After We Collided (After 2)

“I took them out.” He shrugs.

“Why?”

“I don’t know . . . you don’t think I look better this way?” He looks into my eyes.

“No! I loved the way you looked before . . . and now, too, but you should put them back.”

“I don’t want them back in.” He walks to the passenger side of his car to open the door for me.

“Hardin . . . I hope you didn’t take them out because you thought I’d like you better this way, because it’s not true. I love you either way. Please put them back in.”

His eyes light up at my words, and I look away before climbing into the car. No matter how mad at him I am, I never want him to feel like he has to change his appearance for me. I was judgmental when I saw his rings for the first time, but I grew to love them. They’re part of him. “It’s not really like that, honestly. I’ve been thinking about taking them out for a while anyway. I’ve had them forever, and they’re sort of annoying. Besides, who the hell will hire me for a real job with that shit in my face?” He buckles his seat belt and looks over to me.

“People would hire you; it’s the twenty-first century. If you like them . . .”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I sort of like the way I look without them, like I’m not hiding anymore, you know?” I stare at him again and take in his new look.

He looks exquisite—he always does—but it’s sort of nice to not have any distractions on his perfect face.

“Well, I think you look perfect either way, Hardin; just don’t think that I want you to look a certain way, because I don’t,” I tell him and mean it.

When he looks at me he gives me such a shy smile that I forget what I wanted to yell at him about.

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” I ask him.

“To dinner. It’s a really nice place.” His voice is shaky. Nervous Hardin is my new favorite Hardin.

“Have I heard of it?”

“I don’t know . . . maybe?”

The rest of car ride is quiet. I hum along to the Fray songs that Hardin has obviously taken a strong liking to, and Hardin stares out the windshield. He keeps rubbing his hand over his thigh as he drives—a nervous action, I can tell.

When we arrive at the restaurant, it looks fancy and very expensive. All of the cars in the parking lot cost more than my mother’s house, I’m sure.

“I meant to open the door for you,” he tells me when I open the door to get out.

“I can shut it back and you can reopen it?” I offer.

“That hardly counts, Theresa.” He smiles his smug smile, and I can’t help the butterflies in my stomach that appear when he calls me by my real name.

It used to drive me crazy, but I secretly loved every time he would say it to annoy me. I love it almost as much as I love the way he says “Tess.”

“We’re back to ‘Theresa,’ I see?” I smile back at him.

“Yes; yes, we are,” he says and takes my arm. I can see his confidence growing with each step we take toward the restaurant.

Chapter one hundred and two

HARDIN

Do you know of another place you think you might like instead?” I ask her when we get back to the car. The man at the fancy restaurant I made reservations at claimed that my name wasn’t on the list. I kept my cool, careful not to ruin the night. He was such a fucking prick. My fingers grip the steering wheel.

Calm. I need to relax. I look over at Tessa and smile.

She bites her lip and looks away.

Was that creepy? That was creepy.

“Well, that was awkward.” My voice is unsteady and oddly high-pitched. “Do you have anything in particular you want, since we’ve apparently moved on to Plan B now?” I ask her, wishing I could think of another nice place to take her. One that might actually let us in.

“No, not really. Just somewhere with food.” She smiles.

She’s being really cool about this, and I’m glad. It was humiliating to be turned away like that. “Okay . . . McDonald’s, then?” I tease just to hear her laugh.

“We may look a little silly in McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, a little,” I agree.

I have no fucking idea where to go now. I should’ve come up with a backup plan ahead of time. This night is already spiraling, and it hasn’t even started yet.

We pull up to a stoplight, and I look around. A crowd of people fills the parking lot next to us. “What’s going on over there?” Tessa asks, trying to peer around me.

“I don’t know, there’s an ice-skating rink or some shit,” I tell her.

“Ice skating?” Her voice raises the way it does when she’s getting excited.

Oh no . . .

“Can we?” she asks.

Fuck. “Go ice skating?” I ask innocently, like I’m unsure of what she means.

Please say no. Please say no.

“Yeah!” she exclaims.

“I . . . I don’t . . .” I’ve never ice-skated in my life and never intended to, but if this is what she wants to do, then it won’t kill me to try . . . maybe it will, but I’ll do it anyway. “Sure . . . we can.”

When I look over, I can tell she’s surprised—she never expected me to agree to it. Hell, I didn’t either.

“Wait . . . what’ll we wear? I only have this dress and some Toms. I should have worn jeans, it would have been so fun,” she says, almost pouting.

“We could always run to the store and get you some clothes? I have some in my trunk that I could wear,” I tell her. I can’t believe I’m going through all this shit to go ice skating.