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Maybe that was exactly what Harper needed . . .
“What do you do to work out?” he asked, genuinely curious. He remembered she’d been on the volleyball team in high school. Her freshman year she’d been a cheerleader and cute as absolute fuck in her uniform. Harper could wear a short skirt like no one else. Even Delilah and she had those long dancer legs. “Still play volleyball?”
Harper made a face. “No. I haven’t played it in years.”
Of course she didn’t. And he never thought about Delilah like that anymore either. Yeah, they’d had a thing when they were kids. A pretty passionate thing, if he was being truthful. As passionate as two teenage kids could be. But it had fizzled out fast. They were better off as friends and had realized it quick, which was awfully grown-up for them. They’d been babies then.
Seeing Delilah now, there was no spark, no interest. More like a pleasant fondness and memories of a time past. He was hopeful that they could continue their friendship. Delilah was good people. She always had been.
Harper Hill was . . . different. Just hearing her name being said by someone else sent a bolt of sensation straight through his veins. Hearing her voice made his heart race. Having her so close, or worse, having her touch him, however briefly, however meaningless it was . . .
He felt weak—weak with wanting her.
Was it because he’d never had a real chance with her? One night of kissing for a few hours hadn’t been nearly enough. More like a sampling of what he wanted more of. Once he had her—if he ever got the chance—would he get over this feeling? Or would that make him want her more?
For all he knew she wasn’t interested in him like that. He couldn’t blame her. He’d treated her like crap by walking away and never acknowledging what happened that night. Of course, he’d left town and never had the chance to talk about it with her, but maybe that had only made it worse.
Hell, he still hadn’t acknowledged what happened between them. Maybe he should. Maybe they should confront their past indiscretion once and for all, get it out of the way so they could forge on. Move forward. All that positive mumbo jumbo he’d never been much of a believer in.
“So what do you do? For exercise?” he finally asked, needing to get back on track and focus on Harper. Not become lost in old memories.
“I run mostly. A few mornings a week,” she said with a little shrug. She set her slice of pizza on the plate and took a drink of her water. “I should probably run more, but . . . ”
“Do you do anything else?”
“Sometimes Delilah gives a torturous exercise class during the summer. I’ve been known to participate in that.” Harper made a little face. “She’s kind of ruthless.”
“This doesn’t surprise me,” he said, though he distinctly remembered Delilah complaining about her dance teacher and how relentless and pushy she used to be. Now Delilah was the relentless, pushy one.
“I should exercise more. I should do a lot of things
that are good for me.” She dropped her gaze to the table, a little sigh escaping her.
“Like what? And says who?” he asked.
Harper lifted her head, her pretty brown eyes meeting his. “This is going to sound incredibly lame,” she started, her lips immediately clamping shut, as if she didn’t want to say the rest.
“Out with it,” West encouraged. “Come on, Harper. We’re friends, right?”
Her gaze never strayed from his and after a few seconds of silence, he wanted to squirm in his chair like a little kid until she finally said, “Is that what we are, Weston? Friends?”
He froze. Here it was, their moment of truth. He could run right over this moment and not acknowledge their past or he could throw it out on the table and see how she reacted. What would she do if he told her he was attracted to her now? Still?
What would he do if she wasn’t interested in him at all?
West frowned. He wasn’t sure. And he didn’t know if he wanted to consider either possibility yet.
“I thought maybe . . . ” Her voice trailed off and she looked away, as if she couldn’t face him. He got it. His heart pounded like a freight train, rattling his ribs as he waited for what she had to say next. “After what happened that last night you were in Wildwood, before you left. Things changed between us, Weston. They changed a lot.”
She was right. Things had totally changed. But he never thought he’d have to see her again. He’d thought that he could just walk away from her and pretend that night had never happened.
But it had. And he suddenly, desperately wanted to talk about it. Own it. Reenact it.
Would she let him? Did she want him to?
Chapter Seven
HARPER’S HEART WAS racing. If West agreed that yeah, they were nothing but friends and that night meant nothing to him, she would bolt, leave this place and never look back because she wouldn’t be able to take his rejection again.
