Page 79

Hell, if I had known she was out there, I wouldn’t have wasted my time fucking every chick that I could. I wasn’t running on anything before; no driving force with blue-gray eyes was helping me, guiding me through my fucked-up life, so I made too many mistakes, and now I have to work harder than most at trying to right those wrongs.
If I could take it back, I wouldn’t have touched another girl. Not one. And if I had known just how good touching Tessa would be, I would have been preparing myself, counting down the days until she barged into my room at that frat house, touching all my books and things after I explicitly told her not to.
The only thing that’s keeping me remotely in control of myself is the hope that she will come around eventually. She will see that this time I’m not going to take my words back. I will marry her ass, even if I have to drag her down the aisle.
This is another of our problems, these pushy thoughts. As much as I’ll deny them to her face, I can’t help but smile now at the vision of her in a white dress, scowling and yelling at me, as I literally drag her by her feet down a carpeted aisle while some bullshit song is played on a harp or some other instrument that no one uses outside of weddings and funerals.
If I had her number, I would text her just to make sure she’s okay. She doesn’t want me to have it, though. It took a lot of control not to snatch Landon’s phone from his pocket and just steal it after dinner.
I’m lying in this bed when I should be driving to Seattle. Should be, could be, need to be, but can’t. I need to give her a little space or she’ll pull farther away from me. I hold my phone up in the dark and scroll through the pictures of her. If images of memories are all I will have for a while, I’m going to need more pictures. Seven hundred and twenty-two isn’t enough.
Instead of continuing down the path of an obsessive stalker, I climb out of bed and pull on some pants. I don’t think Landon or pregnant Karen would appreciate seeing me naked. Well, maybe they would. I smile at my thoughts and take a moment to come up with my plan. Landon will be stubborn, I know it, but he’s easy to break. By the second embarrassing joke I crack about his new crush, he’ll be shouting Tessa’s number and blushing like a kindergartener.
I knock twice, giving the kid fair warning before pushing the door open. He’s asleep, lying on his back with a book on his chest. Fucking Harry Potter. Should have known . . .
I hear a noise and see a little flash. As if a sign from above, his phone screen lights up, and I grab it from his nightstand. Tessa’s name and the beginning of a text: Hey Landon, you up? Because . . .
The preview doesn’t show the rest. I need to see the rest.
I circle my neck, trying not to allow the jealousy to take over. Why is she texting him so late?
I try to guess his pass code, but he’s harder to read than Tessa. Hers was so obvious and comical, really. I knew that, like me, she would be afraid to forget the thing and choose 1234. That’s our password for everything. PIN numbers, pay-per-view code on our cable box, anything that requires numbers, that’s what we always use.
See, we are practically fucking married anyway. We could be wed together at the same time some hacker steals our identities—ha.
I smack Landon with a pillow from his bed, and he groans. “Wake up, dickhead.”
“Go away,”
“I need Tessa’s number.” Smack.
“No.”
Smack. Smack. Harder smack.
“Ugh!” he whines, sitting up. “Fine. I’ll give you the number.”
He reaches for his phone, which I place in his hand while watching the numbers he presses, just in case. He hands me the phone once it’s unlocked. I thank him and type her number in my phone. The relief I feel as I press save is pathetic, but I don’t care.
I smack Landon again with the pillow, just for good measure, and leave the room.
I think I hear him cussing at me until I close the door, laughing. I could get used to this feeling, this . . . hope-like feeling as I type in a simple good-night text to my girl and wait anxiously for her to reply. Everything seems to be getting better for me, finally, and the last step is Tessa’s forgiveness. I just need a sliver of the hope she has always had for me to return.
Harrrdin? the message reads.
Fuck, I was beginning to think she was going to ignore me.
No, not Harrrdin. Just Hardin. I decide to start the conversation with teasing even though I want to beg her to come back from Seattle, or not to freak out if I show up there in the middle of the night.
Sorry, I can’t type on this keyboard. It’s too touchy.
I can picture her lying in her bed in Seattle, squinting and frowning as she uses her index finger to tap each letter.
Yeah, iPhones huh? Your old keyboard was massive so I can see why you are having a problem.
She responds with a smiley face, and I’m impressed and amused by her newfound use of the emojis. I fucking hate them and have always refused to use them, but here I am rushing to download the shit so I can respond with a matching smiley face.
You still there? she asks just as I send a matching face.
Yeah, why are you up so late. I saw that you texted Landon. I shouldn’t have sent that.
A few seconds pass, and she sends an image of a tiny wineglass. I should have known she was hanging out with Kim after all.
Wine, huh? I send, accompanied by something that looks like a surprised face, I think. Why are there so many of these damn things? When would anyone ever need to send a picture of a tiger, for fuck’s sake?
Being curious and a little high off the attention she’s giving me, I send the damn tiger and laugh to myself when she responds with a camel. I laugh each time she sends me a stupid little image that no one could possibly have a use for.