Chapter 7: Famous Last Words: Chapter 7

“Didn’t you say your date is at 7:30?” is the first thing Eve asks as soon as I walk through the front door.

I glance at the clock, realize it’s 7:20, and swear.

Time moves differently when I’m with Conor Hart. An anomaly the scientist in me has no good explanation for.

“What are you wearing?” Eve asks, following me as I rush down the hallway.

I drop my backpack on the floor and toss my coat on the unmade bed.

“I don’t know.”

“Where the hell were you?”

“Library,” I lie. “I lost track of time.”

“Wear this sweater.” Eve pulls a black one out of my closet and tosses it on the bed. “I’ll find some jeans.”

I strip out of my sweatshirt and yank on the sweater, then sit down at my desk to put some makeup on.

“I had a weird encounter with a hockey player earlier,” Eve tells me as she digs through my dresser.

My hand stalls mid–mascara swipe. “Oh?”

“Some guy named Hunter said hi to me. Should I be expecting him at our front door next?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Did you ever find out why Conor was here?”

I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to ask.

“Uh, yeah. He heard I was running a marathon and had some tips.”

All true, just a heavily edited version.

“That’s…nice, I guess.”

“Yeah.” I finish up my makeup and then stand.

There’s a knock on the door.

Eve tosses a pair of jeans at me. “I feel like you live here and I’m your doorwoman.”

I laugh as I finish changing and grab my down coat, glancing over my appearance in the full-length mirror.

Slowly, my smile fades.

I was about this date. Unlike with Eve’s set-ups, I have a lot in common with Eric. He’s sat next to me in class for two months. He’s cute and funny and nice.

Exactly my type…I thought.

The problem is I can’t get the one guy I was certain my type out of my head.

I push thoughts of Conor far, away and head down the hall. Eve is loitering in the kitchen, doing a terrible job of acting like she’s not waiting around to witness this.

Eric is standing in the small entryway. He smiles as soon as he sees me. “Hi, Harlow. Wow…” He looks me over, his gaze approving. “Wow, you look really nice.”

“So do you,” I say, smiling back. “You met Eve?”

“Yup,” he confirms. “She did a great job opening the door.”

I hear a muffled laugh from the kitchen. She’s definitely listening.

“Great. You ready to go?”

“Sure am,” he says.

“Bye, Eve,” I call.

“Bye, kids. Have fun!”

The air outside is chilly, but not as damp as it was earlier. I snuggle into the warmth of my coat as we walk to Eric’s car.

“So…I couldn’t decide where to take you and made reservations at three different places,” Eric tells me, giving me a sheepish smile. “Do you want me to tell you the options and you can pick one?”

God, he’s nice.

“Sure.”

“Okay. Italian, Mexican, or Japanese?”

“Mexican,” I decide. I could seriously go for some tacos right now.

“Excellent choice.”

He opens the car door for me. I scan the inside of his sedan while he’s walking around to the driver’s side. It’s clean and smells like mint.

Eric is easy to talk to. On the drive to the restaurant, we discuss an upcoming exam in our shared class, debate which professors we want on our thesis committees in the spring, and discuss potential employment prospects. I tell him about the Canadian government’s specialized whale conservation program that is my dream job after graduation.

“I didn’t know you’re Canadian,” he says.

“Uh, yeah. My dad was born in a small town in Ireland and my mom grew up in Cincinnati. He was stationed here for work for a few years, and he met my mom when she was a student at Holt. They ended up in Canada for my dad’s job.”

“What does he do?”

I don’t correct his use of the present tense. “Nautical engineering.”

“Wow. Smart runs in the family, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. What about your dad? What does he do?”

“He works in construction. Has a small company in Oregon he started himself. I help out there in the summers.”

“So you can build a house?”

“Part of it,” he replies modestly as he pulls into a small parking lot.

I glance around, not recognizing any of the scenery. “Where are we?”

“Loughton,” he replies, which is a town two over from Somerville. “There’s not a ton to do here, but there’s one Mexican restaurant that’s amazing.”

“Sounds good,” I say, climbing out of the car. It feels even colder now after sitting in the heat, and I’m glad I wore my warmest coat.

I’ve driven through Loughton before, but this is my first time stopping. Eric was right; there’s not much to see. The downtown section is even more limited than Somerville’s.

I follow Eric past a dentist’s office and inside a building I would have missed if I’d been walking along the sidewalk myself. We walk down a short alley, and then we’re inside an explosion of color. Brightly colored flags and twinkling lights decorate the walls. Cheerful music pours out of the speakers.

The interior of the restaurant is tiny. The far side is mostly taken up by a serving counter, and the rest of the floor is filled by a few small tables and folding chairs. One table is occupied by another young couple, but the only other people in here are employees.

My stomach grumbles, grateful we won’t have to wait to be served.

“I usually get the chicken burrito,” Eric tells me. “But I’ve never had anything here that wasn’t good.”

I nod as I scan the menu.

I end up ordering fish tacos. The food is prepared right in front of us, and we grab one of the two open tables.

“Wow, this really good,” I state as soon as I’ve swallowed my first bite. The tortilla is warm, the fish is fresh, and there’s a tangy sauce covering the slaw that is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.

Eric grins. “Told you.”

“Did you do anything for Halloween last night?” I ask.

“Yeah. I went to a party a buddy of mine hosted. How about you?”

“Same thing, pretty much. One of Eve’s friends was hosting and it was mostly art majors.

of very impressive costumes.”

He laughs. “What were you?”

“Elle Woods.”

I wait, weirdly disappointed when his response is “Who’s that?”

“Movie character. She’s in .”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

It’s an improvement from David’s reaction, at least.

“So are you…”

The rest of what Eric is saying gets lost in the sudden sound filling my ears. It feels like I’m standing in a wind tunnel, watching Aidan Phillips walk into the restaurant. Conor is right behind him, talking to Hunter.

Aidan spots me first. Instead of the smile I’m expecting, he glances at Conor.

“Harlow?”

I force my gaze back to Eric. “Sorry. I know a couple of those guys. Got distracted.”

Eric glances over his shoulder. I keep my eyes on my food.

“Want to go say hi?”

“No, it’s fine.” I take another bite.

I should have picked Italian or Japanese. I don’t know what the odds of running into Conor here are, but they must be minuscule.

When I glance up again, the guys are all ordering at the counter.

I continue eating my tacos, trying to focus on what Eric is saying but mostly straining to listen to what Conor and his friends are saying. I can’t make much out over the music playing, just the low hum of their voices.

And then they take their food and leave without a single acknowledgment.

I stare at the closed door, confused.

.

It feels like the last few weeks never happened, like time has rewinded to before Aidan asked me about my training plan. Except, back then would have said hi to me, at least. But Conor ignored me at every opportunity, like he did just now.

I make myself focus on Eric, hoping he didn’t notice my distraction.

We finish our food, then sit and talk for a while before heading back outside. It’s raining now, of course, and we hurry back to the parking lot where Eric left his car.

“Are you warm enough?” Eric asks once we’re inside his sedan, fiddling with the dial that controls the heat.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply.

“We could get some doughnuts?” Eric suggests. “Or go to Gaffney’s?”

“I was up pretty late last night. Mind just dropping me off?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The easy conversation from the car ride to the restaurant is glaringly absent as Eric drives me home. He turns on some music about five minutes in, rescuing us from total silence.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, debating what to say to him. I don’t have a single good explanation for why I don’t want to go out with him again, except for the truth.

I have feelings for someone else.

A very unfortunate someone else.

You can’t choose who you have chemistry with. I found the passion that’s been absent with every guy I’ve dated, and I wish I hadn’t. Caring . If I’d walked in a restaurant and seen Conor eating with another girl, I wouldn’t have an appetite anymore. He didn’t seem to care I was there with Eric.

Eric stops in front of my house, shifting into neutral. I watch him do it, avoiding meeting his eyes for as long as possible.

“That was fun,” he says.

I nod. It was.

But it felt like grabbing a bite with a friend. Not a date.

I pull in a deep breath. “If we hang out again, maybe it should just be as friends?”

His smile is wry. “Right.”

“You’re a really great guy. I just…I don’t think I’m in a great place to start something right now.”

“I get it. We’re good, Harlow.”

Eric doesn’t sound upset, but I can’t read his full expression that well in the dim car. If he is more bothered than he’s letting on, I figure me sitting here isn’t going to help. There’s not really anything else left to say.

I tell him “Thanks for dinner” and then climb out into the cold, watching his taillights until they disappear down the street. My thumb rubs against the ragged metal edge of my house key as I walk up the path to the front door. Halfway there I veer right, toward the driveway where my car sits.

Eve’s is missing. She’s probably over at Ben’s place.

It’s wasteful, to drive the few blocks to the neighborhood where a lot of the athletes live. But it’s dark and cold out and I want to get there before I have the chance to think through this rash decision.

I park on the street and climb out quickly. It’s still raining but I wouldn’t be shocked if it switches to snow soon. It feels plenty cold out for it.

This is the first time I’ve been to his house. I’ve avoided most parties thrown by the hockey team. The only one I’ve attended was held across the street, where the sophomore players live.

I press the doorbell and then shove my hands back into my pockets, bouncing on my toes in an attempt to stay warm.

It swings open a few seconds later. Conor is standing there, wearing the same outfit as he was at the Mexican restaurant and a surprised expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

I don’t wait for an answer, just step forward so he has the choice to accommodate me or have our bodies collide.

He moves.

I glance around the front hall. His house is bigger than mine. And cleaner than I’d expect, considering three hockey players live here.

The slam of the door closing interrupts my perusal.

I follow Conor into the kitchen. There’s a wooden table with an open laptop and a plate that has the remnants of a burrito on it. No sign of anyone else.

“Where are Hunter and Aidan?” I ask.

Conor walks over to the kitchen table, closing his laptop. “They went out. I didn’t feel like it.”

He takes the final bite of his food, then carries the plate over to the sink. Rinses it and places it in the dishwasher, then heads for the fridge and pulls a sports drink out.

“You’re here…alone?”

“Yeah.” He caps the plastic bottle, then turns to face me. “How was your date?”

Absolutely nothing on his face gives me an indication of whether he cares what the answer will be.

“Great.”

He nods. “You’ve got quite the roster of guys rotating, huh?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” I snap.

“What are you doing here, Harlow?” The question is quiet and serious.

“I wanted to know if we’re back to ignoring each other. If we are, fine. I just need to know so I can plan accordingly the next time you show up somewhere.”

“You wanted me to crash your date? It looked like you were having fun.”

“It didn’t seem like you even noticed I was there.”

Conor studies me. “I’m…confused.”

“Forget it.” I shake my head. I’m confused too. Confused why I’m here. Confused why I care so much when it comes to anything involving him. “Delete my number, okay? I won’t bother you anymore. Good luck with hockey. Maybe I’ll make it to a game.”

He sets the Gatorade down and strides toward me. “Wait, hold up. I’ll still help you with training, when I can. I jog most mornings anyway.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll just walk the marathon if I have to.”

Conor shakes his head. “What is it with you and this damn marathon? Just drop out of it, Harlow.”

“I .”

“

?”

“Because it’s being run in my hometown in memory of my parents.”

Conor exhales. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I’m sick of people feeling sorry for me. I didn’t want your help because I’m an orphan and you pitied me.”

“That wouldn’t be why I helped you.”

“Well, up until you came over to me in that kitchen, I didn’t think you’d help me with anything for any reason.”

“You don’t think that now?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

His nod is slow. “Let me look at my schedule for this week, okay? We’ve got a dryland session tomorrow afternoon but I could probably—”

“No. I mean it. Thank you, but I’ve got it from here.”

Conor runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the dark strands. His shirt lifts an inch, flashing me a very distracting view. “What the hell, Hayes? You show up here mad I’m not training you and now—”

“That’s not why I was mad. I was mad because you ignored me earlier, and I thought we were past all that.”

“You were out with another guy! You wanted me to interrogate him or something?”

“No, I wanted you to say ‘Hi, Harlow,’ and keep walking.”

His exhale is exasperated. “Fine. The next time I see you out with him, I’ll say ‘Hi, Harlow,’ and keep walking. Okay?”

“I’m not going out with him again.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just not. I’ll see you later.”

I turn to head back into the hall—to leave—but Conor’s reflexes are way faster than mine. He grabs my arm, holding me in place.

“I want to help you, Harlow. And it’s not pity, but especially now that I know…” He swallows. “Let me help you train. Please.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

Conor is still holding my arm, which I don’t think he’s aware of but I certainly am. I can feel his touch, even through the layers of down. “What’s a bad idea?”

“Us spending time together.”

“Why? Because of the Garrisons?”

I shake my head, although it’s certainly a complication. Landon would lose his shit if he knew I was standing in Conor Hart’s kitchen right now.

“Then what?”

“Because…”

.

. “Because I want to have sex with you.”

Once it’s out, I can’t take it back. And I’m not sure if it’s better or worse than admitting my crush.

Conor’s shocked reaction is worth the mortifying realization I said that to him.

His eyes widen and his eyebrows fly upward. “Are you drunk?”

I sigh. “Unfortunately not. Maybe when I get home. I think Eve has a bottle of vodka in the freezer.”

I pull my arm away and take a step back.

“I don’t do girlfriends,” Conor says.

I nod. “You don’t have to explain—”

“I’m not. I’m clarifying. You’re good with just sex?”

I stare at him, feeling my heart rate start to pick up. It almost sounds like he’s…considering it?

“I’m good with just sex.”

He kisses me.

It’s like downing a shot of espresso. Jumping into a cold pool.

A shock to my system I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from.

And I know, as Conor kisses me with a skill that’s literally stealing my breath, that this is a bad idea.

Turns out, some bad ideas feel really good.