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I half-turn, facing him. He taps the steering wheel with his thumb.
“I really fucked up,” he says.
“You think?”
Harley presses the back of his head into the seat. “I think about it every day.”
“And you think I don’t?” I gripe.
“Never said that you didn’t,” he says carefully. “I just want you to know you’re not alone.”
“Right.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“Cool.”
“Seriously.” He finally turns his head, eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry.”
My mouth is paper dry. I nod, picking at my fingers. “Good. I’m glad you are.”
“Josie,” he groans.
My stomach clenches as he says my name. He always called me that, even when no one else did.
“You did. And cool. You’re sorry. But it doesn’t take back what you did.” I scramble to open the door and almost wheeze when I step into the stale, humid air. “And guess what? Apologynotaccepted.”
“Josie!” He’s out of the car, striding after me. “Where are you going? It’s late.”
“Anywhere that’s away from you.”
“Stop being stupid. I’ll drive you home.”
“I don’t want you knowing where I live, you creep!”
“You live in Cheryl’s old place,” says Harley flatly.
I whirl to face him. “Are you stalking me?”
“No. It’s Fern Grove,” he says obviously.
True. But I don’t admit that.
I glare up at him. “I think it would be in both our best interests if you left me the hell alone.”
“Bit hard when you’re going to be everywhere.”
My cheeks burn red, and I feel too hot. I suddenly throw my hands out and push him.
“Hey!” he snaps, stumbling back a step. “What the fuck?”
I slam my palms into his chest once more, and his long fingers circle around my wrists. My skin burns from the contact, and I refuse to let myself acknowledge that.
“Josie. Calm down,” he demands.
“You calm down!”
He looks down at me. “Get in the car.”
