Hartley makes a choked sound that rips at my gut, but Parker is unaffected by it. She walks out of the diner without a backward look.

I want to go to Hartley and put my arm around her, but I’m guessing that would be as welcome as pouring hot lava over her head. Plus, she’ll totally bust my balls for eavesdropping. So I slouch in the booth and duck my head as low as possible. I hear her rise behind me.

“Jess, is it cool if I take another five minutes? I need some air.”

“No prob, hon. It’s dead in here. Take your time.”

Footsteps sound, heading not for the door but the rear of the diner. I guess there’s another exit back there.

“Here you are.” My waitress returns with a glass of water. “Are you ready to order?”

“Actually, I’ve got to go.” I hold up my phone and the notebook, as if the two items provide the answer to whatever mysterious problem is making me leave.

She just shrugs, probably because she gets paid whether she serves me or not. It’s not like she’s working on apple pie commission. “Suit yourself, hon.”

I toss a twenty on the table and slide out of the booth. ”Keep the change,” I call over my shoulder.

Outside, I wait about twenty seconds, then walk around the side of the building toward what I’m assuming is a back alley.

That’s where I find Hartley, sitting on a milk crate, dark head bent, shoulders shaking.

She’s crying.

Fuck. What should I do?

Running away before she sees me doesn’t sit right, but I’m not good at the whole comforting people thing. Besides, Hartley won’t let me comfort her. I annoy her too much.

Actually…that’s the answer. I may not be able to put my arm around her and stroke her hair and promise her that everything’s going to be okay—how the hell do I know how it’s gonna be?—but there’s one surefire way to make those tears disappear.

With a grin, I saunter forward, making sure my footsteps are extra loud so she hears me coming. “Have no fear, Easton’s here!”

Her head whips in my direction.

I catch only a brief glimpse of her shiny eyes before her hands swiftly rise to wipe the tears. Then she juts her chin and sends back a tart reply. “No fear? That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I reach her and hold up my notebook. “Hey, now. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you British literature notes,” I warn, all the while pretending I didn’t see the tears.

She’s pretty much recovered, though. Her eyes are rimmed red, but they’re dry now.

“Thanks.” Sincerity rings in her voice as she accepts the notebook from me.

I drag another milk crate over and flop down on it. “So, you still have time left in your break? Because I’ve got the craziest shit to tell you.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear “Yeah, we have time. There’s nobody in the diner.”

“Is that why you look so down?” I say lightly. “Because you’re missing out on all those sweet tips?”

“I’m not down.”

We both know she’s lying, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to push her to tell me about that scene with her sister—I want her to confide in me because she wants to.

I pretend to mull it over. “Oh, shit. I know what it is. You were thinking about how you like me, and how it breaks your heart that you blew your shot with me.”

A hoot of laughter flies out of her mouth. “I blew my shot with you? Um, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

“Babe, I didn’t blow anything.” I wink at her. “You’re into me. All I got to do is snap my fingers and we’ll be making out on your couch tonight.”

“Ha. I’d rather make out with that light over there.” She points to the streetlamp at the opening of the alley.

“Gross. Do you know how many dirty hands have touched that pole?”

“Probably as many as have touched yours.” She grins broadly, proud of that comeback.

“Nice.” Snickering, I hold my hand up for a high five.

After a long beat, she leans over and slaps her palm against mine.

Her eyes are no longer glistening and her shoulders are almost totally relaxed. I sneak a peek at her profile. The soft angle of her cheekbone, the pout of her bottom lip, her ear. It’s a really cute ear.

“So what’s this crazy story you have to tell me?” she asks.

I let out an exaggerated groan. “Oh Lord, you don’t even want to know. It’s brutal.”

She looks amused. “Uh oh. What’d you do?”

“Who says I did anything?” I protest.

“Um, I do.” She raises one eyebrow in challenge. “So what’d you do?”

A huge sigh shudders out. “I got blackout drunk and told Felicity I’d be her fake boyfriend.”

Silence crashes over us.

And then Hartley hoots with laughter. “What? Why?”

“Why did I agree, or why does she want a fake boyfriend?”

“Why any of that!”

“Well, she wants a Royal on her arm so she can climb the social ladder and show me off at parties.”

“Of course,” Hartley says, nodding as if that makes perfect sense. “And you agreed because…?”

“Did you not hear the ‘blackout drunk’ part? I do stupid things when I’m wasted, Har-Har.”

She crouches over, still busting a gut. “Oh God, Easton. You’re priceless.”

“I coulda told you that.”

“So what are you going to do?” she asks between giggles, and I’m gratified to see that all traces of sorrow are gone from her pretty face. “You’re not actually playing the part of her boyfriend, are you?”

“Hell no. I already told her it ain’t happening.” I chew on my lip. “She’s not letting me back out, though. Said a deal’s a deal.”

Hartley snorts.

I wave a hand. “Whatevs. I’ll figure out a way to ditch her. I mean, you can’t force someone to date you, right?”

“You’d think not,” Hartley says cheerfully. “But Felicity Worthington seems…tenacious.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is crazy.”

“Nah. Not crazy. Just a rich bitch who knows what she wants.”

And what she wants is me. Christ. “I’m scared, Har-Har. Hold me.”

That gets me another snort.

We both go quiet for a moment. It’s strangely comfortable—normally I hate silences. They make me itchy and anxious and I fill them by babbling incessantly. But right now, I simply sit there next to Hartley and admire her profile again.

I’m dying to ask her about her sister, but I can’t. Just because I’m really fucking curious about that conversation in the diner doesn’t mean I need to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I have more willpower than—

“I saw you with your sister,” I blurt out.

So much for willpower.

Hartley’s body language goes right back to stiff and unwelcoming. “What?”

“I came in when you guys were in the booth,” I confess. “I sat nearby and listened.”

“You…listened?” Very slowly, outrage creeps into those two words. Then she explodes. “What the hell, Easton!”

“I’m sorry. It’s not like I did it on purpose,” I say defensively. “I just didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Hartley’s jaw tightens. “You should’ve let me know you were there.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

This time, the silence that falls is swimming with awkwardness.

“So your folks kicked you out?”

She swivels her head toward me, glaring hard enough to make me shiver.

“At least, that’s the impression I got from what I heard. So what happened? Did they catch you snorting coke or something? Try to send you to rehab?” Holy fuck, why am I still talking? She obviously doesn’t want to speak to me about this. But my brain to mouth filter isn’t working. It rarely ever does.