I turned away and looked up at August before stepping out of the house, the cold air on Halloween cooling down the burning I felt from my neck to my ears.

I was ready to explode if someone didn’t say something.

Ironically the only honest person in the entire equation was Troy. Other than asking his brother to lie for him.

The ride was quiet for the most part until we hit traffic on the bridge.

August was angry and I knew I’d made a mistake accepting Troy’s invitation. Where the hell was the sign? How was I to know? What did I miss?

I buried my head in my hand and released a small groan.

“You alright?”

“No,” I answered honestly. “I have a headache.”

He lowered my window. “You need some air.” After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You feeling alright otherwise?”

For a hot minute, I considered telling him just how sore I was from all the fucking last night…but thought better of it. That was not how we were going to resolve this.

“Sure,” I muttered.

His eyes were back on the road and after I’d cooled off, I turned to look at him. His dark hair slicked to the side. His black rimmed glasses perfectly positioned. He wore a new pair of faded jeans and a black sweater.

I smiled as I silently called him my Clark Kent.

He caught my gaze. “Something funny?”

“Not at all. I was just thinking how different you and Troy are.”

“Yes we are.”

“I’m sure there are things about you Troy envies.”

He shrugged. “Like the fact that I can keep a shirt clean and do my own taxes? Yeah, doubtful.”

“Why are you so bitter?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Excuse me?”

Well there was no taking it back now.

“Did I do something to upset you?” I continued.

His response made me regret asking him this question. Because it nearly made me cry. Stopped in traffic, he turned to me and spoke in the coldest of tones. “I haven’t known you long enough for you to affect me in any way, Harper.”

Unable to swallow the ball in my throat, I re-opened the window and turned my face against the wind to stop the tears in their tracks.

Twenty minutes later, and one aggravating conversation August had with one of his associates, we were finally over the bridge.

Decidedly, I texted “Troy” when I knew the text would go to August.

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t think next week is a good idea.

Swiping at the popup on his phone, August read the message. “Harper?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes?” I kept my eyes out the window.

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

I turned to him. “I haven’t known you long enough to need to say anything to you, August.”

He nodded slowly. “Understood.”