“I’m not. It’s just . . . that piece is personal. I’m not even sure if I want to turn it in.”

“I read your religion journal,” he says—and my heart stops.

“What?” I pray that I heard him wrong. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have read it . . .

“I read it. You left it at the apartment, and I found it.”

This is humiliating. I stand in silence while Hardin stares at me from across the room. Those were private thoughts that I never expected anyone to read, except my professor, maybe. I’m mortified that Hardin pored over my deepest thoughts.

“You weren’t supposed to read those. Why would you?” I ask, trying not to look at him.

“Every entry was about me,” he says by way of defending himself.

“That’s not the point, Hardin.” My stomach is in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “I was going through a really bad time, and those were private thoughts for my journal. You were never meant to—”

“They were really good, Tess. So good. It hurt me to read the way you were feeling, but the words, what you had to say—it was perfect.”

I know he’s trying to compliment me, but it only embarrasses me further.

“How would you feel if I read something you wrote to express your feelings in a private way?” I ignore the compliments from him about my writing. His eyes flash with panic, and I tilt my head in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” is all he says, shaking his head.

chapter

eighty-nine

HARDIN

The look in her eyes almost makes me stop, but I have to be honest, and I want her to know how interesting I found her writing. “I’ve read it at least ten times,” I admit.

Her wide eyes don’t meet mine, but her lips part slightly and she replies, “You have?”

“Don’t be ashamed. It’s only me, remember?” I smile at her, and she steps closer to me.

“I know, but I probably sounded so pathetic. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I was writing them.”

I press my fingers against her lips to silence her. “No, you didn’t. They were brilliant.”

“I . . .” She tries to speak beneath my fingers, and I press them harder.

“Are you done yet?” I grin at her, and she nods. Slowly, I remove my fingers from her lips, and her tongue darts out to wet them. I can’t help but stare.

“I have to kiss you,” I whisper, our faces mere inches apart. Her eyes look into mine, and she swallows loudly before licking her lips again.

“Okay,” she whispers back to me. Her hands are greedy as she wraps her fists around the fabric of my shirt. She pulls me closer, her breathing heavy.

Just before our lips can connect, a knock sounds at the bedroom door. “Tessa?” Kimberly’s high-pitched voice calls through the half-open door.

“Get rid of her,” I whisper, and Tessa backs away from me.

First the kid, now his mom. We might as well invite Vance to join as well.

“We’re leaving in a few minutes,” Kimberly says without coming in.

Good for you. Now get the fuck out of here . . .

“Okay—I’ll be right out,” Tessa responds, and my irritation grows.

“Thanks, hon,” Kimberly says and walks off, humming some pop song.

“I shouldn’t have even fucking—” I begin.

When Tessa looks over at me, I stop myself from finishing my rude remark. It wasn’t true, anyway . . . nothing could keep me from wanting to be here right now.

“I have to go out there now, to watch Smith. If you want to stay in here, you can.”

“No, I want to be wherever you are,” I tell her, and she smiles.

Fuck, I want to kiss her. I’ve missed her so much, and she says she’s missed me, too . . . Why doesn’t she just . . . Her hands wrap around the top of my black T-shirt, and she presses her lips against mine. I feel as if someone has plugged me into an electrical outlet, every fiber of me igniting and buzzing. Her tongue enters my mouth, pressing and caressing, and I wrap my hands around her hips.

I pull her across the room until my feet hit the footboard of the bed. I lie back, and she falls gently on top of me. Wrapping her body into my arms, I turn us over so her body is under mine. I can feel her pulse hammering under my lips as they slide down her neckline and back up to the sweet spot just under her ear. Gasps and quiet moans are my reward. Slowly, I begin what I know are torturing movements, grinding my hips against hers, pressing her into the mattress. Tessa’s fingers move to touch the heated skin under my T-shirt, and her nails rake down my back. As I bring her earlobe between my lips—

The image of Zed thrusting into her flashes through my mind, and I’m on my feet within seconds.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. Her lips are deep pink and swollen from my gentle assault.

“I-it’s, it’s nothing. We should . . . um . . . go out there. Take care of the little shit,” I respond frantically.

“Hardin,” she presses.

“Tessa, let it go. It’s nothing.” Oh, you know, just that I dreamed of Zed fucking you practically through to the other side of our mattress, and now I can’t stop picturing it.

“Okay.” She lifts herself from the bed and wipes her hands against the soft material of her pajamas.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to rid my mind of the disgusting images. If that poser asshole interrupts another second of my time with Tessa, I’ll break every bone in his goddamned body.

chapter

ninety

TESSA

After too many kisses for Smith’s liking, Kimberly and Vance finally leave. Each of the three times they reminded us they were only a phone call away in case there’s trouble, Hardin and Smith rolled their eyes dramatically. When she pointed to the list of emergency numbers on the kitchen counter, they shared a little, cute look of disbelief.

“What do you want to watch?” I ask Smith once their car is out of sight.

He shrugs from where he’s sitting on the couch and looks up at Hardin, who looks down at the kid like he’s an amusing little ferret or something.

“Okay . . . What about a game—do you want to play a game or something?” I suggest when neither of them speaks.

“No,” Smith replies.

“I think he just wants to go back to his room and do whatever the hell he was doing before Kim dragged him out here,” Hardin says, and Smith nods curtly in agreement.

“Well . . . okay, then. You can go back to your room, Smith. Hardin and I will be out here if you need anything. I’ll be ordering dinner soon,” I tell him.

“Can you come with me, Hardin?” Smith asks in the softest tone possible.

“To your room? No, I’m good.”

Without a word, Smith climbs down from the couch and walks over to the stairs. I shoot a glare at Hardin, and he shrugs his shoulders. “What?”

“Go to his room with him,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to go to his room. I want to be out here with you,” he says matter-of-factly. As much as I want Hardin to stay with me, I feel bad for Smith.

“Come on.” I nod to the blond boy as he slowly ascends the steps. “He’s lonely.”

“Dammit, fine.” Hardin groans and sulks across the living room to follow Smith up the stairs. I’m still a little bothered by his odd reaction to our kiss in the bedroom. I thought it was going great—better than great—but he climbed off me so abruptly that I thought he’d been injured. Maybe after being away from me for so long he doesn’t feel the same? Maybe he’s not as attracted to me . . . sexually, as he once was. I know that I’m dressed in baggy pajamas, but he never had a problem with them before.

Unable to come up with any reasonable explanation for his behavior, instead of letting my imagination run wild, I grab the small stack of takeout pamphlets that Kimberly left for us so we could figure out what to order for dinner. I decide on pizza, and grab my phone before going into the laundry room. I place Hardin’s clothes in the dryer and sit on the bench in the center of the room. I call for the pizza and wait while watching the machine turn around and around.