Into You Series: The Complete Collection

9. Harry

CHAPTER 9

HARRY

S aria has it bad for her ex. For a second there, I might have gotten jealous over the way they laughed together all night, talking about silly inside jokes and blushing like schoolchildren.

I might have…were we actually dating.

But, more than that, it was noticeable how the spring in her step lessened as the night went on, how her jokes started fading into the background every time Noah’s fiancée tried to tell one. I saw the forced laughter that followed and how disingenuous it seemed. By the time we made it out the door and back into my car—Noah giving a low whistle of dude-to-dude car acknowledgment before I closed the door on his upturned, too-perfect nose—Saria was a shell of the woman she was when we arrived.

“Well that was…fun,” I say, the words fading from my mouth the second I look over and see a small tear running down her cheek.

Shit.

I put the car in reverse and fly out of the driveway.

“Talk to me,” I say after a few seconds of silence.

I keep my eyes on the road but hear her rustling around in the seat beside me. When I glance over for a second, she’s curled up with her chin on her knees. I tap the center console to turn on her seat warmer. She appears to unclench at least a little.

“He’s still Noah,” she says, her voice so small and weak. It’s stated as if this is a damning thing, but I’m honestly unsure.

“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word to help coax more words out of her.

Saria pulls her arms up to rest on her knees and mutters, “He’s such a jerk.”

I bark out a laugh. “He just seems like some guys who think they’re better than everyone else.”

There’s a moment of silence before she mutters into her sleeve, “Maybe he is.”

My hands tighten on the wheel, and I can feel the tension from them carry through to my chest. When I see the whites of my knuckles peering through, I try to loosen my grip and pull myself together.

“You don’t mean that,” I say.

Saria doesn’t respond. She lets out a small exhalation and looks out the window.

“You shouldn’t put people on pedestals,” I say. “In fact, drop it altogether, I say. I tried once. I wanted to keep up with my siblings who are all spread out throughout the country. Everyone except me, Nia, and Grant. But then I realized…why am I not calling them? I was just sitting in my apartment with my baby girl in my arms thinking…why am I looking at everyone else’s photo albums?”

Saria turns to look at me, glancing from my hands to my face, then back down to her own lap.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she says. “You didn’t grow up with social media. I like to know what people are doing. It’s how we stay connected.”

I shrug. “You could always just do your own thing.”

She laughs. “Yeah, but how would I know I’m where I’m supposed to be in life?” she says. It has a tilt of humor to it, but the words themselves still rub me the wrong way when I wonder just how much truth is in that statement.

“Maybe you should live your life how you want to rather than basing it on how others are living theirs.”

Saria shrugs. “All I know is I want to get out of here as soon as I can once my van is fixed.” Then she barks out laughter. “God, VannaWhite. He’s getting married to VannaWhite .” She shakes her head.

“Okay, who the heck is?—”

“She owns a renovated van,” Saria says. “She’s huge on social media. Earns a killing from it. Apparently, Charlotte leads a double life as an influencer and a normal fucking person. Who would have guessed.”

I recall how the color left Saria’s cheeks when she saw Charlotte. I just assumed it was her relation to Noah. They did seem like some couple you’d find in one of those picture frames from Walmart. But now, knowing she owns a van, knowing she’s an icon for the whole movement…well, the pieces start to fall into place.

“Wow…” I mutter. “So, you just kinda met your idol, huh?” I ask.

She nods.

I can’t find the words that would potentially make her feel better. I want to give her some reassurance, but I have no clue where to start.

Sorry she owns a van?

Sorry she has the same hair color as you?

Sorry you’re funnier and more exciting?

Saria sniffs. “That’s what I get for putting people on pedestals, huh?”

God, I’m such a jerk.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say. “To each their own.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

I roll the steering wheel to the side and pull into her apartment complex. The front gate is wide open just as it was when I arrived earlier. I wonder if the management knows that gate never closes. It’s a safe part of town, so I wouldn’t worry about anything bad happening, but one look at how tiny Saria is and it makes me uncomfortable to imagine some dangerous person passing through unannounced.

I roll past the first few sets of buildings until I reach the back lot where her building is, but I can’t find any open spots.

“It’s hard to find anything this late,” she mumbles beside me. “Normally the lot near the trash disposal is open.”

I follow her finger point to a corner of the lot with a dumpster. Broken glass, empty bottles—hell I think I even see a used condom, so fuck that .

“I’ll park here, but let me walk you back,” I say. “It’s way too dark.”

“We’re in an apartment complex,” she says dully, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the side door before I can even shut off the engine.

I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “A complex with a broken gate, mind you.”

“Fine,” she says. “You can walk me back.”

We get out of my car and start walking. My hands are shoved in my jacket pockets and her arms are crossed over her chest. Although her leather jacket looks plenty thick, I can’t help but wonder if it has enough down to keep her truly warm in the late fall breeze.

“Want my jacket?” I offer.

She looks over at me, eyeing the thickness of it before shrugging. I drop the subject.

We pass another building in silence. I take in the quality of the cars in the area, trying to gauge how safe she is in these parts. Grant makes fun of me when I do this, but I still find value in the process. It’s easy to tell how safe an area is by how people take care of their cars. Maybe it’s just a mechanic thing.

I almost mention this to Saria, but when I look over, she still looks just as defeated and wound up in her own head as she did when we left Noah’s house.

“Can I tell you something and you won’t get pissed?” I ask.

She snorts. “You can try.”

“I don’t like how Noah has the power to strip you down.”

She furrows her brow. “Come again?”

“You’re like a different person after even a couple minutes with him,” I continue. “After a couple hours, he may as well have sucked the laughter out of you Monsters, Inc. style.”

That gets a bit of a giggle from her, but not enough to prevent the small scoff that follows. I can’t entirely decipher what it must mean.

“You pissed?” I ask.

Saria shrugs. “Only a little. Mostly that you got the Monsters, Inc. reference wrong.”

“I did?”

She nods, a small tug at the corner of her mouth giving me hope. “Yeah, they suck the screams out. The laughter is what works.”

“Ah, that’s right. Silly me.”

Saria blows air out of her nose. “Silly you.”

We walk a few more paces until we’re in front of her apartment building. Only the moonlight and the yellow-tinged lighting from the open-air hallway and stairwell illuminate us.

“You shouldn’t let yourself feel bad,” I say. “You’re a cool person. With a parrot.”

Saria laughs, scuffing her feet on the ground. Her smile is tilted up in a lopsided smirk. “I do have a cool parrot, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do.”

I step forward and pull her in for a hug. She melts into me, and I know she needed it. When we pull back, she’s looking up at me through hooded eyes. Her dark lashes are long, and I notice just how dark she’s made her look. It’s what Nia might call a ‘smoky eye’. I never got the craze until now. It’s mysterious. Sexy.

I’m not sure where this is supposed to go. What does fake relationship mean anyway? We’ve already fooled around once. Does that mean it’s free game to keep doing it some more?

Saria tilts her head up, licking her bottom lip, and that’s enough to do me in. She rises on the balls of her feet and presses her lips against mine.

Our kisses have the same heat as they did the first night, but it’s almost more comforting than anything else given the cool air around us. She’s damn good at kissing too, starting slow then building into a rhythm where our lips move in sync. When I rub my thumb across her cheek, she tilts her head into it, giving me more leeway to enjoy more of her mouth.

Her hand threads into my own hair. I love the way it feels when she does that. Her touch is gentler than one would expect from her hard demeanor. I noticed that the other night as well. She can be demanding, but the initial touch is consistently calm, caring, and soft.

I pull her closer, coaxing her into my chest with my other hand, winding it down her back and stroking the length of her spine. She’s so small and so fragile.

I feel something on my cheek, a slickness between our faces. Is my face wet?

I put both of my hands on her shoulders to break us apart. Her eyes are red, her cheeks blotchy, and then she sniffs.

Holy shit, she’s crying.

“Woah, hey…” I say, running my thumb over her cheek, catching the tear rolling over her damp cheeks.

“No,” Saria says, shaking her head. “Keep kissing me. I don’t want your pity.”

I chuckle. Of course she’s defiant even when she’s sad.

“I’m not pitying you,” I say. “I’m…worried.” That seemed like the right word in my head, but when I say it out loud, I realize it’s not entirely true. I’m not worried. I’m feeling protective.

Saria crosses her arms, twisting her head to the side to loosen my grasp on her face and shaking my other hand from her shoulder. She rubs a fist across her nose, sniffing before making eye contact with me again. There’s heat in that gaze. Maybe even an odd form of a threat.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you want to come up?”

While my dick was hardening about a minute ago, her tears quickly caused that to turn into a semi instead.

“No offense, but I’m not really into the whole ‘screwing the tears away’ thing,” I say.

“I just want to feel something,” she says.

“That’s fair,” I say. It’s good to know what page she’s on in this crazy book we’re writing together. “But I still don’t have a thing for teary-eyed girls.”

Saria nods slowly, as if taking in my comment. Her arms wrap around herself tighter, hugging them close. It pains me to see, so I step forward and pull her into another hug. My arms easily engulf her entire figure.

“Wanna watch a movie?” I ask.

She sniffs. “Only if it’s a sad movie.”

“Good lord, are you looking to cry?”

“Hey, when you want to cry, you want to cry.”

I chuckle. “Fantastic.”