Page 32 of Heart Check
12.HARPER
Sam clears his throat, shiftingfrom one foot to the other and avoiding looking at us directly. “Sorry, did we interrupt something?”
Alex has no such shame, staring at Dawson with a wicked grin. “Interesting place for a hookup. Don’t mind us, we can just grab the ice and go.”
Dawson realizes his arms are still wrapped around me in the same moment I do. We jump apart, and I’m shocked at how much I miss the solidity of his chest behind me, the warmth of his arm around my waist, the softness of his T-shirt against the suddenly hypersensitive skin of my arms. For a minute there, I thought he was about to kiss me.
And I’m kind of disappointed we got interrupted.
What isthatabout? I’m experiencing the same out-of-body sensation I get when I make a new piece, weirdly floaty and lightheaded, and I have to focus hard on the grinning hockey players before us. My voice still comes out sounding far away. “Trust me, it’s not what it looks like. We got trapped in here and had no idea when anyone would find us!” Their raised eyebrows make it very clear they’re notbuying my story. I take a deep breath. “Seriously, thanks for saving us.”
Alex hums contemplatively as he holds the door open for us to walk out. “You didn’t really look like you needed saving.”
“Please. About to freeze to death with a jock? Not my idea of a good time.” But I can’t look at Dawson while I say it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dawson check his phone. Voice dry, he says, “We were only in there like twenty minutes.”
“Hey, you were the one who brought up the penguins. You’d reached Arctic Circle levels of desperation.”
The corner of his mouth twitches in a smile, and I realize I’m smirking at him too. I clear my throat, doing my best to ignore the way the guys are staring at us. “Don’t you have a party to get to?”
There’s much shuffling and nodding and elbowing of Dawson, but after a minute we get them headed for the door with a bag of ice apiece. Then Dawson and I are left standing in the doorway of an empty restaurant, watching their car pull back out onto the road, headlights illuminating the deepening dark outside.
I glance sideways at him, and his eyes flick away as if he was looking at me too. I rub my hands up and down my arms. I’m trying not to think about those twenty minutes in the walk-in and failing pretty miserably. The weight of his arm. The warmth of his chest.No one deserves for their hard work to get messed up like that.
I whirl around to keep myself from acting on the idiotic impulse to get closer. “Think we can lock up already?”
Dawson nods in relief, and we fall back into our routinein a flurry of action. Dawson queues up his horrible country music with a flourish, just like always—and I roast him that every song sounds the same, just like always—and it might be the fastest we’ve ever closed. Before I know it, I’m huddled in my coat on the sidewalk outside while he fumbles with the keys, tugging the door to make sure it’s really locked.
It’s fully dark now, and the fluorescent light above the diner door casts Dawson’s face in harsh shadows. His dark hair flops over his forehead, and I get the weird impulse to pull a hat over his curls. You can’t tell me that boy doesn’t get cold.
Then he turns around, and I push the thought away.
“I better get to this party.” Dawson shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding down the sidewalk. “See you next week, I guess?”
He hesitates for a minute, and I hold my breath. Waiting for something I’m not even sure I can name.
But then he turns away, and I’m struck with a weird sense of disappointment.
Before I know what I’m saying, I blurt, “You want a ride?” He pivots back, eyebrows raised. I flush. “Lindsey stranded you, and it’s cold. I think you’ve had enough freezing for one day.”
I don’t know what I expect—probably some kind of insult to my driving skills—but he just smiles. “Thanks. That would be great.”
We’re both silent while we buckle up and I pull out onto the street. Downtown is empty today, everyone bundled up inside, exhausted from shopping and eating sandwiches stuffed with leftover turkey and cranberry sauce.
After a minute, Dawson clears his throat. “How’s your… skin?”
“Excuse me?” I whip my head to see his cheeks flushing a bright red.
“I just meant—the fridge—frostbite?”
The fridge.Dawson with his arm around me, tilting his head down toward me, eyes growing dark and heavy lidded. “I’m fine!” I focus very intently on the placement of my hands on the wheel. Ten and two, ten and two. “But it’s a good thing we got out of there when we did!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dawson slump against the window. “Yeah. Good thing.”
The ride to Ryan’s is very quiet after that. Dawson and I don’t bicker like usual, but probably just because I’m doing him a favor and he has to be nice to me for a few more minutes. I’m hyperaware of his presence in the passenger seat. Arm on the windowsill, left thigh close enough to rest a hand on. If I wanted to.
I’m almost disappointed when we pull up in front of Ryan’s house, one of the new McMansions by the park.
