Chapter 171

“Should I?” she interrupts.

I don’t know how I expect her to know that by now, when I have done so much shit. “You’re right . . . but be quiet,” I say, and she rolls her eyes.

“My party fucking sucked, and I wouldn’t have even gone if you didn’t want me to. I didn’t drink at all—well, actually I did have one drink, but that’s all. I didn’t talk to any other girls, I barely spoke to Molly, and I sure as hell wasn’t hanging out with strippers. Why the fuck would I want anything to do with a stripper when I have you?”

Her eyes soften slightly, and she’s no longer glaring at me like she wants to chop my fucking head off. It’s a start.

“Not that I have you . . . but I’m trying to have you again. I don’t want anyone else. More importantly, I don’t want you to want anyone else either. I don’t know why you would run to Zed, anyway. I know he’s nice to you blah blah blah . . . but he’s full of shit.”

“He hasn’t done anything to make me think that, Hardin,” she insists.

“He texted you from my phone pretending to be me, he purposely told you about the strippers—”

“You don’t know that he texted me, and I’m actually glad to have learned about the strippers.”

“I would have told you if you’d answered when I called you. I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t know you made me a cake or that you were waiting on me. It’s already hard enough to get you to see that I’m trying here, but then he has to come in between us and plant these ideas in your head.”

She stays silent.

“So where do we go from here, Tess? I need to know, because this back-and-forth shit’s killing me and I can’t give you space any longer.” I kneel down in front of her, and her eyes meet mine as I wait for an answer.

Chapter one hundred and twelve

TESSA

I don’t know what to do or say to Hardin at this point.

Part of me knows he isn’t lying to me about the texts, but I don’t think Zed would do that to me. I just got finished talking to him about everything with Hardin, and he was so kind and understanding.

But this is Hardin.

His voice is low and slow, but he presses: “Can you give me an answer?”

“I don’t know, I’m tired of the back-and-forth, too. It’s so exhausting and I can’t do it anymore, I really can’t,” I tell him.

“But I didn’t do anything; we were fine until yesterday, and none of this is my fault. I know it usually is, but not this time. I’m sorry I didn’t spend my birthday with you. I know I should have, and I’m sorry,” Hardin says.

He rests his palms on his thighs as he sits in front of me on his knees, not begging like before but just waiting.

If he’s telling the truth about not sending the texts, which I believe he is, then this really is just a misunderstanding.

“When will it stop, though? I’ve had enough of all of it. I had such a great time when you took me out, but then you wouldn’t even stay until morning.” It’s been bothering me that he left like that, but I hadn’t fully realized it, I guess.

“I didn’t stick around because—per Landon, who I also consulted—I’m trying to give you space. I’m shit at it, obviously, but I thought if I gave you a little space you would have time to think about all of this and it would be easier for you,” he tells me.

“It’s not easier for me, but it’s not all about me. It’s about you, too,” I tell him.

“What?” he questions.

“It’s not only about me. I mean, this has to be exhausting for you, too.”

“Who gives a shit about me? I just want you to be okay and for you to know that I’m really trying here.”

“I do.”

“You do what? Believe that I’m trying?” he asks.

“That, and I give a shit about you,” I tell him.

“So what are we doing, Tessa? Are we okay now? Or at least on the road to being okay?” He lifts his hand and brings it to my cheek.

He looks at me for approval and I don’t stop him.

“Why are we both so crazy?” I whisper as his thumb runs over my bottom lip.

“I’m not. You surely are, though.” He smiles.

“You’re crazier than me,” I tell him, and he inches closer and closer.

I’m irritated at him for yelling at me and for making me wait for him last night even though he supposedly had nothing to do with it, I’m upset that we can’t seem to get along, but more than all of that I miss him. I miss the closeness between us. I miss the way his eyes change when he looks at me.

I have to admit my faults and the role I played in all of this mess. I know how stubborn I am, and it doesn’t help anything when I assume the worst about him when he’s trying, I know he is. I’m not ready to be in a relationship with him, but I have no reason to be upset with him over last night. I hope not, at least.

I don’t know what to think, but I don’t want to think right now.

“No,” he whispers, his lips mere centimeters from mine.

“Yes.”

“Shut up.” He presses his lips against mine with extreme caution. They barely touch mine as he uses both hands to cup my cheeks.

His tongue grazes along my bottom lip, and I lose my breath. I open my mouth slightly to try to get some air, but there doesn’t seem to be any—there’s nothing, only him. I tug at his shirt to bring him off of his knees, but he doesn’t budge as he continues to kiss me slowly. His torturous pace is driving me mad, and I move from my spot at the end of the bed down to meet him on the floor.