He spluttered but eventually managed to choke out, “No!”
“Seriously?”
His cheeks flamed redder than his hair. “I mean—I’m not like… I’ve done…stuff.” He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Haven’tyouhad a girlfriend?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Not really. I’ve never done the whole relationship thing. I’m not even sure if I should try. I’m not…built right.”
“Is that why you treated Lola like shit?”
“Harry…”
His lips flattened into a frown. “How does she fit in then?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Maybe the two of us could be friends?” Emptiness filled my chest. The thought of being “just friends” with Lola itched at my brain like a scratchy woollen sweater.
“You don’t need my advice to make friends,” Harry said. “Dunno how, but you managed to find a couple all by yourself.” He cocked his head with a grin.
I tried to smile back, but my mouth was stiff, fighting not to show the tightness gripping around my lungs. “What if I want to be more than friends with Lola? How do I do that? I’m not good at talking to people. You are. Give me some pointers?”
“Just be yourself.”
Careful to keep my attention trained on the road, I glanced at Harry from the corner of my eye. My eyebrows were on the roof. Was he serious?
He laughed. “You’re overthinking it. Maybe just…” He cleared his throat. “Try acting a bit less… awkward.”
He had to be taking the piss. “You know me, right?”
“You’re notthatbad.”
“I once told Lola that her freckles were like chips of wood.”
I swallowed hard. Harry didn’t notice because he was laughing his arse off. But… Lola’s freckles. In her bedroom. The second time I’d had her that night, when she was a little braver, moaned a little louder, her hand clawing at the sheets…Goddamn. Moments like that were the stuff dreams were made of.
Tears stuck to the crinkles of Harry’s eyes as he fought back laughter. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. That’s pretty bad.” He wheezed a few more breaths. “What is it with you and bits of wood? Is this some kinky cabinetmaker thing? You’re supposed to tell girls they’re pretty, and you love how good they smell.”
“Oh, yeah?” I teased. “Something like how her hair’s like golden waves of honey?”
Harry sank low in his seat. “Screw you,” he grumbled.
“Sounds like something kinky a friend of a cabinetmaker might say.”
He laughed.
My hands loosened on the wheel. I’d missed our banter—our friendship. The week away had been good for us. The days were long, and work kept us busy, but Harry had filled every moment of silence with a constant stream of consciousness as we’d worked. We’d finally talked things out and regained some of the ground we’d lost after the way I’d acted.
I glued my eyes back on the highway. “So, what’s your excuse, then, smooth talker?” When Harry mumbled ahuh, I added, “Why are you avoiding Brooke?”
The mood shifted. The inside of the truck chilled frostier than the Antarctic winds that whipped over the valley. No more laughing. He didn’t answer.
“She’s real sweet on you, kid,” I said. “Everyone says so.”
Harry turned to blink out the window. The never-ending blur of green zipping past was more important than facing whatever thoughts spun in his head.
“Harry, what’s going on? Is it what happened at the bar? You’re not the first guy to say something stupid when he’s drunk.” Or even when dead-cold sober, but no one needed a reminder about my dumb arse.
“It’s not that…” Harry sighed. “Well… It’s kinda that… But…” Another sigh.
“Brooke likes you. You were down on one knee, so I’m guessing you like her, too. Seems like a no-brainer.”
