“Har, you were dancing on a table.”
“That’s called having a good time. You should try it sometime instead of being all…” She waved vaguely at my face. “...broody and tortured and… confusing.”
“I’m not broody.”
“You’re, like, the definition of broody.” She leaned against my car, and I watched carefully, ready to catch her. “You’re so broody that brood should be renamed Owen.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You don’t make sense.” She stabbed her finger at me again. “You almost kissed me. On the ice. I felt it and then you…” She made a motion like something flying away. “...whoosh. Gone. Like it never happened.”
Guilt twisted in my chest.
“And then you come here, and we kiss…”
“Harlow, you’re drunk.” I cut her off. “We’re not doing this right now.”
“When are we doing it, then?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
“Come on.” I opened the passenger door and gestured. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.” But she climbed in anyway, fumbling with the seatbelt until I reached across her to buckle it myself. She went still at my proximity, and for a second, our faces were inches apart.
I could smell the alcohol on her breath, mixed with something sweeter underneath. Her perfume. The same scent that had been haunting my dreams for weeks.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth.
I pulled back before I did something stupid again.
“Sleep,” I said, closing her door. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
By the time I got around to the driver’s side, her eyes were already closing, head lolling against the window.
I sat there for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, watching her breathe.
Three weeks of avoiding her, and here we were anyway. Like the universe kept shoving us together, no matter how hard I tried to stay away.
I started the car and pulled away from the curb, the frat house shrinking in my rearview mirror.
CHAPTER 19
HARLOW
Consciousness arrivedlike an unwanted house guest because I felt half dead, and I wasn’t even fully awake yet.
I eased one eye open, immediately regretting it as the morning light sent a spike of pain through my temple. But I forced the other eye to open, and quickly realized I wasn’t home.
A worn leather couch, the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, the hockey memorabilia scattered across every available surface, a framed jersey, and trophies on a shelf.
Owen’s apartment.
The memories trickled back in fragments, each one more embarrassing than the last. The frat party. Dancing. Dancing on a table. Owen’s face, jaw tight with fury, right before he threw me over his shoulder and carried me out of the party.
Shit.
A soft clatter from the kitchen pulled my attention, and I shifted carefully, tilting my head enough to see over the arm of the couch.
