I’m drawn to her, and even though I don’t remember moving I’m standing in front of her in seconds, her eyes looking up at me and my frame in between her legs. “Let’s pretend for a second that he is really your boyfriend, which I have a hard time believing because you haven’t mentioned that. Why is he texting you like a ragey asshole? That’s not okay. Even less okay than you having a boyfriend to begin with.”
She scowls. “You’re not my father. You can’t tell me I can’t have a boyfriend. Heck, even my father can’t tell me I can’t have a boyfriend. I’m an adult the last time I checked.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I never said you couldn’t have one. I said I don’t like it.”
Harper catches her breath and holds it. After a beat of two, she brings the red candy to her lips and bites off a piece. Chewing with her mouth closed, she watches my face. After she swallows, she says, “I’ve been with him for a while now. I told you we studied together and that wasn’t a lie. We have classes together. Same major. As for why he acted like a complete moron in those texts, well, I can’t say for sure. Though I’m not sure why, but I think jealousy might have something to do with it.”
“Can I call him?” My heart is hammering. No one talks to Harper like that. No one touches Harper. No one loves Harper. No one but me.
Her eyes widen, then she relaxes a touch. “What do you want to talk to him about?”
I walk into the kitchen and pour out a glass of water and slide it in front of her, then open the cabinet and take out a bottle of whiskey and pour two fingers into a glass and gulp it down.
“I get water and you get alcohol? That’s not fair. It’s my birthday.”
“You can’t handle your liquor like I can.” I shrug at her expression. “It’s the truth. Deny it.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she pulls her phone out of her little, tight top and slides the cracked device across the counter. “Call him then. Maybe he’ll chill out.”
Or maybe I’ll kill him via telekinesis. I pick it up, find his number, and hit the green button. Harper shoves a whole licorice stick in her mouth and grins. I walk into my bedroom, shut the door, and sit on my bed.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Marcus says.
“Who the fuck are you to talk to Harper like that?” I seethe, trying and failing to keep my voice low.
“Who’s this?” Marcus asks.
“This is Ben.”
“Oh,” is his response. Oh. Like I’m some fucking afterthought. I’ve been her only thought for as long as she’s been alive and this motherfucker is going to settle into the place I give him. “Where is she?”
“We were at the concert tonight. For her birthday. She didn’t have her phone on nor would I assume she could hear it in that madness. We just got home. Now, answer my question. Why the fuck are you talking to my girl like that?”
He laughs. “Your girl?”
I swallow down the bitter pang of reality. She’s not my girl, but somehow along the way I’ve forgotten that fact. “Yeah. My girl.”
“She’s my girlfriend, Ben. She sleeps in my bed. Harper and I have more in common now. You’re her childhood best friend. You’re her past, bro. I’m her future. Move your muscles out of the way for a second or two and you’ll clearly see she’s changed. I didn’t want her to go. So, yeah, I’m pissed off she’s ignoring me.”
My breath steals and it’s because there’s truth in his words. “She’s not ignoring you,” I say, swallowing down all of the insults I was planning on saying. Marcus is merely jealous. Harper was right. He obviously cares for her. I can’t say I’d be acting any differently if the woman I loved was spending the weekend with a man like me. I sigh. “I’ll always be in her life. Always. Better learn how to like me.”
He laughs. “Where is she? Put her on.”
My fist is balled so tight I have to work to loosen my grip before I punch a hole through the wall. “She’s indisposed at the moment,” I whisper, hoping he assumes the worst.
“We’re talking about the same girl, right? She’d never do anything with you. It doesn’t serve her moral compass.”
Now, I laugh. “I am her compass. She’ll always come back to me. Remember that.”
I click off the phone before I let him say another word that will pick at the threads of my relationship with Harper. Sure, things have changed, because we grew up, but our friendship will always remain. Even if she’s dating a dickhead. It’s a dickhead who obviously knows her.
She peeks her head into the door. “Did you verbally assault him? Is he scared straight?” She laughs. I smirk and hang my head. She sits next to me on the bed. “I had some of your whiskey.”
Groaning, I look at her. “Don’t puke everywhere, okay? That’s way worse than beer shits.”
Harper laughs, her pretty face lighting up. “We have a lot in common,” she explains after a long, silent pause. “Marcus and I work out because we have many of the same goals, the same friends, the same interests.”
And he’s there. With you, I think.
