little hard to do with someone like Hardin watching me.
“I’m ready,” I tell him and he jumps up. “Are you going to put a shirt on?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I have one in my trunk.”
I was right: he must have an endless supply in there. I don’t want to think about the reasons behind that.
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Hardin pulls a plain black T-shirt out of his trunk and finishes getting dressed in the parking lot.
“Stop staring and get in the car,” he teases me. I stutter a denial and oblige.
“I like you in the white shirts,” I say when we’re both inside, the words just popping out before I can process them.
Cocking his head sideways, he gives me a smug grin. “Is that so?” He raises his eyebrow. “Well, I like you in those jeans. They show off your ass wonderfully,” he says and my mouth drops. Hardin and his dirty words.
I swat at him playfully and he laughs, but I mentally pat myself on the back for wearing these pants. I want Hardin to look at me even though I would never admit it, and I am flattered by his strange way of complimenting me.
“So where to?” he asks, and I pull out my phone. I read him the list of used-car dealers within a five-mile radius and tell him about a few of the reviews on each.
“You plan things way too much. We aren’t going to any of those places.”
“Yes, we are. I already have this planned; there is a Prius that I want to see at Bob’s Super Cars,” I tell him and cringe at the cheesy name.
“A Prius?” he says in disgust.
“Yeah? They have the best gas mileage and they are safe and—”
“Boring. I knew somehow you would want a Prius. You just scream, ‘Lady with a planner in her Prius!’ ” he says in a fake woman’s voice and then cackles.
“Tease me all you want but I will save hundreds on gas every year,” I remind him, laughing, when he leans over and pokes my cheek. I look over at him, shocked by his doing such a small but adorable thing; he looks as surprised at what he did as I do.
“You’re cute sometimes,” he tells me.
I look forward again. “Gee, thanks.”
“I mean that in a nice way, like sometimes you do cute things,” he mutters. The words seem uncomfortable on his tongue and I know he isn’t used to saying things like this.
“Okay . . .” I say and look out the side window.
Every second I spend with Hardin increases my feelings for him, and I know it’s dangerous for me to allow these small, seemingly meaningless moments to occur, but I don’t have control of myself when Hardin is involved. I become merely a passerby in this storm.
HARDIN ENDS UP DRIVING TO BOB’S, and I thank him. Bob ends up being a short, sweaty, and overgelled man who smells like nicotine and leather and whose smile is punctuated with a gold tooth. While he talks to me, Hardin stands nearby, making faces when he isn’t looking. The little man seems to be intimidated by Hardin’s harsh appearance, but I don’t blame him. I take one look at the condition of the used Prius and decide against it. I have a feeling the moment I drove off the lot it would have broken down, and Bob has a strict no-return policy.
We visit a few more lots and they are all equally as trashy. After a morning of countless balding men, I decide to suspend my search for a car. I will have to go farther away from campus for a decent car and I just don’t feel like it today. We decide to get some lunch at a drive-through, and while we eat in the car Hardin surprisingly tells me a story about when Zed got arrested for puking all over the floor of a Wendy’s last year. The day is going better than I could have imagined, and for once I feel like we could both make it through this semester without killing each other.
On our way back to campus, we pass a cute little frozen yogurt bar and I beg Hardin to stop. He groans and acts like he doesn’t want to, but I see the hint of a smile hiding behind his sour features. Hardin tells me to find a spot and he goes and gets our yogurt for us, piling on every candy and cookie imaginable. It looks disgusting, but