Page 59 of Wright Kind of Trouble

And then I fell into oblivion.

16

Harley

June

“Mom, it’s not a date,” I insisted.

“You’re wearing eyeliner. You blew out your hair. You’re in a dress,” Mom pointed out, leaning against the doorframe to my childhood bedroom.

“And?”

“And you don’t do those things for just anyone. You’ve been back from London for three weeks, and I haven’t seen you in anything but lounge clothes or a suit for that law office.”

I shrugged. “It’s just a friend.”

“A friend who is a boy.”

“Yes.”

“Who is coming all the way to Seattle to see you.”

“Well, no. He’s visiting friends in town.”

“You’re his friend, and he’s visiting you.”

I rolled my eyes. “It isn’t a date. I’m going to show him around downtown. We’re getting lunch. It’s no big deal.”

“Do I get to meet Mr. No Big Deal?”

I stalled at that thought. What would my mom think if she saw Chase Sinclair? No one knew we were even friends. Let alone anything else that had happened. Mom probably wouldn’t be happy that he was so much older than me. But I hadn’t been lying when I said it wasn’t a date. He wasn’t in Seattle for me. But…I didn’t mind seeing him.

It had been a long semester abroad with the time difference. I’d had my fun, like he’d insisted I should have. I’d lived my life. But still…my heart remembered that graduation was only around the corner.

“If he’s just a friend, then I can meet him.”

“Fine,” I said on a laugh. I put on the H necklace Chase had given me for my birthday, clasping it behind my neck and letting the pendant dangle low. “If you want to meet him, Mom.” I pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have fun, sweetheart.”

My phone dinged, and I saw the text from Chase, saying he was outside. “Okay. He’s here. I’ll see you later, Mom.”

My mom shot me a look of amusement, but I ignored it and headed outside. Chase was idling in a blue Porsche that matched the red one he had at home. Only he would spend the money on a rental this fancy.

“Nice car,” I said, slipping into the passenger seat.

“You know I like my cars.”

“I do.”

He smiled down at me. “Good to see you.”

I swallowed. “It is.”

I eyed him, my heart in my throat. Eight months since I’d seen him, five thousand miles apart, and a six-hour time difference, and it was like no time had passed at all. He was in dark denim, a white button-up, and boots. Ray-Bans covered his baby-blue eyes. His blond hair was short and brushed to the side, but he had a five-o’clock shadow that I’d never seen on him before. My hand came out and brushed across the stubble.

“Growing a beard?” I asked.

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