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)
I’m greedy like that—not that you blame me.
The Westermanns’ yard is dark and quiet as I pull into his driveway. I put my car in park but don’t cut my engine. I let the low sound of it idling fill the space between us.
“Do you wanna come in?”
“Inside your house?” I can hardly believe my ears.
“Yeah, inside my house.” He laughs. “To hang or whatever.”
OH MY GOD, are you kidding me?! YES! my brain screams. Yes! OF COURSE I WANT TO GO INSIDE YOUR HOUSE.
OBVIOUSLY!
Being inside his house—just the two of us alone, without our friends—feels like a thing. Like a step into uncharted territory that I don’t know how to navigate, different from being alone with him in my garage.
Intimate?
Fear of the unknown gnaws its way into my gut and I shake my head. Big scaredy-cat.
“No, I th-think…” My voice wobbles. “I think I should probably head home.”
For a moment we sit, Easton nudging the bucket of popcorn with his foot. He doesn’t disagree with me or attempt to sway my decision, but a part of me thinks he looks kind of disappointed—as if maybe he was hoping I would say yes.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says at last, deep voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course.” I cringe inwardly at how buddy-buddy I sound. “Anytime.”
I fiddle with the hem of my denim skirt.
After another few beats of stillness, Easton shifts in his seat and turns to face me, seat belt straining against his muscles.
“Harper.” There’s something new in his voice that makes me meet his gaze rather than avoid it as he says my name.
“Hmm?”
He’s leaning toward me.
I think.
Are his eyes searching mine? It looks like they are…but it’s also dark in here and there are shadows? It could be shadows. Yeah. That must be it.
Why am I so bad at flirting?! Not that he’s flirting. He’s…
He’s…
I don’t know what is happening right now.
“Thanks for the ride home,” he tells me again.
“You already said that.”
“Oh.” His voice is so low. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Too much apologizing already for one evening. How much more can we take?
Wait.
Why is his face so close?
Is it? “Is this my imagination?”
Chapter 17
Easton
“It’s not your imagination,” I mutter, doing the very thing I did not plan to do: lean forward, close the distance between us—and press my lips to hers.
For a moment, everything freezes—including Harper.
She hesitates but doesn’t pull back.
Her lips are warm.
Soft.
And before I can think twice, I kiss her again and then she’s kissing me back, in the driveway of my house.
The garage coach lights flicker on. If my parents noticed an unfamiliar car parked outside, they haven’t come to investigate—probably because they’re in the living room watching TV.
The kiss is awkward at first—when our noses bump, Harper lets out a nervous little laugh against my open mouth. And when she leans farther toward me, she accidentally hits the gear shift with her knee.
But goddamn, her mouth tastes good…
Really good. Like chocolate candy and salty popcorn.
I try not to knock over the popcorn bucket in my enthusiasm, but it’s collateral damage when I twist to move my other hand to the back of her neck. Thread my fingers through her hair; it feels like silk and I can’t remember a single time I’ve had my hands in a girl’s hair…
If this is what it feels like, I want more.
I pull her closer.
Harper tilts her head, angling to get closer—but the seat belt tightens, yanking her back.
My hands move to unbuckle it: hers.
Then mine.
Unbound, we crush our mouths together, my tongue seeking hers—requesting permission—and she parts her lips in response.
The kiss goes from tentative to something deeper.
Urgent.
Our tongues glide together and I feel a shiver run down my spine. The sensation…The warmth of her lips…
My head spins. Vision blurs.
Jeans get uncomfortably tight at the zipper.
A spark igniting. Fireworks.
The kiss grows bolder, more confident; I slide my hand down her rib cage until it’s resting on her hip. She moves her palm to my chest, sliding it slowly up the front of my torso—torturing me.
Can she feel the beat of my heart?
It’s erratic.
Fast.
The opposite of steady, as if I’ve run laps around the gym.
This kiss is everything—not that I have anything to compare it to. Once, I kissed Dora Feldmann, but that was in seventh grade and lasted three seconds.
This kiss is messy and awkward and yeah—a little bit sloppy. Our teeth clash and Harper giggles against my lips when I use my tongue to pop the retainer back to the roof of my mouth like the giant nerd that I am.
“You’re wearing a retainer?” she mutters.
“Uh.” Yes. “I didn’t think I’d be kissing anyone tonight.”
“Welp. It’s a good thing we both don’t have braces…”
I smirk. “Why? You worried we’d get stuck together?”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she blurts out, her fingers tracing a slow path toward my collar.