After We Collided

I look at Trevor again before opening the door, trying to memorize his handsome face before Hardin mutilates it.

“I’m coming!” I yell and open the door halfway to find a fuming Hardin, dressed in all black. My drunk eyes wander, and I notice that instead of his thick boots, he’s wearing plain black Converses. I’ve never seen him in any shoes except his boots. I like these new shoes . . .

But I’m getting distracted.

Hardin pushes the door open and blows right by me, going for Trevor. Luckily, I grab his shirt and manage to stop him, somehow.

“You think you can get her drunk and come into her fucking hotel room!” Hardin screams at him and tries to surge forward. I know he isn’t trying as much as he could because in that case I would surely be on the floor, not holding him by his thin shirt. “I saw that light flip on through the peephole—what were you two doing alone in the dark here!”

“I wasn’t . . . I—” Trevor begins.

“Hardin, stop it! You can’t go around beating people up!” I shout and tug at his shirt.

“Yes . . . I can, though!” he growls.

“Trevor,” I say. “Go back to your room so I can talk some sense into him. I’m sorry for his crazy-ass behavior.”

Trevor almost laughs at my word choice, but one look from Hardin silences him.

Hardin turns to me as Trevor leaves the room. “?‘Crazy-ass behavior’?”

“Yes, crazy! You can’t just show up here and barge into my room trying to beat my friend up.”

“He shouldn’t have been in here. Why was he in here? Why are you still dressed? And fuck, where did that dress come from?” he says, eyeing my body.

I ignore the heat stirring in my belly and focus on my indignation.

“He came to get his phone because I took it by accident. And . . . I can’t remember any of the other questions you just asked,” I admit.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“I’ll drink what and why and how and when I want. Thank you.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re annoying when you’re drunk.” He flops down on the wingback chair.

“You’re annoying when you’re . . . everything. And who said you could sit down?” I huff, crossing my arms.

Hardin looks up at me with those brilliant green eyes. God, he looks so hot right now. “I can’t believe he was in your room.”

“I can’t believe you’re in my room,” I counter.

“Did you fuck him?”

“What? How dare you even ask me that!” I shout.

“Answer the question.”

“No, you asshole. Of course I didn’t.”

“Were you going to—do you want to?”

“Oh my God, Hardin! You’re insane!” I shake my head and pace between the window and bed.

“Well then, why are you still dressed?”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” I roll my eyes. “Besides, it’s none of your business who I have sex with. Maybe I did have sex with him—maybe I had sex with someone else?” The corners of my mouth threaten a smile, but I force a straight expression as I say slowly, “You will never know.”

My words have the intended effect, and Hardin’s face turns dark, animalistic. “What did you just say?” he barks.

Oh, this is much more fun than I thought it would be. I like being drunk around Hardin because I say things without thinking—things that I mean—and everything seems funny.

“You heard me . . .” I say, and move to stand over Hardin. “Maybe I let the guy at the club take me into the bathroom.

“Maybe Trevor took me on this bed,” I say and casually look back at the bed over my shoulder.

“Shut up. Shut up now, Tessa,” Hardin warns me.

But I laugh. I feel empowered, strong—and I feel like ripping Hardin’s shirt off of him. “What’s wrong, Hardin? Don’t like the idea of Trevor’s hands all over my body?” I don’t know if it’s Hardin’s anger, the alcohol, or the fact that I miss him, but without letting myself overthink my actions, I climb onto his lap on the chair. My knees rest on either side of his thighs. Completely taken aback by my action, if I’m not mistaken, he’s shaking.

“W-what are you . . . what are you doing, Tessa?”

“Tell me, Hardin, do you like the idea of Trev—”

“Stop it. Stop saying that!” he begs and I oblige.

“Oh, lighten up, Hardin, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. The nostalgic feeling that washes over me at being in his arms almost takes my breath away.

“You’re drunk, Tessa,” he says and tries to remove my arms from around him.

“So . . . I want you,” I say, surprising both of us.

I decide to shut my thoughts off, the logical ones, anyway, and grab two fistfuls of his hair. Oh, how I’ve missed the way it feels between my fingers.

“Tessa . . . You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re wasted,” he says.

But there’s no conviction behind his voice.

“Hardin . . . stop overthinking this. Don’t you miss me?” I say against his neck, sucking lightly. My hormones have completely taken over, and I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted him so badly.

“Yesss . . .” he hisses as I suck harder, sure to leave a mark. “I can’t, Tess . . . please.”

But I refuse to stop and instead rock my hips on his lap, making him groan.