and I text Hardin good night, but he doesn’t reply before sleep overtakes me.
“Shit.” A loud thud wakes me up. I jolt upright and turn on the lamp to find a stumbling Hardin trying to navigate the dark room.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
When he looks up at me his eyes are red and glossy. He is drunk. Great.
“I came here to see you,” he says and plops down in the chair.
“Why?” I whine. I want him here, but not drunk and at two in the morning.
“Because I missed you.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because you were annoying me.”
Ouch. “Okay, I’m going back to sleep; you’re drunk and you’re obviously going to be mean again.
“I’m not being mean, Tessa. And I’m not drunk . . . okay . . . I am, but so what?”
“I don’t care that you are drunk, but it’s a school night and I need my sleep.” I would stay up all night with him if I knew he wouldn’t say hurtful things to me the entire time.
“It’s a school night,” he mocks me. “Could you be more of a square?” He laughs like he’s just said the funniest thing ever.
“You should just go,” I say and lie back down, turning to face the wall. I don’t like this Hardin. I want my semisweet Hardin back. Not this drunk jerk.
“Aww, baby, don’t be mad at me,” he says, but I ignore him. “Do you really want me to go? You know what happens when I sleep without you,” he says, just above a whisper.
My heart sinks. I do know what happens, but it’s not fair for him to use that against me when he’s drunk and taunting me.
“Fine. You can stay, but I’m going back to sleep.”
“Why? You don’t want to hang out with me?”
“You are drunk and being mean.” I finally turn back around to face him.
“I’m not being mean,” he says, his expression neutral. “All I said was you were being annoying.”
“That’s sort of mean to say to someone. Especially when all I did was ask you about your job.”
“Oh God, not this again. Come on, Tessa, just drop it. I don’t want to talk about that right now.” His voice is whiny and he slurs his words.
“Why did you drink tonight?” I don’t mind if he drinks; I am not his mother, and he’s an adult. The thing that bothers me is that every time he drinks there is a reason behind it. He doesn’t just drink for fun.
He looks away from me and toward the door as if planning an escape. “I . . . I don’t know . . . I just felt like having a drink . . . well, drinks. Can you please stop being mad at me? I love you,” he says and brings his eyes to meet mine.
His simple words dissolve most of my anger and I find myself wanting his arms around me.
“I’m not mad at you, I just don’t want to backtrack in our relationship. I don’t like when you turn on me for no reason, then just leave. If you’re mad about something, I want you to talk to me about it.”
“You just don’t like to not have control over everything,” he says and wobbles a little.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a control freak.” He shrugs as if it’s a known fact.
“No, I’m not. I just like things a certain way.”
“Yeah, your way.”
“So I guess we aren’t done fighting, then. Anything else you want to throw in there while you’re are it?” I snap.
“Nope, just that you’re a control freak and I really want you to move in with me.”
What? His moods give me whiplash.
“You should move in with me—I found an apartment today. I haven’t signed anything yet, but it’s a nice place.”
“When?” It’s hard to keep up with the five personalities of Hardin Scott.
“After I left here.”
“Before you got drunk?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. The light from the lamp hits the metal of his eyebrow ring, and I fight to ignore how attractive that is.
“Yes, before I got drunk. So what do you say? Are you going to move in with me?”
“I know you are new at this dating thing, but people don’t usually insult their girlfriend and ask them to move in with them in the same sentence,” I inform him, chewing my bottom lip to suppress my smile.
“Well, sometimes the said girlfriend needs to lighten up.” He grins. Even drunk, he’s charming as hell.