“Har...”
She was gone.
“Idiot,” I muttered.
Standing here now, all I could think was that doing the right thing had never felt so completely wrong.
CHAPTER 18
OWEN
Frat parties were notmy thing.
They hadn’t been since freshman year, but here I was pushing through the front door of Alpha Phi like a man with no other options. Probably because I didn’t have any other options other than sitting at home and thinking about all the reasons I should stay away from Harlow, and then trying to analyze what kept pulling us back together again.
The bass hit me first. Then the heat, a wall of body temperature that made me immediately regret every choice that led to this moment. The living room was packed shoulder to shoulder, bodies grinding under strobe lights, the air heavy with weed, sweat, and cheap cologne.
“This is gonna be sick,” Bennett shouted directly into my ear, which was unnecessary and painful.
I cut him a look that I hoped communicated my disagreement without requiring me to yell over the music. Frat parties were neversick. There were too many people stuffed into a house that was usually too hot and smelled like body odor. They were cheap alcohol and a serious hangover in the morning, and none of that sounded like fun. Not like the fun I had skating with Harlow.
Stanley clapped me on the shoulder, grinning like we were walking into paradise instead of a basement decorated with Christmas lights. “Dude, lighten up. When was the last time you actually went out?”
I didn’t answer because the honest response was too depressing to admit out loud.
We pushed deeper into the crowd, past girls taking shots in the kitchen, past two guys engaged in what looked like a very serious argument about football, past a couple making out against a wall like they forgot other people existed.
“I’m getting drinks,” Stanley announced, disappearing into the crowd. Bennett followed, leaving me standing alone near a couch that had definitely seen better decades.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried to look like I belonged there, but since I was the only sober person in the room, I stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Owen Taylor?” I turned and found myself face-to-face with a cloud of dark hair and too much perfume. “Oh my God, Owen.”
She was tall and thin. Her crop top left little to the imagination, and her shorts were more suggestion than garment. She thrust a solo cup toward me with a smile that was probably meant to be seductive but mostly looked like she forgot how her face worked.
“I brought you a drink,” she announced, swaying slightly.
I recognized her vaguely. One of the puck bunnies who hung around after games, always positioned perfectly for photos with whoever had scored that night. Brittany? Bethany? Something with a B.
“Thanks.” I took the beer mostly because it gave me something to do with my hands, because I seriously doubted it was made for me, considering she just realized I was here.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the vodka on her breath. “You never come to these things.”
“Yeah, well.” I started to take a sip and changed my mind when the smell hit my nose. “Trying new things.”
“That’s so hot.” She pressed her hand against my chest, fingers splaying wide. Her nails were long and painted neon pink. “I love a guy who tries new things.”
My first instinct was to step back, to extricate myself before this became something I had to deal with. But then another instinct kicked in, the petty, self-destructive one.
I let her flirt. Let her lean into me and run her fingers up my arm while she talked about something I couldn’t hear over the music.
She rose up on her tiptoes, lips brushing my ear. “You should take me home.”
I should want this. She was attractive, willing, and clearly not looking for anything complicated. This was exactly the kind of distraction I came here for.
So why did I feel nothing?
The only thing I could think about was Harlow.
