“Maybe you can,” he whispers in response, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

I know he wants to kiss me; I can read it on his face. I can see it in his honest eyes. Hardin’s eyes are so guarded all the time I have to struggle to be able to read him, and even then I’ve never been able to read him the way I want to, the way I need to. I lean closer to Robert, the small table still between us as he leans forward, too.

“If I didn’t love him so much, I’d kiss you,” I quietly say, not pulling back but not moving any closer. As drunk as I am, and as angry as I am at Hardin, I can’t do it. I can’t kiss this other guy. I want to, but I can’t.

The left corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile. “And if I didn’t know how much you love him, I’d let you.”

“Okay . . .” I’m not sure what else to say, and I’m drunk and awkward, and I don’t know how to act around anyone other than Hardin and Zed, but in a way those two are similar. Robert isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. Except Landon. Landon is sweet and kind, and my mind is racing from the almost-kiss with someone who is not Hardin.

“I’m sorry.” I sit back down on the chair, and he does the same.

“Don’t be. I’d much rather you not kiss me than kiss me and regret it.”

“You’re strange,” I tell him. I wish I’d chosen a different word, but it’s too late now. “In a good way,” I correct myself.

“So are you.” He chuckles. “When I first saw you in that dress, I thought you were going to be some snobby rich girl with no personality at all.”

“Well, sorry. I’m surely not rich.” I laugh.

“Or snobby,” he adds.

“My personality isn’t too bad.” I shrug.

“It will do,” he teases with a smile.

“You’re awfully nice.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” I start poking at my cup. “Sorry, I know I sound like an idiot.”

He looks puzzled for a moment, then says, “You don’t sound like an idiot. And you don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m vaguely aware that I have now picked apart the rim of the Styrofoam cup; small pieces of white litter the table in front of me.

“You keep apologizing for everything you say. You’ve said ‘sorry’ at least ten times in the last hour. You haven’t done anything wrong, so you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

I’m embarrassed by his words, but his eyes are so kind and his voice doesn’t hold even a sliver of annoyance or judgment. “I’m sorry . . .” I say again reflexively. “See! I don’t know why I do that.” I smooth a loose lock of hair behind my ear.

“I can guess, but I won’t. Just know that you shouldn’t have to,” he states simply.

I take a deep breath and let it out. It’s relaxing to have a conversation with someone without worrying about upsetting them the entire time.

“Anyway, tell me more about your new job in Seattle,” he says, and I’m thankful for the subject change.

chapter

forty-four

HARDIN

Where do you think I’m going?” I yell up the walk at Karen, tossing my hands in the air out of frustration.

She walks partway back down the porch steps, then says, “I don’t mean to butt in, Hardin, but don’t you think you should leave her be . . . for once? I really don’t want to upset you, but I don’t think anything good will come out of you going down there and causing a scene. I know you want to see her, but—”

“You don’t know anything,” I snap, and my father’s wife pulls her head back a little.

“I’m sorry, Hardin, but I think you need to leave her be for tonight,” she says, like she’s my mother.

“Oh, why? So she can fucking cheat on me?” Frustrated fingers tug at the roots of my hair. Tessa’s already had one glass—one and a half glasses, to be exact—at dinner, and Lord knows she can’t handle alcohol.

“If that’s what you think of her . . .” Karen begins but stops herself. “Never mind, go on, then—like always.” She looks at Max’s wife once, then adjusts her knee-length dress. “Just be careful, dear,” she says with a forced smile and goes up the stairs with her friend.

That headache gone, I continue on with my original plan and march toward the restaurant. I’ll drag Tessa out of there—not literally, of course, but she will come with me. This whole thing is bullshit, and it’s all because I forgot to put on a fucking condom. That’s what started this whole spiraling mess we’re in. I could have called Sandra earlier and corrected the apartment shit, or I could have found Tessa another place to live . . . but that wouldn’t work either. Seattle can’t happen. It’s taking longer to convince Tessa than I imagined it would, and now it’s all even more complicated.

I’m still shocked that she didn’t get out of the car with Karen and whatever Lillian’s mum’s name is. I was positive that she’d be upset and ready to talk to me. It’s that waiter—what kind of influence did he manage to have on her that would make her stay at the restaurant instead of coming with me? What did she see in him?

Needing to collect my thoughts for a minute, I stop and sit down on one of the large rocks decorating the edge of the yard. Maybe barging in there isn’t the best idea. Maybe I should get Landon to go inside and get her. She listens to him much more than she does me. But then I curse at my stupid idea because I know he won’t go for it, and, taking his mum’s side, he’ll make me look weak and tell me to leave her alone.

I can’t, though. Sitting on this cold-ass rock for twenty minutes has made it worse, not better. All I can think about is the way she stepped back away from me on the deck and how she was so carefree laughing with him.

What will I say to her? He seems like the kind of asshole who’ll try to stop me from making her leave. I won’t have to hit him; if I yell enough, she’ll come with me to avoid a fight. I hope. She hasn’t done what I predicted so far tonight.

This is all so juvenile: my behavior, my manipulation of her feelings. I know it—I just don’t know what to do about it. I love her—fuck, do I love that girl. But I’m running out of ways to keep her close to me.

In reality it seems like you have her trapped, and that’s why she won’t leave you: not because she loves you, but because you’ve made her feel that she can’t be without you.

Lillian’s words play like a broken record through my mind as I get up and head past the end of the driveway. It’s cold as fuck outside now, and this stupid shirt is too thin. Tessa didn’t bring a jacket to dinner with her, and that dress—that dress—is skimpy and she’ll definitely be cold. I should probably grab her a jacket . . .

What if he offers her his jacket? Jealousy courses through me, and I ball my fists at the thought.

. . . you have her trapped, and that’s why she won’t leave you: not because she loves you . . .

Fucking Tessa Number Two and her bullshit psychotherapy. She doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. Tessa does love me. I see it in her blue-gray eyes every time she looks at me. I feel it on her fingertips as she traces over the ink stained into my skin. I feel it when her lips touch mine. I know the difference between love and being trapped, between love and being addicted.

I swallow the slight panic that threatens to overtake me again. She loves me. She does. Tessa loves me. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t know how to handle it. I couldn’t. I need her to love me and be there for me. I’ve never let anyone get as close to me as she is; she’s the only person that I know will always love me unconditionally. Even my mum gets sick of my shit sometimes, but Tessa always forgives me, and no matter what I do she’s always there for me when I need her. That stubborn, obnoxious, uncompromising girl is my entire world.