“Nah. Not crazy. Just a rich bitch who knows what she wants.”
And what she wants is me. Christ. “I’m scared, Har-Har. Hold me.”
That gets me another snort.
We both go quiet for a moment. It’s strangely comfortable—normally I hate silences. They make me itchy and anxious and I fill them by babbling incessantly. But right now, I simply sit there next to Hartley and admire her profile again.
I’m dying to ask her about her sister, but I can’t. Just because I’m really fucking curious about that conversation in the diner doesn’t mean I need to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I have more willpower than—
“I saw you with your sister,” I blurt out.
So much for willpower.
Hartley’s body language goes right back to stiff and unwelcoming. “What?”
“I came in when you guys were in the booth,” I confess. “I sat nearby and listened.”
“You…listened?” Very slowly, outrage creeps into those two words. Then she explodes. “What the hell, Easton!”
“I’m sorry. It’s not like I did it on purpose,” I say defensively. “I just didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Hartley’s jaw tightens. “You should’ve let me know you were there.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
This time, the silence that falls is swimming with awkwardness.
“So your folks kicked you out?”
She swivels her head toward me, glaring hard enough to make me shiver.
“At least, that’s the impression I got from what I heard. So what happened? Did they catch you snorting coke or something? Try to send you to rehab?” Holy fuck, why am I still talking? She obviously doesn’t want to speak to me about this. But my brain to mouth filter isn’t working. It rarely ever does.
“None of the above,” she mutters.
“Okay. So…what then?”
“My dad and I had a disagreement,” is her cryptic response.
I want to know more. I need to. But Hartley’s too prickly. I can’t ask her anything else without completely spooking her.
Actually, she sort of reminds me of Ella. When Ella first came to town, getting details out of her was damn near impossible. Eventually she dropped her defenses, once she realized we didn’t want anything from her. Or rather, that I didn’t.
That’s another thing I got before Reed—Ella spoke to me about her stripping before she ever spoke to Reed about it. I wonder why she did that. Maybe… Is it because Ella never saw me as a threat?
I drum my fingers on my knees as the realization sinks in. I barely have time to analyze it before another one comes.
Hartley sees me as a threat. That’s why her back is always up.
I suddenly think about the way she talked to Bran Mathis, all smiles and no hostility. Why? I guess because…because he hadn’t mocked her about getting in her pants the way I’d done? No, the way I’m still doing. I promised her I’d stop hitting on her, that I’d be a good, platonic friend to her, but—story of my life—I didn’t follow through on that promise.
I’m an asshole.
“Hey, if you want, I can come inside and chill in a booth while you work, quiz you on Brit lit whenever it gets dead,” I offer.
Hartley looks startled. “Wait, what?”
“I asked if you want me to quiz you—”
“No, I heard you,” she cuts in. “I just don’t get it… You’re not going to ask me about my father?”
“No.”
Her eyes widen and then almost immediately narrow. “Why not?”
“Because it’s none of my business. If you want to tell me about the disagreement with your dad, or whatever it was, then you’ll tell me.” I shrug. “Friends don’t force each other to talk.” There isn’t one false note in those seven words, because I’ve come to some more conclusions during this brief exchange.
Hartley’s not going to sleep with me. She’s attracted to me—I know she is—but she’s not going to act on it. She’s got something everyone says I should acquire: self-control. She’s not going to climb into bed with me or in the back of my truck or under the bleachers, and I think it’s time I accepted that.
But I like her. I don’t want to stop talking to her. I don’t want her to be threatened by me.
So…if Hartley is going to stop viewing me as a threat, then I’ve got to start treating her as something other than a hookup.
I need to treat her as a friend. A real, give-a-shit-about-each-other, don’t-need-to-be-naked-to-care-about-you friend.
“I mean it,” I say gruffly. “I’m here if and when you’re ready to talk about it. ’Til then, we can talk about other stuff. Deal?”
Her thoughtful expression stays with her for several moments. Finally, she opens her mouth and murmurs, “Deal.”
Chapter 16
“Did you seriously switch up your entire schedule?” Ella demands the next morning.
I slam my locker door shut and turn to grin at her. “Nope. I’m still in Calculus.”
She gapes at me. “But all your other classes are different?”
“Pretty much.”
“And Beringer approved this?”
“Yup.”
“Was he on crack?”
“Probably?”
She snatches my new schedule out of my hand. Mrs. G printed it out for me when I popped into the office after practice.
“This is ridiculous!” Ella huffs. “You need to take certain classes in order to graduate, Easton. There’s only one language class on here—you need two this semester. And you’re taking government! You took that last year! Why are they letting you take it again?”
“I’m going with your crack theory.”
She shoves the paper against my chest. “This is Hartley Wright’s schedule, right?”
“Yeah, so?” It’s not a big secret—I already told everyone last week why I was attending all different classes.
“So, don’t you think you should leave her alone?”
“That’d be a negative.”
“But…she’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to go out with you.”
“I know, and I’m cool with that. We’re best friends now, Ella. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Ella’s not buying what I’m selling. “What are you up to?”
“Only very good things, baby sis.” I sling an arm around her shoulder.
She sighs. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Her skepticism begins to annoy me. “Why? Is it so hard to believe that I could be good for Hartley?”
“Yes, it is. You know I love you to death, but come on, Easton. You make decisions based on how people make you feel, not the other way around.”
“Come on. I’m not that bad,” I joke.
But Ella’s on a roll. “Are you denying it? Denying that you screwed around with your brothers’ girlfriends? That you told me once that—”
Stung, I drop my arm and slow down. “Did I piss in your cereal this morning? Why are you throwing this shit in my face?”
“Because I care about you. When you hurt people, it ends up scarring your own heart.” Her expression softens. “I want you to be happy. I don’t think this is going to make you happy.”
“How about you stay in your own lane and worry about whether Reed’s being faithful all the way up at State without you,” I snap.