my head. I don’t want to tell him about my jealous thoughts. It’s not fair, and I don’t want that conversation.
“Oh come on, Tessa, just tell me,” he says, and I shake my head again. In a very un-Hardin move he grabs hold of my hips and begins to tickle me. I scream with laughter and fall off him and onto the soft bed. He continues to tickle me until I can’t breathe. His laughter booms through the room—and it’s the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I have never heard him laugh this way, and something tells me hardly anyone has. Despite his flaws, his many flaws, I consider myself lucky to see him in this moment.
“Okay . . . okay! I will tell you!” I screech and he stops.
“Good choice,” he says. But looking down, he adds, “But hold that thought. I need to change my boxers.”
I blush.
chapter thirty-four
Hardin goes over to his dresser and opens the top drawer, pulling out a pair of blue-and-white plaid boxers, and holds them up in the air with a disgusted look on his face.
“What?” I ask, and prop my head up on my elbow and look at him.
“These are hideous,” he says.
I laugh, but I’m also pleased that the earlier secret about whether or not there were clothes in the dresser is now settled at least. Landon’s mother or Hardin’s father must have purchased all the clothes in the room for Hardin. Which is sad, really, that they would buy clothes and fill the dresser in hopes that Hardin would come around sometime.
“They aren’t so bad,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes. I doubt anything will look as good as Hardin’s usual black boxer briefs, but then again I can’t imagine anything looking actually bad on him.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Back in a minute,” he says and walks out of the room wearing only his wet boxers.
Oh God, what if Landon sees him? I will be humiliated. I need to find Landon first thing in the morning to explain the turn of events. But, really, what am I going to say? It’s not what it looked like. We were just talking and then I agreed to stay the night, and somehow I ended up in my panties and a T-shirt, and then gave him the closest thing to a hand job that I know of? That sounds terrible.
I lay my head onto the pillows and stare at the ceiling. I consider getting up and checking my phone but decide against it. The last thing I need right now is to read texts from Noah. He is probably panicking, but, honestly, as long as he doesn’t tell my mother, I don’t care as much as I should. If I’m completely honest with myself, I haven’t felt the same about Noah since I kissed Hardin for the first time.
I know I love Noah; I have always loved Noah. But I’m beginning to question whether I really love him as a boyfriend and someone I could spend my life with, or if I love him because he has always been such a stable person in my life. He’s always been there for me—and on paper we’re perfect for each other—but I can’t ignore the way I feel when I’m with Hardin. I’ve never had these types of feelings before. Not just when we’re on top of each other, but the way he gives me butterflies just by looking at me, the way I find myself desperately wanting to see him even when I’m fuming mad at him, and, mostly, the way he always invades my thoughts even when I try to convince myself that I hate him.
Hardin has gotten under my skin no matter how hard I try to deny it. I’m in his bed instead of with Noah. On cue, the door opens and I am snapped from my thoughts. I look up and see Hardin in the clean plaid boxers and giggle. They are a little too big, and much longer than his briefs, but they still look great.
“I like them.” I smile and he glares at me before turning out the light and switching on the television. He climbs back onto the bed and lies down close to me.
“So, what were you going to tell me?” he asks, and I cringe. I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up again.
“Don’t be shy now, you’ve just made me come in my boxers,” he jokes and then pulls me