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“I don’t think you want to talk about it.” I pull my lip between my teeth.
“Yes, I do.” Hardin unbuckles his seat belt and turns to face me.
I look up at him, and try to think of how to phrase this. “That hideous voicemail is from the night . . . the night I kissed him.”
“Oh.” He turns his face away from me.
Breakfast went so well, only to be ruined by my stupid voice-mail that I left in the middle of an emotional tidal wave. I shouldn’t be held accountable.
“Before or after you kissed him?”
“After.”
“How many times did you kiss him?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
“My car,” I squeak.
“Then what? What did you do after you left this?” He holds the phone in the air between us.
“Went back to his apartment.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Hardin rests his forehead against the steering wheel.
“I . . .” I begin.
He raises his finger to silence me. “What happened at his apartment?” He closes his eyes.
“Nothing! I cried and we watched television.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I slept on the couch. The only time I slept in his room was the time you showed up there. I haven’t done anything with him except kiss him, and a few days ago when I met him for lunch, he tried to kiss me and I pulled away.”
“He tried to kiss you again?”
Shit. “Yes, but he understands the way I feel about you. I know I made a huge mess of all of this and I’m sorry for even spending time with him. I don’t have a good reason or excuse but I’m sorry.”
“You remember what you said, right? That you’ll stay away from him?” His breathing is controlled, too controlled, as he lifts his head from the wheel.
“Yes, I remember.” I don’t like the idea of being told who I can be friends with, but I can’t say I wouldn’t expect the same from him if the roles were reversed, which they have been a lot lately.
“Now that I know the details, I don’t want to talk about it again, okay? I mean it . . . like I don’t even want to hear his fucking name come out of your mouth.” He’s trying to stay calm.
“Okay,” I agree and reach across to grab his hand in mine. I don’t want to talk about it anymore either; we’ve both said all we can say about the subject, and going back over it will only cause more unnecessary problems for us and our already damaged relationship. It’s sort of a relief to be the cause of the problem this time, because the last thing Hardin needs is another reason to despise himself.
“We better get to class,” he finally says.
My heart sinks at his cool tone, but I keep my mouth shut as he withdraws his hand from mine. Hardin walks me to the philosophy building, and I scan the street for Landon but don’t see him. He must be inside already.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say and take my bag from Hardin’s hand.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs, and I attempt a smile before turning to walk away.
A hand presses into my arm, and even before his mouth forcefully presses against mine, he’s claimed me in the way only he can.
“I’ll see you after class. I love you,” he breathes and withdraws, leaving me panting and smiling as I head inside.
Chapter one hundred and eighteen
HARDIN
I listen to that voicemail for the fifth time as I walk down the campus sidewalk. She sounds so miserable and upset. In a fucked-up way it makes me happy to hear it, to hear the anguish and pure sadness in her voice as she cries into my ear. I wanted to know if she was as miserable without me as I was without her, and here is the proof that she was. I know I forgave her quickly for kissing that asshole, but what else was I supposed to do? I can’t be without her, and we’ve both done some fucked-up shit—not only her.
This is his fault, anyway; he knew how fucking vulnerable she would be when we split. I know he fucking knew that: he saw her crying and shit, then he goes and kisses her a week after she left me? What kind of fucking dickhead does that?
He took advantage of her, of my Tessa, and I won’t fucking have it. He thinks he’s so smooth and he gets away with shit, but not any fucking more.
“Where’s Zed Evans?” I ask a short blond girl sitting by a tree near the environmental studies building.
Why the fuck is there a giant-ass tree in the middle of this stupid-ass building, anyway?
“In the plant room, number two eighteen,” she informs me with a shaky voice.
I finally reach the room with “218” printed on the door and open it before I can think about my promise to Tessa. I wasn’t actually going to leave him alone anyway, but hearing how distraught she was on the night she was with him made it ten times worse for him.
THE ROOM IS FULL of rows of plants. Who would want to mess with this shit all day for a living?
“What are you doing here?” I hear him before I lay eyes on him.
He’s standing next to a large box or some shit; when he steps out I take a step toward him.
“Don’t play fucking stupid, you know exactly what I’m doing here.”
He smiles. “No, sorry, I don’t. The study of botany doesn’t require psychic powers.”
He mocks me with those dumb fucking goggles on his head. “You actually have the nerve to be a smug asshole about it?”
“About what?”
“Tessa.”
“I’m not being a dick at all. You’re the one treating her like shit, so don’t get pissed when she runs to me because of it.”