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Great. Just fucking great.
And there’s Smith, standing in the doorway of Tessa’s new bedroom.
“Just now,” I reply, hoping that he’ll leave the room so I can continue what almost was started moments ago.
“Why did you come?” he asks and enters the room.
I point to Tessa, who is now more than five feet away from me, pulling my clothes out of my bag and gathering them in her arms. “I came to see her.”
“Oh,” he quietly replies, staring down at his feet.
“Do you not want me here?” I inquire.
“I don’t mind,” he says with a shrug, and I smile at him.
“Good, because I wouldn’t have left if you did.”
“I know.” Smith smiles back and leaves Tessa and me alone. Thank fucking God.
“He likes you,” Tessa says.
“He’s okay.” I shrug, and she laughs.
“You like him, too,” she accuses.
“No, I don’t. I said simply: He’s okay.”
She rolls her eyes. “Suuuuure.”
She’s right, I do sort of like him. More than any other five-year-old that I’ve ever met, at least.
“I’m watching him tonight while Kim and Christian go to a club opening,” she says.
“Why aren’t you going along?”
“I don’t know, I just didn’t want to.”
“Hmm.” I pinch my lips between my fingers to hide my smile from her. I’m thrilled that she didn’t want to go out, and I find myself hoping that she’d planned on spending her evening talking to me on the phone.
Tessa gives me a weird look. “You can go if you’d like; you don’t have to stay in with me.”
I give her an indignant look. “What? I didn’t drive all this way to go out to some shitty club without you. You don’t want me to stay with you?”
Her eyes meet mine, and she presses my clothes to her chest. “Yes, of course I want you to stay.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t have left if you didn’t,” I joke.
She doesn’t smile the way Smith did, but she does roll her eyes, which is just as cute.
“Where are you going?” I ask when I notice her inching toward the door with my things.
She gives me a look that’s both funny and sultry. “To do your laundry,” she says, and disappears into the hall.
Chapter eighty-eight
TESSA
My thoughts are racing as I start the washing machine. Hardin came here, to Seattle—and I didn’t have to ask or beg him. He came of his own accord. Even if it’s only for one night, it means so much to me, and I hope that it will turn out to be a step in the right direction for us. I’m still so conflicted when it comes to our relationship . . . We always have so many problems, so many pointless fights. We’re such different people, and I’m at a point now where I’m not sure it will ever work.
But right now, now that he’s here with me, I want nothing more than to try this long-distance half relationship/half friendship, and see where it takes us.
“I knew he’d show up,” Kimberly says from behind me.
When I turn around, I see her leaning against the doorframe of the laundry room. “I didn’t,” I tell her.
She gives me an oh-please look. “You had to know he would. I’ve never seen a couple like the two of you.”
I sigh. “We aren’t exactly a couple . . .”
“You ran into his arms like something out of a movie. He’s been here for less than fifteen minutes, and you’re already doing his laundry.” She nods to the machine.
“Well, his clothes are filthy,” I say, ignoring the first part of her remark.
“You two just can’t stay away from one another; it’s really something to watch. I do wish you were coming out tonight so you could get dressed up and show him what he’s missing by not being here in Seattle with you.” She winks and then leaves me alone in the laundry room.
She’s right about Hardin and me not being able to stay away from each other. It’s always been that way, since the day I met him. Even when I tried to convince myself that I didn’t want him, I couldn’t ignore the fluttering I felt inside me every time we ran into each other.
Back then, Hardin always seemed to appear wherever I was . . . Granted, I did go to his fraternity house every chance I could. I hated it there, but something inside me drew me to the place, knowing that if I went, I would see him. I didn’t admit it then, not even to myself, but I longed for his company, even when he was being cruel to me. The memories feel so ancient and almost dreamlike as I recall the way he used to stare at me during class, then roll his eyes when I said hello.
The washing machine makes a random little beep, bringing me back to reality, and I hurry down the hallway to the guest room that has been designated as Hardin’s for the night. The room is empty; Hardin’s empty bag is still on the bed, but he’s nowhere to be found. I walk across the hall and find him standing over the desk in my room. His fingertips are tracing the cover of one of my notebooks.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask.
“I just wanted to see where you’re . . . living now. I wanted to see your room.”
“Oh.” I notice the way his brows pull together when he calls it “my room.”
“Is this for a class?” he asks, holding up the black leather notebook.
“It’s for creative writing.” I nod at him. “Did you read it?” I can’t help but feel a little nervous at the thought that he may have. I’ve only completed one assignment so far, but like everything else in my life, it ended up relating to him.