Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Footsteps sound from inside the house.
My stomach clenches.
I brace myself, forcing a steady breath as the door creaks open.
And then—there she is. Harper steps into the garage, her expression unreadable, arms crossed over her chest. Wearing a cute T-shirt, her short shorts peeking out below its hemline. Her hair? Pulled back into a high ponytail.
Cute. Since when does she look cute?
My heart does this weird flip thing in my chest, and I have no idea why, but I have to remind myself: I do not have a crush on this girl, I do not have a crush on this girl, I do not have a crush on this girl.
Need I remind you—the only reason I am even in this garage is because I am being threatened into going to prom with her.
Extorted. I am basically a hostage.
I stop staring at her smooth legs.
“Hey.” Harper’s voice is hesitant as she closes the door to the laundry room.
“Hey.” I feel like a complete dumbass. “Thanks for, you know—coming down.”
“No problem.” She smiles. “I live here.”
I huff a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. Idiot.
“Right. That was dumb,” I admit, fidgeting. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?”
“Sure.”
Harper is giving me nothing.
“So…” Yeah. Get to the point, Westermann. Tell her why you’re here.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to meet her steely gaze. “Look, I didn’t come here to be an idiot. Or, like, more of an idiot than usual.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
I lick my lips, hyperaware of the fact that I don’t have a solid plan for what to say. All I know is I need to be here. With her. To fix my fuckup from earlier.
I could make up a reason for knocking on her door: Say I was in the neighborhood. Say I wanted to talk about prom night. Say I had a question about a class at school.
But none of that is true.
So instead, I do the scariest thing imaginable—I tell Harper the truth.
“I—” I clear my throat. “I wanted to apologize.”
Behind me the sun is setting over the rise, the last streaks of light stretching across the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and pink. It should feel peaceful. However, the weight in my chest is anything but…
“For what?” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t let me in. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the door.
“For the way I acted at the rink.”
Harper shifts on her heels. “How did you act at the rink?”
Ugh, she’s going to make me say it. Admit out loud that I skated past like I didn’t know she was there.
“Like I didn’t see you.”
Damn. Saying that out loud somehow makes it so much worse.
Harper’s face doesn’t change, but something in her mood does. I see it in the slight movement of her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch against the doorframe, tapping on the wood as if she’s suddenly grown impatient.
I rub the back of my neck. “I should have skated over to you,” I admit. “Like Marcus did. I should’ve said hi.”
Harper tilts her head. “So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I guess I was being an asshole.”
She exhales sharply through her nose. “Being an asshole.”
I shove my hands inside the pockets of my athletic pants. “I don’t want you to think that was about you. That I ignored you on purpose to hurt you.” My throat tightens. “I don’t want you to feel bad.”
“Well, I did.” Harper studies me for a long beat. “I saw you looking at me. And then you looked away.”
Shit.
My chest aches, the guilt heavy. “I’m sorry. I’m still…I’ll still ask you to prom and everything, I promise. We still have a deal. You just…caught me at a bad moment, I guess.”
An awkward silence stretches between us. Literally the longest I’ve ever endured.
I clear my throat again, glancing around the garage like the scattered decorations might offer me a way out of this crushing tension. My shoulder brushes against the edge of her dad’s workbench, and I lean against it, suddenly having no idea what to do with my hands.
“So, uh…” I gesture vaguely toward the cardboard knights. “You still working on these?”
Not a thing has been touched, which means she hasn’t made any progress without me.
Harper exhales, finally breaking her stare. “Yeah.” She moves toward the table, reaching for a paintbrush—like I’m not even here with her.
Fine.
Okay.
I deserve it for ignoring her earlier.
The distance between us feels bigger than it actually is.
I push off the bench, taking a step closer. “Want some help?”
She hesitates for half a second, then sighs. “Sure.” Sliding a marker across the table, she looks me dead in the eyes. “Don’t screw it up.”
Relief eases some of the tension coiled in my chest. I step forward, grabbing the marker, careful not to let my fingers graze hers. She already let me back into the garage—which is more than I expected for tonight.