After (The After Series) (19 page)

“I have never come like that before,” he says, and I am back to being embarrassed.

“It was that bad?” I ask and try to move off his legs. He stops me.

“What? No, you were that good. It usually takes more than someone just grabbing me through my boxers.”

A pang of jealousy hits me. I don’t want to think about all the other girls that have made Hardin feel this way. He takes in my silence and cups my cheek, brushing his thumb along my temple. I am comforted by the fact that the others had to do more than I did, but I still wish there
weren’t
any others. I don’t know why I bother to feel this way; Hardin and I are still unresolved. We are never going to date or be anything other than this, but right now, I just want to live in the moment, just the two of us. I laugh a little as the thought crosses my mind. I am not a “live in the moment” type of person at all.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, but I shake my head. I don’t want to tell him about my jealous thoughts. It’s not fair, and I don’t want that conversation.

“Oh come on, Tessa, just tell me,” he says, and I shake my head again. In a very un-Hardin move he grabs hold of my hips and begins to tickle me. I scream with laughter and fall off him and onto the soft bed. He continues to tickle me until I can’t breathe. His laughter booms through the room—and it’s the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I have never heard him laugh this way, and something tells me hardly anyone has. Despite his flaws, his many flaws, I consider myself lucky to see him in this moment.

“Okay . . . okay! I will tell you!” I screech and he stops.

“Good choice,” he says. But looking down, he adds, “But hold that thought. I need to change my boxers.”

I blush.

H
ardin goes over to his dresser and opens the top drawer, pulling out a pair of blue-and-white plaid boxers, and holds them up in the air with a disgusted look on his face.

“What?” I ask, and prop my head up on my elbow and look at him.

“These are hideous,” he says.

I laugh, but I’m also pleased that the earlier secret about whether or not there were clothes in the dresser is now settled at least. Landon’s mother or Hardin’s father must have purchased all the clothes in the room for Hardin. Which is sad, really, that they would buy clothes and fill the dresser in hopes that Hardin would come around sometime.

“They aren’t so bad,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes. I doubt anything will look as good as Hardin’s usual black boxer briefs, but then again I can’t imagine anything looking actually
bad
on him.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Back in a minute,” he says and walks out of the room wearing only his wet boxers.

Oh God, what if Landon sees him?
I will be humiliated. I need to find Landon first thing in the morning to explain the turn of events. But, really, what am I going to say?
It’s not what it looked like. We were just talking and then I agreed to stay the night, and somehow I ended up in my panties and a T-shirt, and then gave him the closest thing to a hand job that I know of?
That sounds terrible.

I lay my head onto the pillows and stare at the ceiling. I consider
getting up and checking my phone but decide against it. The last thing I need right now is to read texts from Noah. He is probably panicking, but, honestly, as long as he doesn’t tell my mother, I don’t care as much as I should. If I’m completely honest with myself, I haven’t felt the same about Noah since I kissed Hardin for the first time.

I know I love Noah; I have always loved Noah. But I’m beginning to question whether I really love him as a boyfriend and someone I could spend my life with, or if I love him because he has always been such a stable person in my life. He’s always been there for me—and on paper we’re perfect for each other—but I can’t ignore the way I feel when I’m with Hardin. I’ve never had these types of feelings before. Not just when we’re on top of each other, but the way he gives me butterflies just by looking at me, the way I find myself desperately wanting to see him even when I’m fuming mad at him, and, mostly, the way he always invades my thoughts even when I try to convince myself that I hate him.

Hardin has gotten under my skin no matter how hard I try to deny it. I’m in his bed instead of with Noah. On cue, the door opens and I am snapped from my thoughts. I look up and see Hardin in the clean plaid boxers and giggle. They are a little too big, and much longer than his briefs, but they still look great.

“I like them.” I smile and he glares at me before turning out the light and switching on the television. He climbs back onto the bed and lies down close to me.

“So, what were you going to tell me?” he asks, and I cringe. I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up again.

“Don’t be shy now, you’ve just made me come in my boxers,” he jokes and then pulls me closer to him. I bury my head in the pillow, and he laughs.

I pull my head up and Hardin tucks my hair behind my ear before giving me a soft kiss on my lips. It’s the first time he has kissed me that tenderly, and yet it feels more intimate than when
we kiss with tongue. He lays his head back on the pillow and changes the channel. I want him to hold me until I fall asleep, but I get the feeling Hardin is not a cuddling type of guy.

I want to be good for you, Tess.
Hardin’s words from earlier tonight play in my head and I wonder if he meant them or if he was just really drunk.

“Are you still drunk?” I ask and lay my head on his chest. His body stills but he doesn’t push me off.

“No, I think our little screaming match in the yard sobered me up,” he says. One of his hands is holding the remote and the other is hanging in the air awkwardly as if he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Oh, well, at least something good came out of it.”

He turns his head and looks down at me. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says, and finally puts his hand on my back. It’s an amazing feeling having him hold me. No matter what terrible thing he says to me tomorrow, he can’t take this moment away from me. This is my new favorite place to be, my head on his chest and his arm on my back.

“I think I actually like drunk Hardin better.” I yawn.

“Is that so?” he says and turns to look at me again.

“Maybe,” I tease and close my eyes.

“You’re terrible at distractions; now, tell me.”

I might as well just tell him. I know he isn’t going to drop it.

“Well, I was just thinking of all the girls you’ve . . . you know, done things with.” I try to hide my face in his chest, but he drops the remote on the bed and tilts my chin up to look at him.

“Why were you thinking about that?”

“I don’t know . . . because I have literally no experience and you have a lot. Steph included,” I answer. The image of the two of them together makes me nauseous.

“Are you jealous, Tess?” His voice is full of humor.

“No, of course not,” I lie.

“So you don’t mind if I tell you a few details, then?”

“No! Please don’t!” I beg, and he chuckles and wraps his arm a little tighter around me.

He doesn’t say anything else about it, and I could not be more relieved. I couldn’t bear to hear the details of his flings. I feel my eyes getting heavier and try to focus on the television. I am so comfortable lying here in his arms.

“You’re not going to sleep, are you? It’s still early,” he says, barely breaking through my haze.

“Is it?” It feels like it has to be at least two in the morning. I arrived here around nine.

“Yeah, it’s only midnight.”

“That isn’t early.” I yawn again.

“To me it is. Plus, I want to return the favor.”

What?

Oh.

My skin is starting to tingle already.

“You want me to, don’t you?” he purrs, and I gulp. Of course I do. I look up at him and try to hide my eager smile. He notices and with a swift, delicate motion flips us over so he is hovering above me. He supports his weight with one arm while his other hand reaches lower. I bring my leg up to his side, and when my knee bends he runs his hand from my ankle to the top of my thigh.

“So soft,” he says and repeats the motion. He gives my thigh a light squeeze and my skin is covered in goose bumps within seconds. Hardin leans over and places a single kiss on the side of my knee, causing my leg to jerk. He grabs it and laughs, hooking his arm around it.

What is he going to do?
The anticipation is driving me crazy.

“I want to taste you, Tessa,” he says, eyes locked on mine to gauge my reaction.

My mouth is instantly parched.
Why is he asking to kiss me,
when he knows he can do that anytime?
I part my lips and wait for him.

“No. Down
here
,” he corrects me, bringing his hand in between my legs. My lack of experience must astound him, but he at least tries to fight his smile. I frown at him and his finger touches me over my panties, causing me to suck in a breath. His finger makes soft strokes over my sex as he continues to look into my eyes.

“You’re already wet for me.” His voice is raspier than usual. His hot breath stings my ear and he runs his tongue along my earlobe.

“Talk to me, Tessa. Tell me how badly you want it.” He smirks and I squirm as he applies more pressure to my sensitive area.

I can’t find my voice because my body is on fire from his touch. After a few more seconds he pulls his hand away and I whimper.

“I didn’t want you to stop,” I whine.

“You didn’t say anything,” he snaps, and I recoil. I don’t want this Hardin. I want the laughing, playful Hardin.

“Couldn’t you tell?” I ask him and move to sit up.

He pulls himself up and sits on my thighs, holding his weight on his parted knees. He brushes his fingers across the tops of my thighs and my body instantly reacts, shifting my hips to meet his.

“Say it,” Hardin instructs. I know that he is well aware that I do; he just wants to make me say it aloud. I nod and he waves his finger back and forth in front of me.

“No nodding, just tell me what you want, baby,” he says, and climbs off of my knees. I mentally weigh the pros and cons of this situation. Is the humiliation of telling Hardin that I want him to . . . kiss me down there worth the feeling I will get from him doing it? If it feels anywhere near as good as what Hardin did to me with his fingers the other day, then I know it’s worth it. I reach out and grab his bare shoulder to stop him from moving any farther
away from me. I’m overthinking this, I know I am, but my mind won’t stop racing.

“I want you to.” I move closer to him.

“Want me to what, Theresa?” He has to be kidding me; he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You know . . . to kiss me,” I say and his smile grows. He leans over and plants a kiss on my lips. I roll my eyes and he kisses my lips again.

“Is that what you wanted?” he says with a smirk and I swat his arm. He is going to make me beg him.

“Kiss me . . . there.” I blush and cover my face with my hands. He pulls them away, laughing, and I frown at him. “You’re embarrassing me on purpose.” I scowl. His hands are still on mine.

“I’m not meaning to embarrass you. I just want to hear you say what you want from me.”

“Never mind, Hardin,” I say and sigh loudly. Because I
am
embarrassed and maybe my hormones are going haywire and messing with my emotions but now the moment has passed and I’m annoyed with his ego and constant need to goad me. I roll over and lie on my side, facing away from him, and cover myself with the blanket.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, but I ignore him. I know part of me is just annoyed at myself that being around Hardin has turned me into a typical hormonal teenager.

“Good night, Hardin,” I snap and hear him sigh. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “fine,” but I don’t ask him to repeat it. I force my eyes closed and try to think of anything besides Hardin’s tongue or the way his arm just draped across my body as I fall asleep.

I
am hot, too hot. I try to pull the covers off me, but they won’t budge. When my eyes open, the night before comes flooding into my mind: Hardin screaming at me in the yard, the scotch on his breath, the broken glass in the kitchen, Hardin kissing me, Hardin moaning as I touched him, his wet boxers. I try to lift myself, but he’s too heavy, his head lying across my chest and his arm wrapped around my waist, his body cloaking mine. I’m surprised we ended up like this; he must have moved this way in his sleep. I do admit, I don’t want to leave this bed, leave Hardin, but I have to. I have to get back to my room. Noah is there. Noah. Noah.

I gently push Hardin off by his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Then he rolls onto his stomach and groans but doesn’t wake.

I hurry to my feet and grab my scattered clothes off the floor. Being the coward that I am, I want to be out of here by the time he wakes. Not that he’ll mind; at least he won’t have to invest his energy in hurting me on purpose if I leave on my own. This way is better for both of us. Regardless of how we laughed together last night, nothing is the same in the light of day. Hardin will remember how we got along pretty well last night and then will feel the need to be extra hateful to make up for it. It’s what he does, and I will not be around this time. For a second last night, the thought had crossed my mind that maybe our night together would change his mind, make him want to have more with me. But I know better, really.

I fold his T-shirt neatly on the dresser and zip my skirt up. My shirt is wrinkled from lying on the floor last night, but that’s really the least of my worries at the moment. I slip my feet into my shoes and as I grab hold of the door handle, I think,
One more look back won’t hurt.

I look back to the sleeping Hardin. His messy hair is sprawled onto the pillow, and his arm is now draped over the side of the bed. He looks so peaceful, so beautiful despite the pieces of metal in his face.

I turn back around and turn the door handle.

“Tess?”