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“Then what are you doing here, Linc?” I ask, letting him hear the exhaustion in my voice.
“I wanted to make sure you made it home okay,” he says, still not meeting my gaze.
A small laugh escapes me. “Seriously? From Peach Fuzz? It’s like a 3-minute walk.”
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s late. Anything could happen.”
Confused, I just look at him. “It’s not even 10pm. And this is Peach Tree we’re talking about. The biggest crime in this town is jaywalking.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can’t I just be concerned for a friend?”
There’s that word again. ‘Friend.’ It would make me laugh if I wasn’t already so angry and hurt from our little dance earlier.
“Sure, you can,” I say. Using one hand, I gesture at myself. “Well, as you can see, I’m home safe. Yourfriendduties are finished for the night.” I hear the emphasis I put on the word ‘friend’ and hate myself for it. I can only hope he didn’t hear it too.
“Harlow, why are you mad at me?”
“I'm not,” I say automatically. But I can’t meet his gaze.
“Yes, you are,” he insists. “You’ve been acting weird since we danced. I want to know why.”
When I don’t answer him, he says, “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I said or did. Things were going fine until they weren’t. So, what did I say?”
My frustration bubbles up to the surface and I let the words spill out.
“Prom,” I say. “You brought up the stupid prom.”
His brows lower in confusion. “What’s wrong with prom?”
“Because you just throw things like that out there like it's some big joke. ‘Oh I should have asked the dorky band nerd to the dance.’ It's nothing to you. But you don't know what it was like. Do you really not remember high school? You were a football god, and I was just the band nerd with the hand-me-down clothes and a mom who worked too much to even come to see me play in competitions. You didn't even know I existed. But it's so funny to crack jokes about taking me to prom, right? Screw you, Linc.”
I shoot him a glare, only to see confusion on his face.
His voice is careful. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t get it,” I say with a humorless laugh. I wave a hand in his direction. “You were the popular kid. You got everything you wanted. You don’t know what it’s like to want something and know you’ll never get it.”
I cut myself off abruptly, heart pounding. What the hell? Did I just almost confess to wanting him since high school? Maybe he didn’t pick up on it.
Linc is looking at me with an expression I don’t recognize. He looks like he’s working on a difficult math problem in his head. Only he’s staring at me while he does it. What is he thinking? I don’t think I want to know.
“What are you saying, Harlow?” His voice is low, careful.
I feel my face heat and I turn away from Linc and take a few steps to put some distance between us. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“Look at me.” His voice is nearly a whisper now, coming from directly behind me.
I go still, but I don’t turn around. If I look at Linc right now, I’m afraid I might do something stupid, like kiss him. Or kick him for being so oblivious for all these years. Before I can gather my thoughts, I feel his hand on my shoulder. His touch is gentle, but insistent as he turns me around to face him. I keep my gaze on the floor at our feet, ignoring how his nearness makes my heart pound and my breathing shallow. I expect him to insist I meet his gaze, but he surprises me when he speaks.
“Are you saying you would have gone with me if I’d asked?”
Yes.
Absolutely.
In a heartbeat.
But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I keep my tone light and dismissive.
