Page 130 of From Now On

Maybe that’snotwhere our talk was headed, and I’m oddly disappointed by that.

We had sex for the first time on Friday night; it’s Sunday morning now. It’s not like we’ve been hooking up for months without labels.

But it doesn’t feel like things with Eve started a day and a half ago. It feels like they started four years ago, and I’ve been waiting for her ever since.

I’ve known all along that she just got out of a relationship. That she’s planning to move to New York in a matter of weeks.

I also knew those two things would complicate any relationship between us, and I kissed her anyway.

“Got everything?” I ask, keeping my tone light as I pocket my keys.

“Yeah,” she answers. “And I can walk home, so you can head straight to the rink.”

Eve is nice. She’s a genuinely kind, thoughtful person. And the problem with being around nice people is you can’t tell when they’re being nice or when they’re making excuses.

Like right now, I can’t tell if Eve’s motivation is me missing time skating with my best friends or if she wouldratherwalk.

“Let me drive you home, Eve,” I say.

I was the one who suggested we come back to my place instead of hers last night, so I feel responsible for getting her home.

“We can stop for donuts at Holey Moley,” I offer.

When we were in California, Eve and Harlow were loudly proclaiming their love for the local spot.

Eve immediately perks up. “Yeah?”

I hide a smile. “Uh-huh. I’ve never been, so I?—”

“You’veneverbeen to Holey Moley? How is that possible?”

I shrug. “I want something sweet, I have Jell-O.”

“Okay, well, we’re rectifying that immediately. Come on. I’ll explain the flavors on the way.”

I grab my phone, then follow Eve toward the stairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

EVE

Harlow breezes through the front door while I’m staring at my sketchbook. “Hey!”

“Hey!” I call back.

She’s home early.

Except, I check the time on my phone and realize she’s not. I’ve been sitting on the couch, memorizing Hunter’s phone number, for hours. How ironic that I teased him last night for admitting he didn’t know what to text me. Now, I’m facing the same dilemma.

This morning’s drive from his house to mine wasn’t awkward. We stopped for donuts—Hunter ran in since I wasn’t exactly dressed for breakfast—and then he dropped me off before continuing to the rink. It felt normal. Natural, like a routine.

Routines take time to form, though. And I—we—don’t have a lot of time.

Now that Conor and Aidan know about us, I need to tell Harlow. And she’s going to have questions—questions I seriously fumbled with Hunter this morning.

“How was your weekend?” Harlow plops down on the opposite end of the couch, tucking her feet up under her.

“Uh, good. How was yours?”

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