“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—anywords—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. “Youwant to bail on the movie?”
He studies me for a second, a slow smile spreading across hisface.
“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.
