Chapter 82

Molly’s lips curl into a smirk. “Better shit? Like fucking Tessa’s brains out in Seattle?”

And just like old times I raise my middle finger at her. “Fuck off.”

“Don’t be such a pussy. We all know you two haven’t stopped fucking since you met,” she taunts me.

I look at Logan in that “get her to shut her mouth or I will” way, but he shrugs his shoulders.

“You two make a grand couple.” I raise a brow at my old friend, and it’s his turn to raise a finger to me.

“At least she’s leaving you alone now, right?” Logan fires back, and I laugh. He’s got a point there.

“Where is she anyway?” Molly asks. “Not that I care; I don’t like her.”

“We know,” Nate says, and Molly rolls her eyes.

“She doesn’t like you either. No one does, actually,” I remind her mockingly.

“Touché.” She grins and leans into Logan’ shoulder.

Nate may have been right: she does seem less bitchy. A little.

“Well, nice to see you guys, really,” I sarcastically remark and turn to walk away. “I have better shit to do, though, so have fun doing whatever you’re doing. And, Logan, you really should keep fucking her. It seems to be doing the trick.” I nod at them and climb into my car.

Just as I shut the door, I hear a mixture of “He’s in a better mood” and “Pussy-whipped” and “I’m happy for him.”

The weirdest part was that the last one came from the Evil Bitch herself.

Chapter fifty

TESSA

I’m uncomfortable, nervous, and a little cold, sitting here dressed in only a thin hospital gown, inside a small exam room that mirrors the others lining the hall. They should add some color in the rooms—just a little paint would do, or even a framed photograph like in every other exam room I’ve ever been inside. Except this one. This one is nothing but white. White walls, white desk, white floor.

I should have taken Kimberly up on her offer to accompany me today. I’m fine on my own, but having a little support today, even just a little of Kimberly’s humor, would have helped calm my nerves. I woke up this morning feeling much better than I deserve, no trace of a hangover present. I felt sort of good. I fell asleep with a wine-and-Hardin-influenced smile on my face, and I slept more peacefully than I have in weeks.

I keep going round and round in my head, as usual, when it comes to Hardin. Reading and rereading our playful conversation from last night hasn’t failed to make me smile, no matter how many times I look through the messages.

I like this nice, patient, playful Hardin. I would love to get to know that Hardin better, but I’m afraid that he won’t be around long enough to do so. I won’t be around long enough either. I’m leaving for New York with Landon, and the closer the date comes, the more restless the fluttering inside me becomes. I can’t tell if it’s a good flutter or bad, but it’s out of control today, and in this moment it’s multiplied.

My feet are dangling over the edge of this uncomfortable examination bed, and I can’t decide whether I want to keep my legs crossed or not. It’s a trivial decision, but it does the job at distracting me from the cold temperature and awkward butterflies attacking my stomach.

I pull my phone from my purse and type a message to Hardin—just to keep occupied while I wait, of course.

A simple hey is all I send and wait, while crossing and uncrossing my legs.

I’m glad you text me because I was only going to wait another hour before I text you, he replies.

I smile at the screen; even though I shouldn’t like the demand behind his words, I do. He’s being so honest lately, and I’m loving it.

I’m at the doctor and I’ve been waiting a while. How are you today?

He responds quickly. Stop being so formal. Why are you at the doctor? Are you okay? You didn’t tell me you were going. I’m okay, don’t worry about that, though I am here with Nate, who’s trying to get me to hang out later. Like that’ll happen.

I hate the way my chest aches at the thought of Hardin’s hanging out with his old friends. It’s none of my business what he does or who he spends his time with, but I can’t shake the sick feeling that comes over me when thinking about the memories associated with them.

Seconds later: Not that you needed to tell me, but you could have. I would have come with you?

It’s okay. I’m okay alone. I find myself wishing I would have given him the option.

You’ve been alone too much since I’ve met you.

Not really. I don’t know what else to say because my head is fuzzy, and I’m feeling sort of happy that he’s concerned for me and being so open.

The word Liar is paired with a pair of jeans and a ball of fire. I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the noise as the doctor enters the exam room.

Doctor is here, I’ll text you later.

Let me know if he doesn’t keep his hands to himself.

I tuck my phone away and try to wipe the giddy smile from my face as Dr. West pulls a latex glove over each of his hands.

“How have you been?”

How have I been? He doesn’t want to know the answer to that, nor does he have the time to listen. He’s a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist.

“Good,” I reply, cringing at the thought of small talk as he positions himself to examine me.

“I ran the blood work from your last appointment, but there wasn’t anything triggering concern there.”

I let out a breath of relief.

“However,” he says ominously, and pauses.