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My face falls into my hands as a groan escapes my lips.
I wish I could say this out loud, but they would never understand. I can accept that she wants him and walk away, but how am I supposed to be friends with her, knowing she’s going to be kissing him, sleeping in his bed?
I shake my head, convinced there’s no way I can handle it. She can be with him if that’s what she chooses, but I can’t watch, even as a friend.
“If you want her, you should tell her. You never even told her you wanted to be more than friends. Maybe she’s having the same doubts?” Levi speaks up, surprising me with his words.
Hearing someone else voice what I’ve been unable to is liberating.
Dan interjects with reality, “yeah, okay, maybe. If she was a girl you could bring home. I’m not saying she isn’t worth it, but you do realize they will never accept her.”
My brother is referring to our family and hometown church. He’s right, of course. If I choose to date Harley, I would be battling harsh disapproval from my father and most likely tears from my mother. They might eventually accept her, but it would be a fight. Simply because of her physical appearance and background, they would assume the worst about her.
Is that what I’ve been doing?
I’ve typed out at least one hundred messages on my plastic keypad, but I haven’t been able to hit send on any. How do you put into words that you’re sick to your stomach with desire, self-loathing, doubt, jealousy, and the physical need to be near a girl who seems to want another man? It’s certainly not something appropriate for a text.
I find myself outside her dorm like a stalker around one a.m. A girl starts to walk in and holds the door open, smiling at me. The trusting gesture concerns me, but I go in anyway. Anyone could walk in here at night. Once I reach the third floor, I think I know what I’m going to say, if she opens the door to let me speak.
I reach room thirty-four and stare at it for at least five minutes. What if Kyle is here? What if they’re in there right now?
I’m turning away when the door swings open, and Kenna screams.
“Adam! What the hell are you doing, standing outside my door like a freak?!” She slaps my chest with her hand, her face red with anger.
I rush to explain, holding my hands up in defense against another slap. “I’m sorry. I came to talk to Harley, but it’s okay. I was—” I turn away again, but she grabs my arm.
“Harley’s at work.” She lets out a sigh, shaking her curly head. “Look, if you really are sorry, you should go see her there, but only if you mean it and you aren’t going to screw it up again. She’s been through some shit. She doesn’t need any more baggage. If you like her, you get a pass, just this once, for cold feet or whatever it is you’re dealing with.” She finishes with a pointed look.
I groan in frustration. What she’s saying doesn’t make any sense to me.
I start to ramble incoherently, “I just…we said we were just going to be friends, but I really started to…then I talked to Kyle…” I reach a hand up to rub the back of my neck. Remembering Kyle and what happened at the dance makes me doubt my presence here.
Kenna scoffs, “Okay, wow, you have to go talk to her. She will want to know what you’re thinking. I promise she has no idea.” She shoves me out of the doorframe. “Seriously, go to Billy’s Pub on Seventh. She’ll be getting off soon.”
I nod, unsure of why she’s so insistent on it after her earlier disapproving speech at the cafeteria. She shuts the door, walking down the hall. I meander back down to the parking lot, finding my truck.
I drive around for forty-five minutes before finding myself at the pub. I put it in park, trudging up to the oversize wooden door. I try to talk myself out of it before taking a deep breath.
I open it and step inside.
“We’re closing, sor—” Harley’s weary voice breaks off at the sight of me.
“Hey,” is all I can manage, a lump crawling up my throat. I shove my hands in my jean pockets.
“You don’t drink,” she clips, looking away to resume her cleanup around the tables and leather booths.
She’s wearing a skimpy uniform. I’ve seen her in worse, but somehow, her being required to wear this to work at a bar makes my skin crawl. Last time I picked her up, she had an oversize hoodie on. An apron is tied around her tiny denim skirt. The too-small white tank top with the pub’s name printed across her chest reveals some of her tanned stomach. Her hair is up in a thick, high ponytail, her neck exposed. Every aspect of her body is divine. Why is it so difficult to be around her and think clearly?
I clear my throat, “I wanted to…make sure you had a ride home.” It’s only a partial lie.
She looks me up and down, rolls her eyes, and turns around. She walks through a door into the back. I run my hand over my head, debating whether or not I should take the hint and leave. I can’t let her walk home alone…
She emerges several minutes later with a small black purse and no apron. She ignores me and walks out the door. I pinch my nose, following her out.
“Listen, if Kyle had the decency to drive you home, I wouldn’t be here.” My tone is harsh, but it gets her attention.
She stops in her tracks and flips around, eyes blazing. “Why the hell would I want that creep to drive me home?” she grits out.
