Cheated Hearts

It was Saturday. I loved Saturday. I had a four hour shift at Etson and then I was free. It was like having an early day at school. I didn't even threaten to punch the guy who was being very short with me after his credit card was stolen. He was looking at me like I had taken it.

Or maybe it was the fact that Harper was meeting me at the coffee shop across the street after my shift was over.

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It was rainy when I stepped out into the street. I pulled my coat over my new suit and held my briefcase over my head as I crossed the road hurriedly. Harper was there waiting outside. When she caught sight of me, she grinned.

I noticed she wore green velvet dress and torn black tights, all tucked into some weird leather boots. She pulled her own trench around her as she whispered, "It's cold." And we went inside.

The coffee shop was warm and smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. Just as we got in line, there was another customer who was being handed his drinks from the barista. The man (who was wearing an incredibly ugly orange suit) received the cups awkwardly from the café worker and they tipped and splattered on the tiled floor.

The whole café was silent and then the orange-suit guy began to yell.

"I have a fucking presentation in five minutes! These were my bosses! You fucking cow."

The small barista looked like she was about to cry, "Sorry sir. I'd be glad you make you a-another batch or m-maybe a re-"

He cut her off with more yelling. I was about to tell the motherfucker to cool it, as the poor café worker's eyes filled with more tears, but I suddenly heard Harper whispering to a mother and daughter in line behind us. Harper seemed outraged.

"Can I borrow your daughter for two seconds?" she asked the woman and she took the little blond girl's hand within hers before the mother could protest.

"Excuse me, sir!" Harper called, "My husband and I are here with our daughter and we don't appreciate her being forced to put up with your filthy mouth! So the barista made a mistake. Judging by the look of you," she pointed to his hideous suit, "you make mistakes, too. If you're having a bad day, don't take it out on the entire Starbucks!"

The entire café was at a standstill again. Then the douche left, muttering something that sounded like, "I don't need this."

Harper handed back the little girl and smiled gently at her and her mother. "Thank you," she whispered.

Now the entirety of the café stared at Harper but she just pulled out her phone and started texting, as if she hadn't just saved the day.

This, Dear Reader, was the moment I realized I wanted Harper Summers in every way possible.

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"You know what I hate? Girls who wear too much makeup. What are they hiding?" I said, chewing on some popcorn.

We were in my apartment, watching a little movie called Heathers, which Harper claimed was her favorite. We weren't really focusing on it though; instead we started taking turns listing things we disliked.

"Well, makeup is fun," Harper said simply. She was completely turned to me on the couch, holding our discussion.

"I dunno. I once dated this girl. Her face was fucking orange." I shuddered.

Harper giggled and I couldn't help but admire her soft, silver skin. Her golden freckles crinkled when she laughed.

Get a hold of yourself, Keaton.

"You know what I loathe?" Harper said, her brown eyes narrowed, "Double standards."

I gave her a questioning look. She took a huge handful of popcorn and stuffed it in her mouth. I pretended to be disgusted and she gave me a cheeky grin.

"Okay," she said as she swallowed, "If you hook up with a bunch of girls, you're a fucking stud, right?"

I nodded, naturally.

"Okay," she took a swig of the beer that was resting on the coffee table beside us, "If I hooked up with a bunch of guys, banged 'em all! I'd be a slut. That, Keaton, is a double standard."

"Well..." I started, trying to think of an intelligent answer, but couldn't find one, "Okay, I guess you're right. If I saw a girl who fucked around, I would think she was a slut."

Harper seemed to accept my answer as reasonable, "I would think so, too. I would think a guy who screwed everyone was a slut, too. Promiscuity doesn't deserve glory," Harper yawned then and I followed. The night was creeping on us and I was already tired. Keeping up with Harper was exhausting. "I have to get going," she murmured softly, glancing at her wristwatch. I finished my second can of beer and turned my eyes on the screen.

"What the hell is happening here? Why is she dead? And why do they think those boys are gay?" I asked aloud.

Harper laughed and I turned to her again.

"I like you, Keaton," she announced with a cheerful grin.

My heart filled, but I feigned indifference. Her red hair was suddenly everywhere because she pressed her lips to mine a little too forcefully. She smelled of flowers and the buttery popcorn. I put my hand to her waist and she leaned back, I fell with her.

She gasped as my hand followed the inside of her thigh, up her dress and she fingered the buttons of my shirt, pulling my tie off as she got to the top.

"Keaton," she gasped.

And then it was over. She pulled away, looking like she had just committed murder.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," she panted.

Her dress was already halfway off and my shirt had come undone.

"What?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Erm," she tugged at the end of her dress, "I've –I've gotta go."

She raced out of the apartment and the door banged shut.

I sat there for a second, bewildered for a long moment before grabbing a plain black shirt from the ground and racing up to the sixth floor. I was going to demand an explanation. The door was shut and I could faintly hear a Fleetwood Mac song from outside.

Knocking on the door, I could already feel the anger rising in my chest. Harper was such a fucking tease.

The door opened swiftly and Harper's smiling face drifted into a look of guilty horror when she was met with my face.

"Harper, what the fuck?" I started.

She gave me a hard look, "What just happened, it didn't count. Okay?"

I looked at her for a long second. Then I heard someone climbing up the stairs. Looking over my shoulder, I saw it was a guy. He was slightly shorter than me and had dark blond hair, along with a very suspicious look in his dark green eyes.

"Hi Josh!" Harper called out.

"Hey Harper," he said back.

"Uh, Joshie, this is Keaton. My new neighbor," Harper said, nodding towards me and shooting me a furtive pleading look.

"Hey," Josh greeted me with a grin.

"Josh is my boyfriend, Keaton," Harper murmured.

God, I fucking hated her.

"Nice to meet you," I turned to Josh the Boyfriend, "I just came up here to tell your girlfriend to put down her music. I could hear it from downstairs," I lied.

Josh smiled. I nodded one last time in any direction and went downstairs. I could still hear the music drifting from above as I shut the door of my apartment behind me.

Would you stay if she promised you Heaven? Will you ever win?