Envy

happy to oblige.

“So, you come here often?” he asked Harper, leering as if it were a pickup line.

“I get around,” Harper, reminded him. Like everyone else she knew, Harper had a fake ID-not that you needed one in a place like Grace. It was one of those towns where everyone knew everyone else-which meant every bartender in town knew Harper and her friends were underage. Fortunately, it was also one of those towns where none of them cared.

“I just had no idea this was your kind of place,” he admitted, raising his glass to her (once he’d managed to peel it off the mysteriously sticky tabletop).

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she pointed out, laughing. She downed her beer, then leaped up and tugged him toward one of the pool tables. “Come on, hotshot, time to show me your moves.”

“I don’t know…,” Adam hedged. Harper in competitive high gear wasn’t a pleasant sight to see. (After losing a close game of Monopoly in third grade, she’d accused him of cheating, then stuffed two game pieces-the metal thimble and top hat-up his nose.)

“I’ll go easy on you,” she promised. “What-are you afraid of losing to a girl? Chicken?” She started clucking and flapping her arms, and soon the couple next to them-Adam assumed it was a couple, though he couldn’t tell the man from the woman-turned to stare.

“Enough, woman!” he roared in mock anger, throwing his arms around her from behind in a tight bear hug. “You asked for it.” He lifted her off the ground easily and carried her over to one of the pool tables. She squealed and kicked her feet in the air, but it was no use.

“I’ll only let go if you promise to behave,” he warned her, depositing her in front of one of the tables.

“As if I’d ever promise to do that,” she giggled, and despite the fact that her arms were pinned to her sides, she began to tickle him-after years of practice, she knew exactly the right spots. Adam shivered with laughter and let go immediately, backing away. She smacked him affectionately on the butt and grabbed a pool cue.

“Enough playing around, mister. Let’s get down to business.”

Harper leaned over the pool table, drew the cue back, and, in a single, graceful sweep, knocked it into the cue ball, hitting it dead center. She paused, her chest grazing the soft green felt, her ass only a few inches away from Adam, who hovered behind her waiting for the shot and, she hoped, admiring the way she filled out her dark, snug jeans. The cue ball slammed into the eight ball and sent it skidding across the table into the far corner pocket, exactly as she’d planned.

Victory!

She spun to face Adam, who shook his head in rueful defeat.

“I give up, Harper,” he said, throwing his arms up in surrender. “Three games in a row? You’re clearly a better man than I.”

“Let’s not forget the two darts games in the middle,” Harper pointed out. One of the things she loved about Adam was that he knew how to lose (of course, another thing she loved was that it was a skill he didn’t need to use very often). “What can I say? I came, I saw, I conquered.” And this was different from the rest of her life how? “You came close in that last game,” she conceded, softening a bit.

“Yeah, real close,” Adam said sarcastically, rolling one of his striped balls into a corner pocket. There were still four left on the table.

“What? Can I help it that I’m a natural?” Harper asked with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, come on, champ-let me buy you a victory drink before I take you home.”

He grabbed her hand and led her to the bar, and Harper took a deep breath, glad he was a step ahead and couldn’t see the way her face lit up at the touch of his fingers on hers. They’d had such a long, amazing afternoon, laughing and bickering and horsing around. Not flirting-for how could you flirt with someone you’d known your whole life? Flirting required some air of mystery, the sense that you were hiding more than you were revealing, the possibility that a look, a word, a touch all meant more than you were willing to admit. With Adam, everything was transparent, every move anticipated and understood.

Not that she didn’t have her secrets, of course. There was the small fact that she was hopelessly in love with him. The smaller fact that she was conspiring to send his girlfriend into the arms of another guy.

But when they were together, and things were going well, stuff like that disappeared. It was like she could stop hiding, stop strategizing, stop anticipating, and just be. Not “be herself,” because who was the “real” Harper Grace after all? Who knew? Who cared? No, with Adam, she didn’t have to worry about being herself-but she didn’t have to be someone else, either, like she did for the losers at school. Being popular was like a 24/7 game of Let’s Pretend. It didn’t matter to them who she really was-all that mattered was who she needed to be. Who she appeared to be.

With Adam, it was different. She was different. She was, they were, Harper-and- Adam, a seamless organism different and somehow better than either one alone. And there were times, when she caught a look in his eye or felt the comfortable weight of his arm around her waist, that she knew he felt it too. She could read him like that. Completely.

They were, thus, way beyond flirting.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Chip, the scrawny bartender-cum-bouncer-cum-heavy-metal- wannabe-boy-toy grinning at her from behind the scratched-up bar. Chip was cute enough, and useful-one of the reasons she’d gotten so good at pool was that Chip could always be counted on for a few free drinks, making the 8 Ball a perfect late-night pit stop. Once, in a fit of alcoholic gratitude, she’d even agreed to a date. Big mistake. Now he couldn’t stop leering at her, and unless she wanted to start paying for her beer, she couldn’t afford not to flirt back. Besides, how painful could unadulterated adoration be? And if Adam happened to notice how easily she could turn a guy on? Well, so much the better.

When they reached the bar, Chip ignored Adam, who was attempting to order. Beer for Harper, soda for him-he was too conscientious to drive drunk. Such an adorably good boy. Chip eventually nodded absentmindedly in response to Adam’s request, and filled a glass with beer, never taking his eyes off Harper.

“How you doin’, beautiful?” he asked, grazing his fingers along hers as he handed her the glass. His eyes dipped down from her face to her cleavage, blatantly enough that even Adam noticed-she could tell by the way he stiffened next to her. She loved it. He was priming himself to defend her honor. Perfect.

“Better, now,” Harper replied, taking a demure sip and smiling up at Chip through lowered eyes.

“You’re looking better than ever, I’ll tell you that much.”

Harper flicked her hair away from her face and giggled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Can I get that soda now?” Adam cut in.

Chip studiously ignored him. “So, when you gonna let me take you out again, gorgeous?”

“Sooner than you think,” Harper said playfully, noting the horrified look Adam shot her. “When Prada goes on sale at Wal-Mart” would have been a more accurate response-Harper shuddered, remembering the hot blast of Chip’s garlicky breath on her neck-but that was no reason to spoil all the fun.

“Seriously, my soda?” Adam growled.

“Dude, tell your friend here to chill out,” Chip complained. “What are you doing with him, anyway? Sweet piece of ass like you shouldn’t be wasting your time with Joe Quarterback.”

Adam jumped off his stool and took a menacing step toward the bar, where he loomed over the twerpy Chip, who, even in his pseudo-hip platform sneakers still looked about as tall as his name implied. “What did you call her?” Adam asked dangerously.

Chip seemed too stoned-or too stupid-to notice the tone. Harper smiled and sat back, ready to watch the show.

“What, you telling me you don’t want to hit that?” Chip asked, gesturing toward Harper. “I know I did-and let me tell you, once isn’t enough.”

Adam opened his mouth and shut it again, whirling on Harper.

“Are you telling me that you and, and this-” He turned back to Chip, groping for the right words. Harper could have supplied a few choice ones, all accurate-pipsqueak, mouthbreather, pencil dick-but this was Adam’s show.

“Look, asshole, say something like that about her again, and I’ll-”

“Like what?” Chip sneered up at him. “Like what a luscious body she has? How good she looks in those jeans? Or how good she looks out of them?”

“That’s it. We’re getting out of here.” Adam pulled Harper off the stool with one hand and grabbed his wallet