my breath and whisper, “This is so much better than the first time.”
She laughs. “I’m not saying that first kiss was awful, but we could use some practice.”
My chest squeezes at those words. Does that mean she wants to keep making out with me? I hope so.
“We should stop or your mom is going to come check on us,” she utters, killing my buzz.
Harper puts her hands up, a signal to stop, and I feel a pang of regret and disappointment.
But…she’s right. I would literally fucking die if my mother caught us making out in her sacred place—and yes, I’ve heard her call it her sacred place.
Harper bites her lip and all of a sudden I want to kiss her again, but before I do anything, a voice cuts through the air like a splash of cold water.
“Who the heck are you?”
Our heads snap toward the door in unison, hearts hammering in sync. My little sister stands there, hands on her hips, her face a mix of shock and suspicion and curiosity.
Mostly curiosity…
“Oh, crap,” Harper whispers, shoving me like I’m about to spontaneously burst into flames. I stumble, the backs of my legs hitting the pink couch.
“Phoebe, this is Harper.”
Harper gives her a feeble wave. “Hi?”
I scowl down at my sister, who cocks her head to the side, the kind of judgmental look on her face that only a seven-year-old can give when they know they’ve caught you doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.
Guilt is written all over Harper’s face. Her bright red, blushing face.
“Mom said you had a girl out here and told me to come find you. She said it’s taking you too long to find her glasses and she doesn’t trust you.” My sister has no sense of what not to say. Blunt is her middle name.
“Oh my god,” Harper mutters. “I want to die right now.”
I laugh. “Relax.” I swipe my mom’s glasses from the desk behind Harper and hold them up as proof. “See? We found them.”
Phoebe crosses her puny arms and raises a brow. “Looks like that’s not the only thing you found.”
“Does Mom know you talk like that?” Translation: Does Mom know you know how to make sexual innuendo?
“Yes.”
I doubt that.
My sister has a tablet and constantly watches TikTok despite having been locked out of the app by my parents several times. Too bad for them that Phoebe is smarter than they are and knows how to change parental permissions.
“Are you his girlfriend?” My sister is giving Harper the most disapproving look I’ve ever seen the child give another human, foot tapping on the hardwood floor.
“N-no,” Harper stammers.
“Hmm.” Her tiny lips are pursed. Glossy and pursed…
She’s probably wearing some expensive lip stuff she saw on the internet and begged my mom to buy her. She’s totally a product of online advertising.
“You can leave now,” I tell her, aggravated by her tiny attitude.
“You leave,” she sasses. “This is my house, too.”
“Honest to God, Phoebe…”
“Don’t swear,” she scolds me, as if “honest to God” were the worst thing she’s heard me say.
Her gaze darts to Harper, and I know she’s enjoying acting like a little brat in front of my new friend.
“Where is Cobie?”
Phoebe rolls her eyes at the mention of my younger brother. “Where do you think?”
“Hockey?”
“Duh. And Mom says you better hustle because Dad is expecting you to run drills tonight.”
Shit. He would be expecting me to run drills.
I want to strangle my sister for interrupting us and splashing me with a cold bucket of reality.
“Okay, you know what? You can leave, Miss Smarty Pants. Get out.” I take our mom’s glasses, put them in my sister’s hand, and shoo her away. “Give these to Mom. I want to talk to Harper for a second.”
“Fine.” She narrows her eyes at us both. “You better not linger.”
“Get out!”
Reluctantly, Phoebe clutches the glasses in her small fist, dragging her sneakers on her way to the door, throwing us one last look over her scrawny shoulders before finally stepping outside.
“So,” Harper says. “That was your sister, hey?”
“Yup.”
“And Cobie is…your brother?”
“Yup.”
“Well…” She pauses. “Can’t say I’m not mortified.”
I laugh. “Don’t be. She is a beast. And only acting like that because of what she sees on TV. Pretty sure she watched Euphoria when no one was paying attention.”
“We need to stop doing this.” Harper’s voice is quiet, as if she’s expecting my sister to walk back into the she shed. She cranes her neck the slightest bit to peer around me to the door.
“Doing what?” I ask, even though I suspect I know what she’s referring to.
“Kissing. Making out. You like Maddie Miller, and we’re just friends.” Her words are firm but with an edge, holding a slight hint of something she isn’t saying out loud.
I swallow hard.
I do like Maddie, or at least, I thought I did. I mean, let’s be real: Can’t a guy like two people at once? Is that a crime? Why do I have to stop kissing one girl because I asked another girl on a date? What’s the big deal?
“Friends don’t make out every chance they get,” she continues, her voice sharper.
Resolute. As if she’s drawing a line in the sand.
Boundaries, if you will—and I know all about boundaries ’cause my mom is in therapy and talks about them all the friggin’ time.
Setting boundaries is one of her favorite topics; she does it with her clients, her parents, and also—my dad.
“Some friends make out every chance they get,” I blurt out. It’s not exactly the argument I wanted to make, but it’s true, isn’t it? There are friends who kiss, who blur the lines and make it work to remain friends. Why can’t we?
Isn’t that what friends with benefits are?
I’m helping her with her prom situation, she’s helping me not get arrested. We can help each other by making out every once in a while, can’t we?
Harper laughs despite herself.
“Touché. But still.” Her expression softens, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that I don’t like seeing. “No. More. Kissing.”
She crosses her arms.
“Harper…”
“Easton. We can’t keep doing this.” Her tone is determined. “It’s just going to make things more complicated.”
“Complicated how?” I shove my hands in my pockets. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“I don’t want to be your ‘in-between’ girl or a rebound.” She says the words softly, bowing her head. “I don’t want to be the one you kiss when you’re not with Maddie, or when you’re confused. I’m worth more than that, Easton. Don’t you think?”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
She’s right.
Harper is worth so much more than that. And the fact that she feels like I would use her makes me feel like an even bigger asshole; as if I would kiss her out of boredom just to fill some void.
“I’m a dick sometimes, but I don’t use people,” I protest. “I would never do that to you.”
“I didn’t say you were a dick, and I didn’t say you were using me. I’m saying I want to be careful and make sure that…doesn’t happen.”
Right. My heart sinks, and all of a sudden, I know what my dad meant about letting others make my decisions for me.
Maybe I don’t know whether I want Maddie or Harper. And maybe now I never will.
I clear my throat. “Gotcha.”