I won’t lie, but I’m not going to expound either. She doesn’t push, knowing I’ll tell her when I’m ready. Harper is good about opening the door and letting the other person decide when to walk through it.
“Jordan likes you.”
I fling a dinner plate like a frisbee.
“Then you need glasses because you’re seeing things that don’t exist.”
Harper pins me with her bright blue eyes. “I’m not the one who needs glasses, babe.”
The music stops and someone announces our time is up. We return our gear to the front, say our thanks, and are on our way.
“I need a shower,” I comment as soon as we step outside, and the tepid night air chills my skin.
I check my phone for the time. A little past nine. It’ll take about a half hour to drive back to Woodspire. I send a text to Natalie letting her know we’re heading back.
Harper stretches her arms overhead and bends to the side. “I’m going to be feeling that tomorrow.”
I’m feeling it now. I can barely lift my arms, and muscles I didn’t even know I had are aching and sore.
“It was fun. Thanks for suggesting we do that.”
“Aurora was actually the one to give me my first rage room experience. Don’t ever let her drag you to an ax throwing range. She’s scary.”
They have places where you throw axes? Has everything turned into some sort of blood sport?
Harper presses the button on her key fob to unlock the car doors. She offered to drive tonight, which means I get the pleasure of riding in her Mercedes G Class. She’s so down to earth and “normal,” it’s hard to remember how wealthy she is. Jordan is the same way. He doesn’t flaunt how much money he has.
We drive with the windows down, belting out the lyrics to whatever radio song comes on. The slapping wind pulsing through the open windows quickly dries out my clothes and hair. I use the rubber band I find in Harper’s center console to tame my frizzy locks into a ponytail.
Streetlights flash by and keep beat to the song that’s currently playing. When my phone vibrates in my pocket, it takes a minute to retrieve it, made more difficult from my seated position.
Chase: Any plans for tomorrow?
Harper glances over as I read the message, and I twist slightly at an angle to obstruct her direct line of sight.
Chase and I have been texting off and on since our run-in at Gas ‘N Go.
Me: Going to try my hand at repairing drywall and weed Natalie’s flower beds. Sunday Funday. Why?
Chase: Tomorrow’s Saturday.
Me: But that doesn’t rhyme with Funday.
I watch the three dots bounce as Chase types a reply.
Chase: Want company? Drywall is my jam. I do own a construction business.
Me: Thanks, but I’ve got it covered.
With Jordan showing up to the house every morning, I can’t have Chase dropping by as well. All Natalie needs is to have two grown men fist fight on her front lawn.
Chase: If you change your mind.
Me:
Chase: Meet up afterward for coffee and friendly conversation?
“That Mason?” Harper asks.
