Page 83 of One Wrong Move

“Her?”

“Yes. The engine needs a good run or she’ll get rusty.” I make a turn, and a long stretch of straight road lies before us. With wide-open skies overhead and only green fields all around.

I hit the gas.

Harper’s gasp turns into a chuckle, and I relish the sound.

The burst of speed doesn’t last too long. The next curve comes up soon enough, and I slow back down, taking it in stride. We’re already an hour and a half outside of London.

“How much further?” I ask.

She looks down at her phone, our trusted GPS. “Um… not much. Seems like we’ll be on these country roads until we arrive.”

“Good,” I say. Tearing myself away from the sight of her legs. She’s in a white dress that ends just above her knees, and I keep getting distracted by the expanse of milky skin and the pale-pink toenails peeking out of her sandals.

“Why cars?” she asks. She’s leaning back in the passenger seat, her legs stretched out. More than once I’ve had the impulse to reach out and put my hand on her bare knee.

As if that’s my right, as if the move would be welcomed.

Each time, I’ve snuffed it out with the memory of her words on Sunday.

Can we just forget about last night?

I promised I would. That had been another lie. I’m racking them up, and each new one makes me feel like shit.

She mentioned Dean, and I’d known I was an asshole for not feeling more guilty, for being so focused on the taste of her lips and on the words she might say to not consider him at that moment.

This past week, I’ve thought it over.

Really thought it over.

Would I be okay with losing Dean’s friendship if it came to that?

“Nate,” Harper urges. There’s a smile in her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“You’ve been distracted the last few nights,” she says. “You didn’t even pay attention to the movie on Thursday night.”

I grunt, not disagreeing with her. My lack of focus, though, had little to do with deep thoughts, and more with her sitting next to me on the giant couch in nothing but a pair of short shorts and a tight T-shirt.

“You’re sure? I… well, I overheard you arguing yesterday,” she says. “Please don’t be mad, I was in my room, and you must have been walking up to the third floor.”

I snort. “Well, I guess we now know just how soundproof the rooms are.”

There’s a brief pause, and then she snickers. “Yes. Not very.”

“That’s… good to know.”

“Yes. But… are you okay?”

“Of course I am.” I glance over at her, only to find her eyes earnest, yet warm and thoughtful, on mine. If I didn’t have the road to focus on, they would have captured me entirely.

“You can tell me, you know. Even if it’s not funny or exciting or charming.” She reaches for her bottle of water in the cup holder between us. “You don’t have to perform for me.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

It takes me a minute or two to find my bearings. I listen to her drink, swallowing softly, and try to wrap my head around her words.

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