Chapter 90 (1/2)

I swat at his arm, but he grabs my wrist before I can connect. His lips press a light kiss against my palm before he encases my hand in his and leads me to the car. Holding hands in public is never our thing . . . As soon as the thought crosses my mind, he seems to realize what we’re doing and drops my hand. One step at a time, I suppose.

BACK AT THE APARTMENT, after I’ve declared for the eighth time that we should hang out with his friends, my nerves begin to get the best of me as I imagine the possibilities of how the night could turn out. But we can’t hide from the world forever. How Hardin behaves around his old friends will really show me how he truly feels about me, about us.

When I shower, I shave my legs three times, staying under the hot water until it is no longer warm. When I get out, I ask Hardin, “What did Nate say about tonight?” I’m unsure what I want the answer to be.

“He texted to meet them at the house . . . my old house. At nine. They’re having a big thing, apparently.”

I glance at the clock: already seven. “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

I do my makeup and blow-dry my hair quickly. My hair is in tight curls, and I pin my bangs back as usual. I look . . . nice . . .

Boring. Boring. The same as I always do. I need to look better than ever before for my comeback. This is my way of showing them that they didn’t get the best of me. If Molly is there, she’ll certainly be dressed to get attention, including Hardin’s. And as much as I hate her, she is gorgeous. Molly’s pink hair burning in the back of my mind, I grab my black eyeliner and draw a thick line across my top eyelid; for once the line is straight, blessedly. I do the same on the bottom and add more pink to my cheeks before pulling the bobby pin from my hair and tossing it in the trash.

Quickly, I retrieve the pin from the top of the trash. Okay, so maybe I’m not quite ready to throw it away yet, but I’ll skip it tonight. I flip my head down and rake my fingers through my tight curls. The reflection in the mirror shocks me. She looks like she belongs in a nightclub, she looks wild and . . . sexy, even. The last time that I wore this much makeup was when Steph gave me a “makeover” and Hardin taunted me. This time, I look even better.

“It’s eight thirty, Tess!” Hardin warns me from the living room.

I check the mirror one last time and take a deep breath before rushing to the bedroom to get dressed before Hardin can see me. What if he thinks I look bad? Last time he didn’t care for my new and improved look. I shut off my doubtful thoughts and pull the dress over my head, zip it up, and step into my new pumps.

Maybe I should wear tights? No. I need to calm down and stop overthinking this.

“Tessa, we really need—” Hardin’s voice gets louder as he comes into the room, but then stops midsentence.

“Do I look—”

“Yes, fuck yes,” he practically growls.

“You don’t think it’s too much, all the makeup?”

“No, it’s . . . um . . . it’s nice, I mean . . . it’s good,” he stammers.

I try not to laugh at his apparent loss for words, something that never occurs with him. “Let’s go . . . we need to go now or we won’t make it out of this apartment,” he mutters.