Then she just... walked away. Disappeared into the crowd without a word, without a backward glance, leaving me standing there with a raging hard-on and lungs that wouldn’t work properly.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Yo, Owen.” Bennett materialized at my side, Stanley trailing behind. “This party’s lame as fuck. We’re heading out. You coming?”
I was still breathing hard, still feeling the ghost of her body against mine, still tasting cherry lip gloss.
“No.” My jaw flexed. “I’m staying.”
Because as long as Harlow was here, so was I.
Bennett shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He disappeared toward the exit, and I turned back toward the crowd, scanning for blonde hair as I started moving through the sea of people, following the sounds of cheering and whistling toward the back of the house.
The living room opened into a larger space. A crowd gathered in a loose circle, phones raised, recording whatever spectacle captured their attention.
I pushed through the last few bodies and stopped dead.
Harlow was standing on a table.
Dancing.
Her eyes closed like before, arms raised above her head, hips moving. Around her, guys were shouting, catcalling, pressing closer. One reached up like he was going to grab her ankle.
I saw red again.
Everything about this was wrong. Harlow didn’t dance on tables or lose herself in front of strangers. She was drunk, and I hurt her. Again.
“Harlow,” I shouted over the music, but she ignored me. She didn’t even open her eyes. She kept moving, completely lost in an alcohol-induced haze.
I reached the edge of the table as some douchebag in a green backward cap leaned in.
“Take it off,” he yelled. “Show us your tits, baby.”
I didn’t think, I just reacted. My hand shot out, shoving him hard enough that he stumbled back into the crowd, beer sloshing onto his shirt.
“What the fuck, man?”
I didn’t answer because my entire focus narrowed to Harlow and getting her off that table.
“Harlow.” I grabbed her calf, and her eyes snapped open.
Realization dawned on her like she just realized I was still here, followed by surprise, and then defiance. Her lips curved into a smile that screamed she was about to challenge me.
She didn’t stop dancing. She moved slower, holding my gaze as her hips rolled, and my brain stopped functioning. “Get down,” I ordered.
She tilted her head, still swaying. “Make me.”
Her words were slurred, vowels bleeding together. Her eyes were glassy, and her movements were slightly off-balance, but coordinated enough to stay upright in a very loose way.
“Harlow.” I tried to keep my tone calm, but it came out closer to a growl. “I’m not asking. Get. Down.”
“Or what?” She raised her arms again, turning in a slow circle. The guys around us whooped, and my jaw clenched.
That was it. I was done asking.
Grabbing her around the thighs, I hauled her off the table and flipped her over my shoulder.
“What the…” She smacked my back, but there was no real force behind it. “Owen. Put me down.”
