Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
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.