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 beingvigilantly aware of my surroundingsto 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 heneedsme 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 aboutpromwhen 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 handthrough his hair. It sticks up in a million directions. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you have to cut me loose.”
