Into You Series: The Complete Collection

19. Saria

CHAPTER 19

SARIA

I t’s hard to feel upset about birthday obligations when you have a hot man kissing your neck at a red light.

Harry has one hand on the wheel and the other snaking its way up the skirt of my party dress.

“It’s gonna turn green,” I say to him, admittedly still tilting my head away to expose more of my neck for his lips to devour.

He lets out a small moan against me, dragging his tongue down to my collar. “Then someone will honk.”

“Stop being an animal.”

“You make me an animal,” he growls. I let out an involuntary moan at his statement. The zip of nerves straight to my thighs is just par for the course with Harry.

His hand finds its way farther under my skirt and to my core, where he palms me and strokes my panty line. I exhale a breath right as the car behind us blares their horn and we both notice the light has changed.

“See?” he says with a grin.

I slap his palm away from my thigh, and he uses it to grip the middle stick. Tonight, we’re in his Porsche and it’s a manual, so he needs one hand on the stick and one on the wheel. It’s disappointing we can’t fool around in this car, as it has quickly become one of my favorite activities to fool around while he drives, but it at least keeps us out of trouble. Until we reach intersections with red lights, that is.

“So, it’s just your friends tonight, right?” he asks. “No parents I need to worry about?”

“Only you.”

“Cute,” he says, reaching over to tickle my waist. I bat him away, laughing.

“And what time do we leave again?” he asks. This elicits a slap to his leg. His muscles tense under my touch, and it takes everything I have in me not to palm the tent rising in his jeans. “Can you blame me for asking?” he says with a chuckle. “Cara is at Riley’s for the whole weekend. We can be as loud as we want and walk around the apartment naked . Hell, if you want to have sex on top of your van, I’d do it.”

I laugh. “Mister, this was part of our deal for you to go out and live more!”

“I’ve never had sex on top of a van,” he says. “I’d classify that as living.”

I roll my eyes with a smile. “Look at the man with the jokes.”

“I’m full of them.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but swoon and slide deeper into the leather seats.

At the door, we’re greeted by the whole entourage yelling “Happy Birthday!” in our faces. Heather is the loudest, but it’s Charlotte and Noah who catch my attention. Noah somehow found his way into the sweets and is holding out a cupcake close to her face as she laughs and licks off the icing slowly. Somehow, when Harry squeezes my hand, I realize I don’t care about them being cute. And god if that isn’t liberating.

I’ve never been one for the big house parties. Noah and Heather were the king and queen of throwing those back in high school and college. Even Jessi had her moments—most notably the Halloween Monster Mash back in junior year where I walked in on a mummy and a vampire doing many weird things with wrappings and teeth. Never again.

My role at parties is to play the wallflower, and my part suits me. My ties to the social butterflies are enough to have people approach me on their own, and with it being my birthday party, tonight is no different. The best part is that I have Harry to keep me company this time around. It’s a lot less lonely when he’s close.

I fill my short plastic party cup with another ladle of sorbet punch— definitely spiked with something—and walk over to where he and I have camped out near the snack table.

The outside of his hand strokes my bare arm once I sit, and it sends goose bumps over my skin. “What is that?” he asks, pointing at my cup. “Your third refill? I didn’t know this was your twenty- first birthday.”

“Funny,” I say, taking a swig. Admittedly, I am feeling a bit tipsy, but it’s not every day I have delicious sorbet punch, so I’m cherishing the night no matter how spiked it may be.

“I’m telling you, I’m on it with the jokes tonight,” Harry says. His grin is wide as if he might actually be enjoying himself at a party with people nearly ten years his junior.

I lean my elbow on the high top in front of us and smile, placing my chin in my palm. “You’re great, do you know that?”

Harry laughs. “I’m pretty alright.” He knows when he’s receiving a genuine compliment, and I love that he reverts to a shy version of himself when it happens.

“Mind if I join you guys?”

I break my gaze away from Harry’s beautiful face to find Charlotte’s angelic one looking back down at us. She doesn’t seem to be having nearly as fun a time as Harry is.

“Uh, sure,” I say, waving my hand at the bar stool next to me. She plops down onto it, bringing her wine glass slamming onto the table with it.

“Oop,” she says, and when the words leave her mouth, I can smell the red wine torched on her breath.

“You alright?” Harry and I ask simultaneously. We exchange stupid smiles and then look back to her.

She’s already smiling between the both of us and nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good. I…wow, I’m getting married .”

“Exciting!” Harry says, placing a large palm over my knee. The warmth is comforting. I almost lean into him, desperate for more of him to touch more of me, but decide against it. We’re in public and Charlotte doesn’t seem to be doing too hot.

“Yeah. I guess getting married is exciting,” Charlotte says, but her tone is dull, and her gaze looks like she’s staring off somewhere else.

“So, are you both going to live in your van?” I ask with a joking laugh.

Charlotte thankfully returns the gesture, which is a relief because my sentence came out a bit ruder than I intended.

“No,” she says.

I nod slowly. I’m not sure what we say to all this, so I curl my lips inward and look to Harry, who just shrugs.

“Isn’t that weird?” she asks, turning to me.

“Is it?”

“I…I’m not sure I like him anymore,” she says.

Uhh…what?

And then I see them, the tears welling in her eyes. Her beautiful blues are glossed over and we’ve got about ten seconds before the dams are going to be unleashed.

Uh-oh.

I twist to look at Harry, who nods in understanding.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” he says. “Saria?”

“I’m good,” I respond, scooting my stool a bit closer to Charlotte. Women don’t let other women cry alone while drunk.

“I didn’t mean to like him in the first place,” she says. The words tumble out louder than she meant them to, I’m sure, because who the fuck says they didn’t mean to like their fiancé? I shush her while also trying to steady my own rising heartbeat. Her bottom lip trembles.

“Nobody really wants to like Noah, if I’m being honest,” I say with a small laugh. She doesn’t laugh in return.

“I… He was there. And…his family…” Charlotte hiccups and shakes her head again. “You know it’s not cheap living in a van, right? That’s what they tell you, but it’s not.”

“Okay,” I say, because that’s the only word I can seem to find right now.

“I met Noah and he had…a way to live my life, you know?” she says, her voice a question but not more than a whisper. “He was comforting, but then he said, ‘Hey if we got married or something, we could travel together.’ Together . He was charming and wonderful, and now…”

I feel my eyebrows furrow inward, the desperate pull of them as I try to understand what the hell she’s talking about. But I think I know, and I don’t like how it sounds. She doesn’t seem to like it either because she blubbers out a couple more words I can’t make out.

I look around the room, hoping maybe Noah is here to help, but I don’t see him anywhere. He must be off schmoozing while his fiancée cries.

Her sobs break out louder, and I give slow pats on her back. I feel sick. My stomach is rolling in and on top of itself, churning to a boiling point where I both want to vomit and for once feel satisfied that I’m not in her shoes in a relationship with Noah.

“Isn’t that crazy?” she continues, her bottom lip pouting out.

I sigh. “It’s probably just cold feet. He’s Noah. He’s a great guy.”

Not really, and I don’t love him anymore. She may not either. I almost feel bad about it. Almost.

Charlotte’s head rests down on the table, curled into the crook of her elbow, and I continue to stroke her back.

I look up, catching a glimpse of Harry. My anchor.

I smile. His blond hair, his eyebrows pulled inward, a small tug at the side of his lips. He’s not the man who dragged me along for years. I’m not sure what Harry is, but I don’t think we’d ever be in the same predicament as Charlotte and Noah, and that makes me weirdly warm inside.

Charlotte hiccups beside me again.

“Please take a shot with me,” she mumbles.

I want to protest, but somehow she already has two shot glasses and I’m not sure where they came from.

“You probably shouldn’t be drinking any more,” I say, but she shakes her head feverishly, the silver of it swaying back and forth and mussing up in her eyes until her head slowly, slowly, slowly lowers to the table.

“Shot,” she mumbles against the tabletop.

I shrug, downing the shot in front of me. Then, as her head rises back up, something in me says to take hers as well, so I bring the cup to my lips, gulp it down, then place it back in front of her.

“Did I already drink mine?” she asks, looking down at her empty glass.

“Yes,” I say matter-of-factly, trying not to barf up the sting in the back of my throat that wills its way upward. I am really out of practice with all this.

“You know, he’s really lucky to have you as a friend,” she says, and I tense. When was the last time Noah and I were truly friends? When was the last time he wanted anything to do with me that didn’t involve me rubbing the outside of his pants?

I simply nod. “Thanks.”

She stares at me, squinting, and for a moment I wonder if she’s going to fall out of her chair. She must sense my anticipation of needing to catch her.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Really. I am. I’m…just gonna get some fresh air.”

I reach out my arm to carry her, but another arm meets me instead.

Heather appears on her other side, hand already on Charlotte’s waist. She places her bottle of wine on the table and looks to me as if saying Please protect it , or maybe I’m just imagining the gesture. I give a tiny salute either way. She rolls her eyes, but I take it as a sign of acknowledgment. That’s about as good as I can get from Heather.

I distantly hear Charlotte tell Heather “You’re going to be a great sister-in-law” before they’re walking through the sliding glass door and out onto the back porch.

I knock my knuckles against the table, trying to create some sort of noise that will draw me away from my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. I don’t know what to feel or even if I should be feeling something.

Jessi appears beside me, another roaming soul coming to the high top for the birthday girl. She plops onto the bar stool next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder and peering from the corner of her eye over to the glass windows where Heather and Charlotte look like they’re now both crying.

Oh, god.

“What was that?” Jessi asks against my neck.

“A mess.”

“Where’s Daddy Boy Toy?”

“Around,” I say. I’m too tired to correct her.

“Have you called him that yet?” she asks.

“Shut up,” I say with a small laugh, the sound feeling slurred in my ears. Like I can’t force it out well enough.

And then I smell an all-too-familiar cologne. Soap. Cinnamon. Rum.

Noah.

“It’s weird that you haven’t changed your cologne since high school,” I say, glancing up to him. He’s already grinning down at me, charming as ever, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. Maybe it’s this angle that seems so familiar. Maybe he’s imagining this angle too. I feel my stomach flip at the thought.

“It’s weird that you remember what cologne I wear,” he quips back, his tone deep. It’s not as deep as Harry’s, someone I now suddenly miss and wish were here, making stupid jokes and being ridiculously cute.

Jessi lifts her head from my shoulder and shakes the wine bottle Heather left.

“Why is this empty?”

“Did you drink it all?” Noah asks, chuckling as he leans on the table. He doesn’t seem nearly as drunk as Jessi and me.

“It’s not even mine,” she sneers back. “I’m gonna go get more punch.”

She walks away and I sit there stupidly, just me and Noah saying nothing. I can feel his eyes on me.

Jessi comes back faster than I expected, or maybe time is simply in a weird state tonight.

“Looks like Daddy H is playing nice,” Jessi says, placing the clear plastic cup on the table and pointing over to Harry, who is laughing with a group of people I don’t even know. Heather’s friends, maybe?

“Who is Daddy H?” Noah asks. I can’t help but notice the tone. Sharp. Rolling. Disgusted.

“Saria’s boyfriend,” Jessi replies.

Noah clears his throat, grabbing the glass Jessi just poured for herself, ignoring her whined yell of “Hey!” and downing it in one clean gulp then storming off. Like a freaking child.

Is Noah angry ?

“Hey, are you alright?” Harry’s voice is beside me. I don’t know when he got there or how long he’s been there, but I twist to look at him. His eyebrows are doing that thing. He’s concerned.

“Want to go home?” he asks.

Home. Like it’s ours.

I look to where Heather left her empty bottle of wine. For some reason, it seems like a good idea to get her a new one. She threw me this party. The least I can do is help her out.

“I’m gonna get Heather another bottle,” I say. “Then let’s go.”

Harry nods. “Okay. I’ll get our jackets.”

I make my way down to the wine cellar, each step heavier and louder than the last. It isn’t until I reach the bottom of the staircase that I smell the familiar cologne of cinnamon and rum.

“Hey, stranger,” Noah says, a small smile on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” I ask. It sounds rude coming out, but it’s not supposed to be. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He laughs. The tone sounds forced, like he’s trying to make his voice sound more masculine than it is. This makes me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“You.”

“Me,” he says, as if we’re in on some type of inside joke together. I don’t think I’m present enough to be in on any type of joke, let alone one with Noah.

Noah saunters toward me. He’s swaying. He’s too confident. He’s got this air about him like maybe he owns the place. And I guess to some degree he does. This is his wine cellar. His wine. His ex-best friend. His ex-fuck buddy.

I take a step back. An impulse.

Noah tilts his head to the side. “Are you scared of me?”

“Yes,” I say. It comes out much too fast, but I don’t apologize this time. It’s rude, I know.

“Why?”

“You’re Noah.” It’s all I say, but it’s all that needs to be said in this moment.

Noah would never hurt me physically. It’s the heart pain I’m concerned about. Because even though there’s Harry, this situation is all too familiar—but I refuse to let myself backslide.

Noah almost looks hurt. His lips are downturned. Pouty, almost. He nods a little like he understands what I’m saying, which only makes my gut wrench a bit more.

“And you’re Saria,” he says, taking a step closer as I take one more step away. My lower back nudges the wood panels. I can’t back up any more, but Noah keeps moving forward.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“You’re wonderful,” he says, his lips quirking up into his own beautiful smile.

I don’t know if I’ve ever heard him compliment me so readily outside of wanting something. It feels out of place and unsettling. Yet, there’s still a part of me that yearns for it, craves more of those precious words from his lips that have never been so giving.

“Where were these words a few years ago?” I ask.

Noah laughs. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

“You never told me.”

“I never…got this close.” He takes another step forward.

“To what?”

There’s a pause, a breath between us before he gulps. “Marriage.”

There it is. I’ve spent twenty-two years learning Noah’s mannerisms, and this is nothing more than fear from a little boy.

“You have cold feet too,” I mutter.

“Too?” he asks, but then keeps going as if he didn’t hear me. Did he not want to hear me? “They’re warm around you, though.”

I hate it, but there is a tiny part of me that wishes this could have come just a few years earlier. Even so, it’s so small in comparison to rest of me that wants to return to the status quo, not this weird definitive state where he’s suddenly decided to like me. I miss limbo.

I miss Harry.

“Noah…”

For some reason, I don’t want Charlotte to get hurt. I don’t want to get hurt.

I want Harry here.

“Hey.” I feel the low voice in my bones, quaking through my spine as Noah takes a step back. I look toward the staircase, and there he is: my own guardian angel.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, taking the last couple steps down until his boots hit the cellar floor. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, more out of embarrassment than sadness. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I don’t want it to be this.

I stumble away from Noah and into Harry’s arms.

“I want to go home,” I say, not realizing the words would come out so choked.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and escorting me toward the stairs. He doesn’t say anything to Noah, but that almost makes it worse. I can’t tell if he’s mad or upset or disappointed. Or maybe I met Harry’s expectations. Maybe he knew I’d eventually make my way back to Noah. But, I didn’t. I won’t.

Faces pass me by, but I keep my head buried in Harry’s chest as we make our way through the house. We walk for a while, and I eventually hear him mutter something along the lines of “Damn big houses” before the cool night air chills my legs and arms and I’m being placed into the car.

The door shuts. Opens. And we’re driving down the road in absolute silence.

“Tell me what happened.” Harry’s voice breaks through the cool air, and I shake my head.

“I…I don’t know what happened.”

“Did he hurt you?”

I let out air that sounds like a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “No. He would never. He has cold feet.”

Harry shakes his head, gripping the steering wheel tightly then releasing.

“He can’t stand not having his cake and eating it too,” Harry says. “But he also doesn’t want to fork out the money to pay for the cake.”

“That’s a really loose analogy.”

“You get my point.”

He smiles with his lips tilted up. I smile back. And then I find myself laughing, almost hysterically, until he’s laughing too—like we always do in each other’s company. I can’t stop for a couple minutes, clutching my sides, leaning my head back against the headrest and taking in every wonderful second with Harry Smith and his silly little bits of humor.

The moment finally settles and I’m back staring out the window, watching houses, parks, and office complexes zip by. Little convenience stores. Strip malls. Every bit of suburban life as we leave the nicer bubble of the outer city.

And then Harry speaks.

“I saw him flirting and…I didn’t like it.”

It’s low. Heavy. I look over, and his jaw is set. His eyes don’t venture from the road ahead.

“He wasn’t?—”

“I didn’t like it, Saria.”

We pull into the auto shop lot. Just us and the cars parked for the night, needing Harry’s hands the next day—but not as much as I need them to myself right now.

“Nothing happened,” I mutter. “I don’t… He’s not… He’s just an ass who was looking to cheat.”

“Just an ass?”

“Just an ass,” I say with a giggle.

I unbuckle and lean over the center console before we’ve even turned off the engine; I kiss his cheek, his neck, the corner of his mouth—soft, sweet, thankful. He turns quickly to take my face in his palms, pulling me to him.

His mouth is hot against mine, breathy and wanting. Needing. Desperate for me.

“I want you to feel how much better it is to be kissed by a man who cares,” he says against my mouth, rolling his hand into my hair and tugging me closer. “Rather than a stupid boy.”

Noah who?