I stared at him, unable to speak. Stay with him? Was he serious… The man was so hot and cold that I was starting to get whiplash.
“I’m serious, Har.” He set his pizza slice down, giving me his full attention. “You shouldn’t be here by yourself. Not in this big empty house. Not…” He stopped himself, but I could fill in the rest.
Not after everything that’s happened. Not when you’re lonely. Not when I’m right here.
I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to say yes so badly it was almost painful. The thought of not coming home to this silence, of having someone to talk to over breakfast, of not jumping at every sound the house made at night, was almost overwhelming.
But.
“That’s probably a bad idea,” I said quietly.
“Why?”
I gave him a look. You know why.
Understanding flickered across his face, followed by something that looked almost like disappointment. He picked up his pizza again, taking a bite.
“The offer stands,” he finally said. “If you change your mind.”
I nodded.
We finished eating in silence. Owen helped me clean up without being asked, carrying the pizza box to the trash while I gathered our bottles, and I followed him to the door.
He paused at the front door with his hand on the knob before turning back to look at me.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” I tried for a reassuring smile, but it felt awkward.
He twisted the lock and jerked open the door. “Lock the door behind me,” he called over his shoulder.
I shut the door behind him and slid the deadbolt into place with a heavy click.
Then I was alone again.
CHAPTER 17
OWEN
The ice wasthe only thing that made sense, because my personal life definitely didn’t. It was currently in the middle of a crisis.
I pushed the puck across the rink, my blades slicing into the fresh surface.
Breathe. Move. Don’t think about her.
That last part wasn’t working. She was the only thing that I could think about, and nothing about it made sense.
I flicked the puck against the boards, watching it ricochet back, and my mind drifted right back to where it had been stuck all night. Harlow, cross-legged on the living room floor, and the way her hair escaped from her messy bun and framed her face. The vulnerability in her voice when she talked about being alone and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled at me.
You have to step back and let me live my own life. Date, or whatever, with whoever I want.
And like an idiot, I’d agreed.
I wound up for a slap shot and sent the puck flying toward the empty net.
But what was I supposed to do? Tell her no? Tell her she couldn’t date whoever she wanted because the thought ofsomeone else’s hands on her made me want to put my fist through a wall?
Yeah, that would go over great. Hey, Harlow, I know I’ve given you every possible mixed signal in the universe, but please don’t move on because I’m not done being confused about my feelings.
