Page 85 of Meant to Be

“Are you okay?” he asks in concern. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t know where I am.”

Nick looks a little bewildered at my dismissiveness. “Is he threatening you?”

“A little.”

“A little?” he echoes loudly, cutting the engine.

“Nick, it’s fine.” I open the door and step out, the heat blasting over my face.

“But—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

When we walk inside, it’s hot and busy, and almost every table is taken. There’s one down the back, fortunately close to the small breeze coming through the window. I order a coffee on my way past the counter, needing the caffeine hit to revive me from my broken sleep last night.

We’ve barely sat for a minute when Harley wanders in, wearing the same outfit he was wearing when he left my place this morning. I swallow, my throat going dry.

He orders a coffee and leans on the counter, his eyes sweeping over the tables. When they land on Nick and me—thankfully Nick’s back is to him—they narrow. He gives me a sarcastic wave and if Nick wasn’t chatting away to me, I’d give him the finger in return.

Sensing my attention elsewhere, Nick looks over his shoulder. He grimaces.

“Suddenly that guy is everywhere,” he mutters.

I drum my fingers on the table, wishing the service wasn’t so slow here. I need something to occupy my hands.

Harley receives his coffee before I get mine. Our eyes are locked as he lifts it to his mouth. Heat rises inside me. I can’t get enough of those eyes.

It took me four years to erase him. And now everything is rushing back.

He takes a long sip before he’s back out the door. I watch as he slides into his truck and speeds off, disappearing out of view in a rain of dust.

“Have you spoken to him?”

I startle, having completely lost track of what Nick was talking about. His eyes are studying me, and it hits me that he would have realised who I was staring at.

“Harley?” I ask. “A little.”

Nick’s chair creaks as he leans back. “A little.”

“Bit hard not to when he works at the only decent place to drink and eat dinner,” I say.

“Right.”

Joanne serves us our coffee and I’m grateful for the interruption. I stare down at the darkness, curling my fingers around the mug.

I think about last night. How it felt seeing those eyes peering at me through the window. How good his body felt. His piercing inside my mouth. His hands are strong and firm.

Everything about him feels insanely good, but hopelessly bad. I hadn’t wanted him to stop.

My eyes flick to my hands. I picture his tanned skin on mine. His big hands covering my small ones.

Nick is talking again, his smile having returned. I don’t know what about. I blink back to reality and try to focus. All I wanted was this. Nick taking me out, giving me his attention. Exactly like four years ago, over the course of a few days, I seem to care so much less about the boy in front of me. I don’t understand how this can be happening again. Haven’t I learned from my mistakes?

“I have a headache,” I blurt.

Nick stops mid-sentence. “Oh. Are you all right?”