The officer returns with a warning, wishes me a happy birthday, and leaves to attack another car double parked several feet up. “You’re welcome,” I say when we’re situated in the cab, my balloon bouncing off the ceiling behind our heads. “I should have let you flail, Ben. You know how I am about the law.”
“You don’t have to always be so perfect, you know? It wouldn’t kill you to let loose every once in a while.” It’s easy for him to say now that he’s this beautiful, glorified man.
“I’m still the geeky girl I’ve always been. It’s not so easy for people like me to let loose.”
Ben pulls into traffic and looks at ease behind the wheel of the big vehicle, one bulky arm propped on the top of the steering wheel. It smells like him in here and I take in a deep breath and relax a touch. “But I’m only here for a weekend, so hopefully we can let loose as long as it doesn’t involve anything illegal.”
He chuckles. “I’m employed by the government, Harper. I don’t break any serious laws. I double parked because I wanted to see you sooner. I’d also like to point out that you don’t look like a geek anymore, so you should probably stop referring to yourself in that way. It looks desperate.”
He glances over, a grin in place. His brown eyes flutter a couple times before he turns his attention back to the road, waiting for my retort. “It doesn’t matter what you look like, Ben. It’s what’s inside.”
“I beg to differ. I’m a prime example,” he replies, palming his wide chest with a free hand. “You know I’m the same person even if I don’t look anything like what I used to. People treat me one way because they don’t know who I really am. You’ve never known how beautiful you are. It’s so bad that people probably think the low self-esteem thing is for attention.”
I scoff. “That’s not even close to the truth. I’m confident.”
He nods. “I know that, but do others?” I fold my arms across my chest, and he continues on, “I got us concert tickets for tonight. We’ll go see our parents now to get that out of the way.”
I laugh. “I do actually miss my parents,” I say. “What concert?” I ask, my voice a little too loud.
Ben laughs. “A wee bit excited, huh? Just your favorite indie rock band of all time,” he says, sighing in a big, exaggerated way.
“No way,” I say. “Cold War Kids?”
“Yes way. We need to be pre-gaming by five, so I hope you don’t want to spend too much time hanging out with the parental units.”
I squeal so loudly, I have to cover my own ears.
“You better wear something illegal,” he replies, wincing at my excitement.
Chapter Four
Ben
I tried to take the third glass of whiskey from her hand at my place, but she insisted on swallowing it down. Her cheeks were already red, so I should have known to force the issue. She promised to tell me if she got the spins. That was my last concession before we dumped ourselves into the back seat of an Uber and made our way to the concert venue. We’re right next to stage. My buddy Tahoe has Harper on his shoulders so she doesn’t get squashed, and because I didn’t trust her on the floor by herself while I went to the restroom.
Seeing her after all this time does weird things to me. It’s a nostalgic feeling of being home, just by being in her proximity, but there’s also more—a longing so violent, I’m unsure how long I can stave off the desire. The band starts playing the song “First” and I can hear Harper scream from my place several feet to her right. Her lithe arms are in the air and her cropped shirt rides up, showing off even more of her tight stomach. I glare at Tahoe when he catches my eye. He shrugs and makes a crude tongue gesture. I roll my eyes and shake my head. He’d never touch her. He knows Harper is everything to me.
I want her on my shoulders and I’m about to tell Tahoe to hand her over, when Harper’s voice cuts through the air, “Ben!”
I smile and tilt up my chin to let her know I heard.
“Take a photo! It’s my favorite song. Take a photo!” she yells, making a goofy hand motion like she’s snapping a photo.
Nodding, I slide my phone out of my pocket, hold it up, and snap several photos. Swallowing hard, I scroll through them and give her a thumbs-up. She’s already staring at the band, the excited light in her eyes, her lips mouthing the words to the song. Harper is beautiful—a step beyond stunning, and bordering on scary attractive. I post one of the photos on my Instagram account with a simple caption: #twenty #plusone. She’s smiling wide, her arms lifted high above her head and half of her face is masked by a cascade of wild hair.
Harper doesn’t do Instagram, her social media prowess is limited to Facebook. She logs in there just because her college groups are active participants and it’s mandatory to keep up. She’s had the same profile photo for over a year. It’s a black and white candid photo taken of her profile. I never asked who took that photo, but I love it. I’d probably be a little sad if she does change it just because it’s something I associate with her. I, on the other hand, love social media of all sorts. As long as I keep my filters and privacy settings strong, I can post what I want, where I want.
I return to studying Harper in person. Her long chestnut hair hangs halfway down her back in waves and every curve on her goddamn body was sculpted to my exact preference. Tahoe sees me staring and motions for me to grab her. He lifts her tiny frame off his body and places her in front of me. I can’t take my eyes off her moving lips as the words from the song feel like they were meant just for us—right now. Harper moves toward me, her hands falling on the front of my sweaty shirt. Tahoe rejoins our group of brothers and the women they came with to leave us alone.
I grab her hands and lock them with mine. We stare at each other and don’t say anything at all. The music says everything we can’t, or won’t. The buzz of life and energy around us is electric and the second she leans up toward me, I think it’s finally going to be it. This will be the moment we’ll call ours. Then the song ends and hesitation lights her eyes as she pulls away from me. Harper swipes a hand across her forehead.
“Feeling okay?” I ask, leaning into her ear so she can hear over the roar of applause. “We can get some air.”
“I need another drink,” she replies, trying to distance herself from my body.
I catch her hand in mine. “Hey,” I say, pulling her back. “It’s me.”
“I know,” Harper says, her eyes brimming with tears. A far-off look washes her features, and it’s not the blatant drunk eyes. She licks her lips and says, “It’s you.” She nearly chokes on those final words and I’m left wondering what she means.
