Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

37 | Clear Windows

VIERNES
2:07 PM

Dahlia Gray

"What are you doing here?" I croak, taking out an earbud and hooking the wire over my ear. I slip my phone into the pocket of my jacket, fidgeting with the loose white cord as my stare concentrates on the blue-eyed boy that's been slowly consuming my life. "You're supposed to be in class."

Harlow pushes himself off the bench and steps out from under the bus stop, pocketing his hands. "I want to be there for you."

That made me smile. Not a complete grin, where I'm beaming with pride and joy radiates from the irises of my eyes—but with a soft gaze and a depleted hint of sadness layered under them. It reminds me of yesterday. "You didn't have to do that."

"I want to," he declares solemnly, taking a couple of cautious steps towards me. He stops right before me, a breath away, tilting down to meet my gaze. His eyes studying every trace of my features with intimacy—or what I hope to be.

My breath clings to my throat, and in that moment, I felt something change.

I don't know how Harlow views me, but I do know how I feel about him.

My heart races. Three simple words and a stare that's starting to intoxicate me. I'm watching him as he's watching me, and in this instance, it's more than something. It's the way I'm studying his eyes, and wondering if I could get lost in them like a swimmer in the middle of the sea. It's the way I'm studying the curve of his jaw, the slight stubble of a beard. It's the way I'm watching his lips, and considering for a second—what would happen if I kiss them?

I tear my gaze away and dump them to the floor, calming my racing heart and the thumping in my eardrums. I pull my lips together, feeling an unfamiliar wave of butterflies erupting inside my stomach, flustering my skin.

You deserve a love unquestioned.

Maybe.

"You can't come in," I warn, dragging my shoes against the concrete, swinging back and forth. "We don't allow unauthorized visitors without a notice."

"I'll just take the bus back." Harlow declares gravely, no room for argument and none that would convince him. "That's okay with you?"

I don't say anything, just as the sound of an engine rumbles and bus exhaustion pulls me back to gravity. Looking up to see passengers unloading and loading onto the charter, I realize it's time to go. Harlow doesn't move from his spot, his eyes dead set on me—waiting for me to make the call.

"Um," I clear my throat, returning my gaze back to the bus and how the group is ascending up the steps, slowly getting smaller. My heart running leaps in my chest, my thoughts in a frenzy. "Let's go then."

I step towards the line, trailing closely behind the last person and I don't look back to find Harlow. I'm afraid if I do, he could read the expression on my face or the thoughts swirling in my head. He could discover something that could either make or break our relationship.

Harlow steps up to the empty spot beside me, skipping in front of a couple of people that form a line behind me. I held my breath, rationalizing everything and telling myself to calm with his presence near me—when I felt his hand tug on me, intertwining our fingers.

I freeze.

I look down to see our interlaced hands, and back towards his face—finding his expression completely at ease. He doesn't seem to think anything towards this small gesture, and up until now, neither did I.

I debated pulling back, but that would be admitting something's wrong. Off. I couldn't do that. Plus, I love the way his hand molds into mine perfectly and the way they provide a sense of comfort with so little words. Even if my feelings change, and my thoughts are straying off their usual path—I don't mind this.