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)
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
I grip my phone tight. “Sure. I’ll get right on that,” I say, glaring at the screen. “Just know that I hate you.”
He laughs. “Nah, you love me.”
My stomach flips violently, and I have to remind myself that he doesn’t mean it like that. It’s just Easton being Easton, completely and devastatingly unaware that he is the source of my suffering.
I force out a chuckle. “Yeah, okay.”
Something flickers in his expression.
“So when are you gonna tell him?”
“Would you please stop? I can’t tell him. He likes someone else.”
“Oh.” Easton’s face falls. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” I laugh, but it comes out sounding fake. “It’s fine. It hardly matters.”
He doesn’t immediately agree. He doesn’t say yeah, totally! or the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. No. He observes me stoically, like he’s seeing me for the first time.
And because I can’t take the silence—can’t take him looking at me like that—I add, “Besides, I’m sure you can relate. You’ve had a crush on Maddie Miller since forever and she barely knows you exist.”
It comes out more defensive…and meaner than I intended it to, but I don’t take it back.
I can’t. My pride is on the line.
Easton blinks. “Um. Ouch?”
I shrug, playing it off like the blood isn’t rushing through my veins.
“Just saying.”
His jaw tenses, and he rubs the back of his neck. I’ve come to recognize it as something he does when he’s overwhelmed.
“I mean…yeah,” he stammers. “But that’s different.”
I frown. “How?”
“I don’t know, Harper. It just is.”
My name on his lips never gets old. I could listen to him say it over and over and over again…and I should drop this subject and move on. Tell him to hang up and go to sleep. Make another joke. Tease him instead of throwing barbs.
But I don’t.
I take his earlier advice, holding his gaze. “If a girl liked you but she was too scared to say anything because…I don’t know, maybe she thought you liked someone else…” I swallow, pulse hammering. “Would you still want to know?”
His lips part, like the words are forming but not quite making it out of his mouth. His brows pinch together slightly, thoughts running a mile a minute behind his eyes.
He’s thinking about it.
He’s thinking about me.
He knows.
The moment stretches, thick with tension.
Then he answers, so low I almost don’t hear it—
“Yes.”
The word sends a shiver through me.
I nod, my heart in my throat. “Yes?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes darting away self-consciously.
“Yeah.” He exhales a breath, quieter this time. “I’d want to know. Everyone deserves a chance to make an informed decision.”
Everything feels like it’s vibrating. My body. My thoughts. The air between us.
But I don’t say anything else.
And neither does he.
Chapter 19
Easton
Aside from the low hum of the radio, the inside of my dad’s SUV is quiet.
Too quiet.
Usually, I don’t mind the silence. After practice my body is wrecked, my brain is drained, and I don’t care about anything but food and sleep. But tonight?
Tonight, my head is a mess.
I barely remember the way my skates cut across the ice during drills or the weight of my gear as I lugged it through the parking lot afterward. All I can hear is Harper’s voice in my head, soft and careful, asking, If a girl thought you liked someone else…would you still want to know?
Yes, I said. And she said…nothing.
Which is good. We’re friends, right?
Friends don’t kiss like that.
I drag a hand down my face, staring out the window as streetlights blur past. Mom’s working late, my friends would be zero help, and I know I should let this go…
But I literally can’t.
So against my better judgment I blurt out, “Dad, can I ask you something?”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he grunts, barely glancing over. “You just did.”
Ha ha.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Another thing, then.”
Dad nods. “Go for it.”
I hesitate.
We never talk about girls. My dad has always discouraged dating, told me to stay focused. Relationships can wait. They’re a distraction from bigger things.
And honestly? I’ve never had a reason to argue. I’m too busy, too caught up in hockey, in making sure I don’t screw up my shot at college and eventually going pro.
Last night’s conversation with Harper, though? Won’t stop replaying in my head, looping like some annoying highlight reel I can’t turn off.
I clear my throat, steeling myself. “How do you know if a girl likes you?”
That gets his attention.
His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He resettles in his seat, rests his wrist against the gear shift, and lets the silence stretch long enough that I regret asking.
Shit.
This was a mistake.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Too late—I said it, and I can already tell by the way my dad exhales, slow and measured, that he’s not exactly thrilled about it.