“Are you going to that?” he asked after they got their laughter under control, pointing his chin toward the ticketing table.
Harper scrunched up her nose. “Me? No.”
“Why not?”
Harper shrugged. “I didn’t even consider it. I’m not great in crowds.”
Which was an understatement.
Dances were not for her. All obligatory experiences in middle and high school had left her such a mess of fried nerves and depleted energy, it wasn’t something she was dying to give another try. Even the idea of being surrounded by a sea of bodies and noise brought sweat prickling across her skin and a queasy pulse of adrenaline surging through her veins while anxiety trickled like acid from her chest to the pit of her stomach.
He gave her an appraising look up and down. “Scared your shortness creates a high trample risk?”
“Har har,” she deadpanned, giving his shoulder a push and working to downplay how accurate he was. Crowds left her with nothing but fear, like she’d never be able to take a proper breath again, crushed under the weight of a hundred bodies.
“We should go,” he said after a moment.
“To the dance?” she asked in horror.
“Yeah.”
“Together?” she blurted out, panic ballooning in her chest.
“Wow, Harper … that’s so forward of you.” He gave her a cheeky shrug. “I do owe you that second date. Fair is fair.”
The bastard had the audacity to wink.
She landed a sharp punch to his shoulder. “Why do you love torturing me?”
“Harper! Stop begging! You’re looking seriously desperate right now. I’ll take you to prom.”
Harper was about to argue when he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms sleepily over his head. The movement pulled his scrub top up, exposing a sliver of taut skin and the dark band of his underwear. Harper’s mouth watered as she took in the ridges of his hip bones and the dusting of dark hair in the center of that ridiculously hot V thing guys have.
As the tiny, non-lust-crazed part of her brain registered how long she’d been ogling, her eyes shot from his body to his face.
A knowing smirk tugged at his lips and he ran a hand through his hair. He turned and walked to the ticketing table while Harper gawked after him.
CHAPTER 16
HARPER
As Harper lay bottomless on a massage table, the soles of her feet pressed together in butterfly position while a stranger held a wax strip above her pubes, she wondered which life choice had been the wrong one.
It was probably na?vely assuming that when Lizzie had asked her to get their hair done before the dance, she’d meant their heads.
Or maybe it was Thu giving her an evil smile when she’d said she had a buy-three-get-one-free deal on “spa treatments” that was Harper’s for the taking.
It could also have been allowing Indira to peer pressure her into her first wax as they’d argued outside The Waxed Peach: Your Body, Your Brazilian.
No matter what it was, Harper regretted every choice that led her to this physically vulnerable position while Becca, her waxette, geared up to rip out her pubic hair.
“You doing okay?” Becca asked, hovering over her.
Harper choked on nervous giggles. “I’m … s-so … s-sorry,” she said, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. I’m just so naked and it’s all s-so ridiculous.” Her knees started bouncing from the giggles, making her laugh even harder at the absurdity of it.
“Totally normal,” Becca reassured. “I’m going to do the first application now.”
All humor was lost as Becca patted the strip down the right side of Harper’s bikini line, the sharp tugs of the movement making tears prickle in her eyes. Before Harper could suck in a deep breath, Becca ripped off the strip, and it felt like someone slapped Harper with a million giant, tense rubber bands. She gasped at the pain and her knees instinctively slapped shut, locking Becca’s hand between her thighs.
“Nope!” Harper bolted up, gracelessly sliding off the table and exposing her whole ass to Becca. “No, sorry. I can’t do this.” She tried hopping into her leggings, her feet getting tangled in the fabric.
“But I only did one spot,” Becca said with horror. “You—you can’t walk around with only one strip done.”
“I promise you, I don’t mind,” Harper said, trying to untwist the stretchy fabric from around her thighs, all dignity gone.
“But—but—”