“Then let’s go before anyone sees us,” I murmur. Her laughter is quick and soft, like she’s in on a secret.
We head straight to my room. She’s been hanging out there more and more these past couple of days, and it feels natural. So natural that I notice her absence when she’s not there.
She sits on the armchair, watching me like I’m a bomb about to explode. “I’m not sure what to say.”
I shake my head with a faint smile. “It’s fine, Harper. Really. Let’s just not talk about it. You win some, you lose some, right?” I pause, then add in a lighter tone, “How was your night? Any black sedan waiting for you in front of the hotel?”
Despite my joking about it, there’s an unease in the pit of my stomach. I saw that car again yesterday, and I don’t like it hanging around. Harper claims she’s never seen it, but I’m still not convinced.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Stop worrying about me.”
“Of course I worry,” I say before I can stop myself.
When the words leave my mouth, time seems to still. My gaze locks with hers, the air thick and quiet. Her cheeks flush the faintest shade of pink, and her lips part like she’s about to say something—anything. Meanwhile, all I want is to close the gap between us.
She clears her throat, breaking the moment, then looks away as she reaches into the bag.
“Hey.” I catch her hand before she can pull away. The contact is brief, accidental—but my heartbeat immediately kicks into overdrive. “Those are my snacks.”
She looks down at our hands for half a second too long before raising an eyebrow. “What, you’re not going to share?”
“I’m sad,” I say solemnly. “I just lost a very important game. I don’t think I’ll recover without some TLC.”
She laughs, her head tipping back, then squeezes my hand once before letting go. “You’ll survive.”
She starts unwrapping her Twix—slowly, deliberately—then places it carefully in her mouth, eyes flitting up to mine like she’s daring me to comment.
I burst out laughing, and she does the same, crumbs scattering onto her jersey.
And even through that spray of Twix crumbs, she’s still the most attractive woman I’ve ever met.
We eat, chat, and laugh, and I can’t think of a better way to nurse my loss. Hanging out with Harper is the best medicine.
And as I reach for another Twix, it hits me—this might be the last time I’ll ever see her.
“Are you leaving tomorrow?” I ask, the words coming out rougher than I expected.
She glances at me, her expression softening. She doesn’t answer right away, like she’s weighing something. “That’s the plan.”
“Could you stay until Sunday?” I ask quickly. “There’s a gala for the athletes on Saturday night, and I’d love for you to come.”Then I add, almost too fast, “Everyone’s going to be there. It’s like a farewell to these past three weeks in DC.”
She bites her lip, eyes dropping to the floor.
Just when I think she’s going to turn me down, she nods.
“I’d love to go with you.”
Our last few days in DC went by in a flash, and it’s now our last evening—the night of the gala. I’m still not sure where Harper and I stand. I know where I want to be, but she’s hard to read sometimes.
Miles said she wouldn’t be coming to a gala with me, now that her assignment here is over, unless she hadsomeinterest in me. But what does he know? He and Marissa had been pining over each other for years before they finally figured out they were in love.
I definitely feel a spark between Harper and me, and we’ve been getting closer by the day. But in life, I’ve learned to never get my hopes up.
The gala is taking place in the hotel ballroom, and I told Harper I’d pick her up at her door before we meet everyone downstairs. That way, I have a minute to absorb the shock of seeing her in what I’m sure will be a jaw-dropping dress before having to face my friends.
I adjust my tux, straighten my cuffs, then knock on her door.
A beat later, she opens it—and I’m glad I had enough sense to make that decision.
