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Dad chuckles, then says, “Low, you practically live alone ninety percent of the time, and your boyfriend lives right next door. You think I don’t know he spends nights here when I’m gone?”
Jace’s eyes are practically falling out of his head now.
And Dad, unwittingly playing into my game, says, “I trust you both and just hope that you’re being…safe.”
“We’re not having sex!” Jace exclaims.
“Jace!” I gasp.
Dad sucks in a breath, lets it out slowly. “Well, good to know… I guess? Goodnight.”
“Night, Dad.”
Jace doesn’t respond, too busy pretending to be focused on the dishes.
I whisper, “I can’t believe you just told my dad that.”
“He thought we were doing…it.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t need to know we’renot. Now he just assumes we’re doingeverythingelse.”
He smirks. “We are.”
52
Jace
I like Harlow the best when she’s quiet.
Wait.
That came out wrong.
What I meant to say is that I like the quiet moments with her, when no one else is around, and we’re not really doing much of anything besides existing in each other’s presence.
I’d gone home after washing the dishes to check on my grandpa, who was there, awake and semi-lucid. There were empty beer cans by his feet, but none in his hands, which meant that he’d run out for the night. I told him I was heading out again, and he didn’t react, which is probably the best-case scenario.
By the time I returned to Harlow’s, using my key to let myself in, she’d just gotten out of the shower and was drying her hair. Now, she’s sitting at her mirrored dresser thing, smearing white stuff all over her face, and I sit on the edge of the bed and just watch her.
Her eyes meet mine through the mirror, and she smiles—this timid little smile she saves for moments like this… when she catches me looking at her. Which I often do, because… how could I not? The girl’s beautiful. And she’smine.
Sometimes I wonder how we got here or what we’d be to each other had she not knocked on my van door and made that proposition. She’d probably be dating Jonah by now, which means she’d be far more social, and he’d make her laugh more than I do. She’d probably have weekly dinners at his house, with his family—a mom, a dad, two younger sisters, and she’d feel like she’s part of something. Something more thanjustme and all my bullshit baggage. And she’d go to all our games, like she does now, but she’d wear his jersey instead of mine, andfuck that.
“Why is your face like that?” she asks, pulling me from my nightmare.
I try to school my features, but I can still feel the tension there—right between my eyebrows. “What’s wrong with my face?”
She giggles, collects a few jars and bottles of whatever from her dresser, and stands. “Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“To fix your face.” She nods toward the bed. “Sit back. I’m about to blow your mind.”
I smile full force.
She rolls her eyes. “Not like that!”
“Oh.” I do as she says, settling in with my back against the head board. “It’s just… last time you said that, you?—”