She snorts. “That sounded so cheesy.”
I step closer, dropping my voice. “I swear, every time you look at me like that, I forget how to act normal.”
Harper’s eyes go wide for a split second before she clears her throat, dropping her gaze. “Better.”
I huff a laugh. “Better? That’s all I get?” I tilt my head, smirking. “If you think I’m so bad at it, then show me how it’s done.”
Chapter 14
Harper
…Show me how it’s done.
I can’t get those words out of my head.
They kept me up all night staring at my ceiling in the dark, playing on a loop in my mind. Over and over. The way he said it. The way helookedat me when he did. Like he was daring me to react. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and wanted me to lie in bed thinking about it.
The worst part?
It worked.
Here I am in the light of day, starting Monday with zero sleep and having spent way too much time overanalyzing every second of our conversation. I can’t stop thinking aboutteachinghim. Showing him, as it were. But what would that even mean?
I’ve never had a boyfriend! What the hell do I know about guys?
I spin the combination to my locker, pretending not to notice Easton sidling up to his, my eyes covertly straying to his arms. He’s got on a bright blue hockey T-shirt, his biceps barely contained by the sleeves.
There’s also sheen of sweat on his skin, making it glisten like he’s starring in a sports drink commercial.
Also: glitter on the bridge of his nose from last night.
I busy myself organizing my locker even though it’s alreadytidy.
“Just get done with gym class?” I shoot him a sidelong glance of indifference despite my increasing heart rate watching the water drip off his hair.
Easton grunts.
I hide my smile, brain on autopilot, doing laps around the conversation we had last night, picturing the look on his face when I’d admitted that I watched him.
And his muscles—my brain is definitely running laps around those…
After jamming his duffel bag into his locker, he finally throws a lopsided grin my way.
“Power hour.” He flexes, kissing his left biceps, causing me to immediately launch into a fake vomiting sound.
“Please. You’re one protein shake away from deflating,” I exaggerate, punctuating my barb with an eye roll.
My words are lies; he is in no danger of his sinewy muscles deflating. His arms are well defined andso,sonice to look at.
“You know you’d miss the view if they did.”
Oh my god—is heflirtingwith me? Or is he just in a really good mood? I told him to step it up, but I didn’t think he took my words seriously—and I didn’t think he’d turn that awkward grin onme.
“Are you flirting with me?” I pretend to search for my calculator, heart rate kicking up several notches.
“I’m supposed to be practicing, remember?” He rests against his locker like he intends to linger while I rummage around, givingme a slow, deliberate once-over, eyes dragging from my face to my shoes and back up again, andugh. “I’m dedicated.”
I stop what I’m doing and arch a brow in his direction. “And I’m, what? A practice dummy?”
