Page 43 of Harper

“Because you were the one who wanted freedom,” he says, “while I would’ve been happy with you, and only you, for the rest of my life.”

“Joe,” I say, “you did make me happy.”

“Until I didn’t,” he mutters.

“Well, I didn’t break things off to go bang a bunch of strangers, and even if I had, I wouldn’t be so ashamed of it that I couldn’t speak to you,” I tell him. “Your guess is wrong.”

“Fair enough,” he says.

It’s quiet for a minute, both of us in our own heads until a dumb question pops out of my mouth:

“As long as we’re being real…how many people have you slept with?”

“A handful,” he says.

How many is that? Literally, one, two, three, four, or five? Or is he using the term more loosely to mean “not that many”? And how many is that? It hurts to think of him with anyone other than me. I know that’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it.

“How about you?” he asks.

“A handful,” I snipe, handing his words back to him.

He gives me a look.

I roll my eyes.

“God, you’re annoying!” I exclaim. “Fine. The number of people I’ve had sex with in my whole life—all male, by the way, not that it matters—wouldn’t even use up all my fingers. Soyour whole Harper-whoring-around-the-world theory is a non-starter.” I pause for a second, then add: “And just to be clear, I’m not ashamed that I had a few lovers after you.” I pause for one more second before I recklessly add, “None of them mattered, Joe. I didn’t love one of them. No one ever owned my heart like you did.”

Before I can process what’s happening, the car tires screech, and we’re pulled over, idling on the side of the road. He stares at me, scanning my face, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing. His eyes, as dark as night, slam into mine, and before I can say no—before I can say anything—his lips do, too—slam into mine.

I’m your girl.

You always have been.

Our attraction is too strong.

Our history is too intense.

Our love for each other is as real now as it ever was before.

We’re playing with fire, but I don’t have the strength to stop us.

***

Joe

No one ever owned my heart like you did.

Hearing Harper say those words unlocked something inside of me.

And once it was open, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. That I somehow got the car pulled over safely was a miracle. After that, I acted on instinct alone. I had to kiss her. I had to—at least—try.

So much is familiar about the way Harper feels and tastes—the soft skin of her cheeks under my fingers, the sounds she makes in the back of her throat, the way she laces her fingers behind my neck.

All of it is familiar.

But all of it is new, too.

We aren’t twenty anymore.

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