“None of the above,” she mutters.

“Okay. So…what then?”

“My dad and I had a disagreement,” is her cryptic response.

I want to know more. I need to. But Hartley’s too prickly. I can’t ask her anything else without completely spooking her.

Actually, she sort of reminds me of Ella. When Ella first came to town, getting details out of her was damn near impossible. Eventually she dropped her defenses, once she realized we didn’t want anything from her. Or rather, that I didn’t.

That’s another thing I got before Reed—Ella spoke to me about her stripping before she ever spoke to Reed about it. I wonder why she did that. Maybe… Is it because Ella never saw me as a threat?

I drum my fingers on my knees as the realization sinks in. I barely have time to analyze it before another one comes.

Hartley sees me as a threat. That’s why her back is always up.

I suddenly think about the way she talked to Bran Mathis, all smiles and no hostility. Why? I guess because…because he hadn’t mocked her about getting in her pants the way I’d done? No, the way I’m still doing. I promised her I’d stop hitting on her, that I’d be a good, platonic friend to her, but—story of my life—I didn’t follow through on that promise.

I’m an asshole.

“Hey, if you want, I can come inside and chill in a booth while you work, quiz you on Brit lit whenever it gets dead,” I offer.

Hartley looks startled. “Wait, what?”

“I asked if you want me to quiz you—”

“No, I heard you,” she cuts in. “I just don’t get it… You’re not going to ask me about my father?”

“No.”

Her eyes widen and then almost immediately narrow. “Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business. If you want to tell me about the disagreement with your dad, or whatever it was, then you’ll tell me.” I shrug. “Friends don’t force each other to talk.” There isn’t one false note in those seven words, because I’ve come to some more conclusions during this brief exchange.

Hartley’s not going to sleep with me. She’s attracted to me—I know she is—but she’s not going to act on it. She’s got something everyone says I should acquire: self-control. She’s not going to climb into bed with me or in the back of my truck or under the bleachers, and I think it’s time I accepted that.

But I like her. I don’t want to stop talking to her. I don’t want her to be threatened by me.

So…if Hartley is going to stop viewing me as a threat, then I’ve got to start treating her as something other than a hookup.

I need to treat her as a friend. A real, give-a-shit-about-each-other, don’t-need-to-be-naked-to-care-about-you friend.

“I mean it,” I say gruffly. “I’m here if and when you’re ready to talk about it. ’Til then, we can talk about other stuff. Deal?”

Her thoughtful expression stays with her for several moments. Finally, she opens her mouth and murmurs, “Deal.”

Chapter 16

“Did you seriously switch up your entire schedule?” Ella demands the next morning.

I slam my locker door shut and turn to grin at her. “Nope. I’m still in Calculus.”

She gapes at me. “But all your other classes are different?”

“Pretty much.”

“And Beringer approved this?”

“Yup.”

“Was he on crack?”

“Probably?”

She snatches my new schedule out of my hand. Mrs. G printed it out for me when I popped into the office after practice.

“This is ridiculous!” Ella huffs. “You need to take certain classes in order to graduate, Easton. There’s only one language class on here—you need two this semester. And you’re taking government! You took that last year! Why are they letting you take it again?”

“I’m going with your crack theory.”

She shoves the paper against my chest. “This is Hartley Wright’s schedule, right?”

“Yeah, so?” It’s not a big secret—I already told everyone last week why I was attending all different classes.

“So, don’t you think you should leave her alone?”

“That’d be a negative.”

“But…she’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to go out with you.”

“I know, and I’m cool with that. We’re best friends now, Ella. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Ella’s not buying what I’m selling. “What are you up to?”

“Only very good things, baby sis.” I sling an arm around her shoulder.

She sighs. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Her skepticism begins to annoy me. “Why? Is it so hard to believe that I could be good for Hartley?”

“Yes, it is. You know I love you to death, but come on, Easton. You make decisions based on how people make you feel, not the other way around.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad,” I joke.

But Ella’s on a roll. “Are you denying it? Denying that you screwed around with your brothers’ girlfriends? That you told me once that—”

Stung, I drop my arm and slow down. “Did I piss in your cereal this morning? Why are you throwing this shit in my face?”

“Because I care about you. When you hurt people, it ends up scarring your own heart.” Her expression softens. “I want you to be happy. I don’t think this is going to make you happy.”

“How about you stay in your own lane and worry about whether Reed’s being faithful all the way up at State without you,” I snap.

As hurt floods her face, regret replaces my anger.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. That was a crappy thing to say. Reed worships the ground your little feet walk on.” I ruffle the top of her head. “But, look, I’m being serious, okay? Hartley and I’ve come to an agreement. She needs a friend, and for some reason, I want to be that friend. I’m not going to hurt her and she’s not going to hurt me.”

Ella doesn’t look convinced. “If you say so.”

“I do. We good?”

She gives me a short nod and then throws her arms around my waist. “I want you to be happy,” she whispers against my chest.

“I am,” I say and then escape to my classroom.

I don’t like spending a lot of time in my head. Reed and Gideon are broody McBroodersons. I take action and don’t give much thought to how it’s all going to turn out. Probably because most of the time, it’s turned out okay. The times that it hasn’t? Well…

If I spend too much time dwelling on the shit that’s gone wrong, then I’m bound to end up pouring pills down my throat like I did when I was fifteen and my mom’s depression caught her by the tail and wouldn’t let go.

If hanging with Hartley made me deep dive into an emotional pit that would swallow me whole, I’d get off that ride. But being with her makes me feel good. She’s funny, doesn’t take much shit from me, and…I feel like she needs me.

No one has ever really needed me. Ella needed Reed. My mom needed pills and booze. The twins have each other.

Hartley is alone. And there’s something about her loneliness that strikes a chord in me.

But I don’t want to dwell on it, so—very uncharacteristically—I pour myself into my next four periods. I answer questions. I volunteer theories. I participate, leaving my classmates and my teachers shocked as hell.

“Are you drunk?” Hartley whispers to me during Government.

I roll my eyes. “No. Are you?”

She just wrinkles her forehead, still looking confused.

And she’s not the only one. “What’s gotten into you?” Pash demands as we leave British Lit for lunch. “Is your dad riding your ass?”

“Nah, I bet he has some big thing planned and you want cover, right?” guesses Owen, another teammate.

“Can’t a guy answer a question in class without something being up?”

Both Pash and Owen shake their heads.