Chapter 118 (1/2)

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Hardin rolls his eyes.

Just then the wind picks up, and Hardin’s long hair starts blowing around his head. I can’t help but point up at it and laugh. It’s safer than the alternative: asking Hardin why he’s in the city to begin with.

“My hair looks better like this and gives women more to pull,” he teases, but the words drive straight through me.

“Oh,” I say, but laugh along, not wanting him to know that my head is spinning and my chest is aching at the thought of anyone else touching him.

“Hey.” He reaches for me, turns me around to look at him as if we were alone on the sidewalk. “I was joking, a shitty, stupid, really fucking dumb joke.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” I smile up at him, tucking my blowing hair behind my ear.

“You may be all independent and fearless enough to hang out with homeless men, but you’re still a shit liar,” he says, calling me out.

I try to keep the mood light. “Hey, don’t go talking about Joe. He’s my friend.” I stick my tongue out at Hardin as we pass a couple making out on a bench.

Loud enough for them to hear, Hardin says, “Five bucks says he has his hand up her skirt in less than two minutes.”

I playfully shove at his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around my waist. “Don’t get too touchy—Joe will ask questions!” I wiggle my brows at Hardin, and he bursts into laughter.

“What is it with you and homeless men?”

Thoughts of my father fill my mind, and I stop laughing for a beat.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that.”

I hold my hand up and smile. “No, it’s okay. Really, let’s just hope Joe doesn’t turn out to be my uncle.” Hardin stares at me as if I’ve grown another set of eyes, and I laugh at him. “I’m fine! I can take a joke now. I have learned not to take myself so seriously.”

He seems pleased with that, and he even smiles at Joe when I hand him his bag of catfish and hush puppies.

THE APARTMENT IS DARK when we get back. Landon has most likely been asleep for a few hours.

“Have you eaten?” I ask Hardin when he follows me into the kitchen.

Hardin sits down at the two-person table and lifts his elbows onto the surface. “No, actually, I haven’t. I was going to steal that bag of food, but Joe beat me to it.”

“I can make you something? I’m hungry, too.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m dipping my finger into the vodka sauce, testing the flavor.