Chapter 72 (1/2)

“Me, too, I completely understand.” We both stand up and he hugs me. A warm and comforting hug as the door opens.

“Um . . . am I interrupting something?” Hardin’s voice travels through the room.

“No, come in,” I tell him and he rolls his eyes. I hope he is still in a decent mood.

“I brought you some clothes to sleep in,” he tells me. He places a small pile on the bed and goes to walk out.

“Thank you, but you can stay.” I don’t want him to leave.

He looks at Landon and snaps, “No, I’m good,” before leaving the room.

“He is so moody!” I whine and plop down on the bed.

Landon chuckles and sits back down. “Yeah, moody is one word for it.”

We both burst into laughter and then Landon begins to talk about Dakota and how he can’t wait for her to come visit next weekend. I almost forgot about the bonfire. Noah is coming. Maybe I should tell him not to. What if this change between Hardin and me is all in my head? I feel like something has changed between us today, and he did tell me he wants me more than he has ever wanted anyone. But he didn’t exactly say he has feelings for me, only that he wants me. After an hour of Landon and I talking about everything from Tolstoy to the Seattle skyline, he tells me good night and retreats to his room, leaving me alone to my thoughts and the sound of the rain.

Chapter fifty

I pick up the clothes Hardin brought me to wear: one of his signature black T-shirts, a pair of red-and-gray plaid pants, and some large black socks. I laugh at the idea of Hardin actually wearing those, but then I realize these are likely from the dresser of unworn clothes. I lift the shirt up and it smells like him. He has worn this one, and recently. The smell is intoxicating, minty and indescribable, but it is my newly acquired favorite scent in the entire world. I change into the clothes, finding the pants much too big but very comfortable.

I lie down on the bed and pull the blanket up to my chest, my eyes fixated on the ceiling as I relive the whole day in my mind. I feel myself drifting off to sleep, to dream of green eyes and black T-shirts.

“NO!!” Hardin’s voice jolts me awake. Am I hearing things?

“Please!” he yells again. I jump out of bed and run across the hall. My hands find the cold metal of the doorknob to Hardin’s room and, thank God, it opens.

“NO! Please . . .” he yells again. I didn’t think this through; if someone is hurting him, I have no idea what I will do. I fumble around for the lamp and switch it on. Hardin is shirtless and tangled in the thick comforter, thrashing and tossing. Without thinking, I sit on the bed and reach for his shoulder. His skin is hot, too hot.

“Hardin!” I say quietly, trying to wake him. His head snaps to the side, and he whimpers but doesn’t wake.