You’re Mine by Penny Brooks novel Chapter 148

 Harper

 I didn’t want to go to Blake’s party, and I tried to come up with every excuse in my head to back out.

I even ran a few of them past Sadie once I found out Easton was dead set on going.

But each excuse I gave to my best friend, she returned with the same reply—that I was going no matter what, and her sassy self didn't want to hear any more abott it.

Anxiety ate at me all day.

I could feel it in my hands while I was getting ready, my eye liner a wobbly line, far too thick and beyond repairable.

But after that joint we smoked in the car and the electric blue punch that I've been sipping from Blake’s kitchen—that probably has thirty different kinds of alcohol in it, oops, whatever—I hate to admit that I’m actually having fun.

But I really am.

Blake’s game room, which is more like an arcade, is where we've spent most of the night.

The boys have been battling out an epic game of beer pong, Sadie and I jumping in to partner with them when we're not lost in our own war of Ms.

Pac—Man or bowling— because, of course Blake has a bowling alley in his basement.

And whenever we run low on drinks, Blake sends one of his servers to refill our glasses.

I've never been to a high school party that has waiters.

Not even Easton hires them for his ragers.

But I’m not surprised that Blake has gone all out, he doesn’t do anything half—assed.

Even as he’s standing next to Easton, partnering with him on this round of pong, he looks perfect.

His hair is more styled than mine.

His outfit is so put together, I swear he uses a Stylist.

He catches me looking at him and smiles and when he finishes the round with Easton, he comes over to the bowling area where Sadie and I are hanging out.

“Hey,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.

“Having a good time?” He looks up at the TV that’s tracking our score.

“Damn, you're on fire.

I didn't realize you were that good at bowling.” “Neither did I,” I admit, laughing, watching Sadie’s ball head straight into the gutter, missing all the pins.

“But this has been a blast.” “A few more of those”—he nods toward my glass—“and I just might be getting a kiss at midnight.” “Blake ...” “I’m kidding, Harper.

We're friends, that's all we've ever been, and I know that.” “Damn it!” Sadie shouts at her second attempt, which turns out to be a gutter ball, too.

“I hate this game.” “You do know I've only ever wanted to protect you, right?” he says when I glance at him again.

“I don’t want anyone hurting you, Harper.

The thought of that makes me fucking crazy.” “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling his words, the impact of each one nestling into my chest.

“I’ve always known you've had my back.” That's mostly true.

Sure, there were times I’ve doubted him, but that's when I've allowed Sadie and Easton and Aisha to creep into my thoughts.

But if I went by my heart and the way it’s felt, I’ ve been team Blake all the way.

“Good.” His grin grows.

“I'm glad you feel that way and you know there isn’t anything I wouldn't do for you.” “What am I doing wrong?” Sadie whines, a quick glance telling me she went for a third try, even though she technically isn't supposed to.

I giggle at Sadie who’s throwing her hands up in the air, like she’s trying to actually fight the bowling alley.

But when I turn back to Blake, my thoughts become more serious.

“What you can do for me is keep Aisha tamed and make all this drama—the spray painting and the name calling and the WHGOSSIP posts—go away.” When I realize how silly I sound, that Blake doesn’t have control over any of that, and I’m just venting, probably to the wrong person, I add, “I’m sorry.

I know none of this is in your control, but it’s getting to be a lot.” “You don’t deserve it, Harper.

Not a second of it.” “Then why does it keep happening? Who am I hurting so badly that they want to hurt me?” His stare shifts between both my eyes.

“I wish I knew.

I wish I could take it all away and replace it with happiness.” “Me too,” I say so softly.

One of the servers returns with a full glass of punch and a drink for Blake.

Blake grabs them off the tray and hands me mine.

“The good news is, you're here.

You're laughing at Sadie”—he points to her as she attempts a fourth try and fails again, cursing at the lane like it can hear her—"and you're enjoying yourself.

It’s the start of a new year and that’s hella important.

You can’t start it off with a fucking dud of a night.” He's right.

This is probably the last New Year's I'll ever celebrate with all these guys.

Once we go to college, everything is going to change.

When we all return home for the holidays, who knows if we'll all even get together.

We could lose touch.

We could be totally different people then.

“Thanks for having this party,” I say.

“I guess all these final celebrations really matter.

Who knows how many more we're going to have before we all part and go our separate ways.” He clasps my shoulder and shakes it.

“Getting nostalgic, are we?” I laugh.

“It's this wicked punch.

What the hell did you put in it, anyway?” “You don't want to know.

But trust me when I say, go slow, because it’s going to sneak up on you and kick your ass.” “I think it already is.” He smiles as he gazes at me.

“I’ve missed you, Harper.

You’ve changed since you and Easton have gotten together.

Not in a bad way, I don’t mean that.

You're just a different person now.” “How so?” He shrugs.

“I remember that timid, insecure girl who came out into the backyard during her brother's party, wearing a tiny bikini.

He ordered you inside because he didn’t want any of his friends looking at you and you went back in and changed.

Do you remember that?” That seems like a thousand years ago.

But, of course, I couldn’t forget, that was the first time I kissed Easton.

“What would you tell your brother now, Harper? Would you go back inside and put something else on?” “Fuck no.” “Exactly ...

you've changed.” His eyes narrow, like he’s really seeing me.

“But I have to say, the confidence looks really good on you.” “Blake—” I stiffen, my voice cutting off when I feel a set of hands on my shoulders, a place where Blake had just gripped.

But it’s not him, it’s Easton—I can tell by the feel of him, from a breeze of his cologne that hits my face.

His hand falls to my waist, his expression telling me he’s not happy.

“Blake ...” His voice is low, gritty.

“I know you're not creeping up on Harper behind my back again ...”