Through to You (14 page)

“I mean, I know who she is. I'm just wondering who she is, you know, to you.” She fiddles with one of the paper menus, folding the corner back into an accordion shape.

“I used to hang out with her,” I say carefully.

“How?”

“How?”

“Yeah, how did you guys hang out? Like, in what way?”

“You know, like, uh . . .” If I'm being honest, I don't totally remember. I know that makes me sound like a total asshole, but the details are hazy. “We hooked up,” I try.

“And then you did something to make her mad.”

It's a statement, not a question. “Yes.”

“Like blew her off?”

I shrug.

“You don't remember? Or you don't want to tell me?”

I sigh. “Look, can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.” But she doesn't sound like she means it.

Kalia comes back and slams down the drinks we ordered. Piña colada sloshes over to the side of my cup and splashes onto my wrist. Kalia gives me a satisfied look, and I quickly pick up my drink and move it farther away from her, just in case she gets any ideas about picking it up and throwing it in my face. “My boss says I have to wait on you, even though I think you're a total douche,” she reports.

“Oh,” I say, wiping up the spilled drink. “How lucky for me. We're going to have some nachos and two veggie burritos.” I was
going to have a chicken burrito, but the food here is sketchy on a good day, never mind when some girl who is looking for revenge is going to be serving it. Who knows what kind of crazy things she's going to end up doing to my meal. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn't even be ordering anything.

“Okay,” Kalia says. Then she turns to Harper. “You should make him pay the check. You're going to need the money for your therapy bill.”

“Wow,” I say once Kalia disappears. I roll my eyes. “What a drama queen.”

“I guess.” Harper twists her hands in her lap and looks around the restaurant hesitantly. There are tons of people here from school, and her eyes flick over all of them. I wonder if she's trying to figure out which girls I've messed around with. I want to reassure her, but I'm not exactly sure what to say.

“Hey—” I start. But before I can finish, Jackson Burr saunters up to our table.

“So listen,” he says, and grabs a bar stool from a four-top near us. He pulls it over to our table and sits down, like he and I are in the middle of a conversation and not two people who hate each other. “It was weird the other night, right? At the batting cages? Anyway, I've been thinking, and I've decided we should talk about it.”

I feel a rage start to burn inside me. First because Jackson's here, and second because he's bringing up things that are ridiculously personal and he's bringing them up in front of Harper. I don't want to talk about what happened at the batting cages.

“Jackson,” I say, trying to force my voice to stay upbeat. “You know better than to crash one of my dates.”

He looks over at Harper, like he's seeing her for the first time. “This is a date?” he asks skeptically.

“Yes,” I say firmly. I know I wasn't sure I wanted to be making that declaration, but now that I'm saying it, it feels right.

“Okay.” Jackson looks at Harper again, his eyes lingering on her body for a second longer than necessary, the same way they did that night at the batting cages.
Don't do that
, a voice inside me screams.
She's mine
. I'm shocked by the ferocity of it. “We met at the batting cages the other night, right?”

Harper nods and then takes a sip of her drink.

Jackson smiles and then partially pulls a flask out of the front pocket of his long-sleeved T-shirt. He motions to Harper. “You want to make it a real one?”

“No, she doesn't,” I say. “Jesus, Jackson.” What the hell is wrong with him, bringing alcohol here? This isn't some seedy bar where you can get away with that kind of thing.

“What?” he asks. “Like you don't want some?”

“I don't.” I turn away from him.

“Right, so it's like that now?” Jackson laughs bitterly as he puts the flask away.

Harper's looking at me curiously from across the table. Shit. She's probably going to get all worried now and start freaking out about me having some kind of drinking problem. Which I don't. Just because I used to get drunk with the
team now and then doesn't mean I have a problem. And after I fucked up my shoulder, yeah, I took the edge off with a little alcohol, but who wouldn't have?

I haven't had a drink since then.

“It's not like anything,” I say. Then I get quiet.

“Whatever,” Jackson says, running his fingers through his hair and sighing. “Look, we need to talk.”

“No, we don't.”

“Yeah, we do. Come on. Come sit with us.” He motions over to the corner, where a bunch of guys from the team—Dan Martin, Brody Lansing, and Sawyer French—are sitting at a high-top. There are girls over there, laughing and flirting and jostling for position so they can sit next to whoever it is they've decided they want to go home with. If this were a few months ago, I'd be over there with them, feeling sloppy from the booze, my eyes halfway closed as I tried to figure out which girl I was going to kiss later that night. My muscles would be aching from practice, but it would be a good ache, the kind of ache that makes you feel like you're alive.

“I told you, I'm on a date.”

Jackson stands up and shakes his head. “She can come too.” He picks up our drinks and then motions to Kalia to let her know that Harper and I are going to be moving to his table.

“No,” I say, “we don't want to go.”

“It's okay,” Harper says. “I don't mind sitting over there.” I can tell she's just saying it because she thinks I want to. Of
course she minds going over there to sit with those assholes.

“No, it's okay,” I tell her. “We're staying right here.”

“See?” Jackson says. “She said it's okay. Come on.” He starts to walk away with our drinks, and suddenly, before I can stop myself, I'm out of my chair and grabbing at the back of his shirt. I'm only trying to stop him from moving, but my grip must be tighter than I planned, because it causes Jackson to spin around. A bunch of piña colada sloshes out of the glasses and oozes over his fingers onto the floor.

“What the fuck, Mattingly?” he curses. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem,” I say, “is that you can't mind your own damn business.” I take the dripping glasses out of his hands.

“I'm supposed to mind my own business?” Jackson repeats incredulously. He moves closer to me so that he's in my face now, and I can smell the alcohol on him. “You totally just drop out, no goodbye, nothing, and I'm supposed to mind my own damn business? That's all I've been doing, Penn! And I'm fucking sick of this shit.”

“Oh, right,” I mutter. “You're such a victim. None of this is because of you, right, Jackson?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jackson asks. And then his voice softens just a little. “Penn—” he starts, but before he can say anything, something snaps inside me.

It's like a switch or the break of a branch. That's how fast it overtakes me. I turn and haul one of the piña coladas at the wall as hard as I can. The glass immediately shatters, and
sticky liquid oozes everywhere. A searing pain shoots through my bad shoulder. But I can hardly even feel it.

“Penn!” Harper cries. She stands up, her eyes wide. “Penn, please, what are you doing?”

“Jesus Christ, man,” Jackson says, shaking his head as he looks down at the broken glass and spilled drink. “You are even more fucked up than I thought.”

“Penn,” Harper says, pulling on my sleeve. “Penn, come on. Let's get out of here.”

From across the room I can see Kalia whispering to some douchey-looking guy in a button-up shirt who looks like the manager. He starts to walk over to us, probably so he can kick me out.

But I'm not going to give him a chance.

I turn around and walk out.

It's not until I'm halfway to my car that I realize Harper is following me.

Whoa.

Okay.

I will not freak out, I will not freak out, I will not freak out.

I just need to keep cool. Yes, that was crazy intense. Yes, it was crazy scary. Yes, Penn broke a glass and basically got us kicked out of the restaurant. But I can't get all worked up about it, because that's not going to help the situation.

Thank God he didn't hurt anyone. For a second I was pretty sure he was going to throw that drink right at Jackson's face, or maybe even punch him. That's how mad Penn looked. I could see it building inside him until finally he just snapped.

I follow him out to the parking lot, and he's all broody and dark.

“Hey,” I say, running to catch up. “What was that about?”

His shoulders are hunched over, and his hands are in his pockets and he's walking so fast, I can hardly keep pace. “Nothing.”

“Well, obviously it was
something
,” I say. “I mean, you don't just go throwing glasses at walls unless there's something going on.”

We're at his truck now, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. His hands are shaking a little.

“Penn,” I say, reaching out and putting my hand on his. “Seriously, what the hell is going on?”

“I told you, nothing.” He unlocks the door and then goes to get inside.

But I just stand there. No way I'm getting into a car with him when he's all worked up like this. How do I know he's in any condition to drive?

“You coming?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “I'm not getting into a car with you until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

He looks at me, his eyes blazing, his breathing heavy. My pulse is racing, the anticipation of what's going to happen hanging in the air. Is he going to tell me what's going on? Or is he going to try to make me get into the car with him without telling me anything? If he does, I won't. I'll call Anna and have her come pick me up. Or even better, I'll call my mom and have her come pick me up. She would love that. She's always talking about how if I ever get stranded at some party
or something and there's no one sober to drive me home that I should call her and she'll come get me, no questions asked. It'll be like a bonding moment.

“Harper,” Penn says, “get into the car.”

“No.” I stand my ground. “Not until you explain.”

“Harper,” he says again. “I don't want to have to leave you here, but I will.”

I laugh. “Really?” I say. “Really? That's what you have to say for yourself? You don't want to have to leave me here, but you will?” I shake my head. I am so done with this. “Whatever, Penn. Just go. You're good at leaving me places anyway.”

I turn around, and as soon as I do, my throat squeezes and tears burn in my eyes. I'm mad at him, but I'm mad at myself too, for trusting him. He's an asshole. That's what my instincts were telling me, and somehow I let myself get all wrapped up in him.

I must be crazy.

I take a few steps back toward the restaurant, fumbling in my purse for my phone. And then he's there.

Behind me, his footsteps matching mine.

He doesn't say anything—he just keeps walking with me.

Our footsteps fall into a matching rhythm, but he still doesn't talk.

I finish pulling out my phone.

“Who are you calling?” he asks finally.

“My mom,” I say.

“Your mom?” He seems shocked and appalled.

“Yeah.” I'm struggling to keep my voice from shaking. The last thing I want is for him to know I was about to cry. “I'm going to have her come pick me up.”

I start dialing, but he reaches out and pulls the phone out of my hands gently. “Harper,” he whispers. He's looking at me with this intense look on his face, halfway between sadness and longing, and it's so angsty and wanty that I think I'm in some kind of romance novel.

“No,” I say. “Don't look at me like that. You don't get to look at me like that.”

He's still holding my phone. He reaches out and pulls me close to him, and then, suddenly, his lips are on mine. This time his kiss is different than it was the other night. The other night it was flirty and fun, with darkness just below the surface. This time the danger is right there, in the kiss, showing itself in the way his lips move against mine, the way his arms encircle my waist and pull me so close to him that I can feel the hardness of his chest.

I lose myself in the kiss, letting him take over, letting myself melt against his body. I'm not thinking about what just happened back in the restaurant, I'm not thinking about the fact that he just tried to ditch me for the second time today, or what it means that every girl we come into contact with he has some kind of history with.

Instead, all I'm thinking about is how good this feels. His hands are around my waist, holding me tight, and then finally he pulls away.

“Harper,” he whispers again. The way he says my name fills my body with heat. No one has ever said my name like that before. “Come on,” he says. “Let's get out of here.”

My heart is racing and my body is all flushed. A breeze moves through the parking lot, pushing my hair back from my face, and even though the air is hot, it feels cool and good against my skin.

“No,” I say. “I'm not . . . I can't . . .” I take a deep breath and try to clear my thoughts. “You can't just kiss me or leave me anytime something comes up. Don't you . . . I mean, why can't we talk about this?”

He gets a pained look on his face. Then finally he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Fine.”

But he doesn't move. “Okay fine, what?”