My eyes narrowed to slits. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Enough to stop overthinking.” He flashed that crooked smile again. “Not enough to forget any of this tomorrow.”
Something in my chest twisted.
We stood there for a moment, the awkwardness from the past few days hovering between us. His gaze dropped to my dress, traveling slowly down and back up so seductively that heat pooled low in my stomach. “You look really good tonight, Har.”
“You’re drunk,” I said flatly.
“Tipsy,” he corrected. “There’s a difference. Drunk Owen would be way more embarrassing right now. Tipsy Owen is a lot more fun but still has some filter left.”
I crossed my arms and cocked my hip. “This is you with a filter?”
“You have no idea.” He winked. “Dance with me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been drinking, and the last time you were drinking around me, we...” I gestured vaguely, unable to finish the sentence.
“We what?” He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. “Tell me, Harlow. Since I can’t remember.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.” He held his hand out. “Dance with me. Please. I need to talk to you.”
The DJ had switched to a slower track.
“If I say yes,” I said slowly, knowing I was going to regret this, “it’s only because my feet hurt and I need someone to lean on. Structural support. That’s it.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
I kicked off my heels, and his grin widened as I placed my hand in his. I let him lead me onto the dance floor.
Owen pulled me close. One hand settled at the small of my back, fingers splaying wide, and the other kept hold of mine. The heat of him radiated through the thin silk of my dress, the solid wall of his chest inches from mine.
“This is very friendly,” I said dryly.
“I’m a friendly guy.”
“You’re a drunk guy.”
“Tipsy,” he corrected again, his breath warm against my temple. “And getting more sober by the minute. Sadly.”
We started swaying, and I focused on a point past his shoulder.
“You’re avoiding eye contact,” he observed.
“I’m admiring the venue.”
“Harlow.” His hand tightened at my back. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. Looking at him was dangerous. It made me forget all the reasons I was supposed to be angry with him, or at least annoyed.
But I looked anyway.
“I talked to Cam,” he said quietly. “Yesterday. We’re good.”
