My heart jolts in my chest, and I turn—too fast, apparently, because I nearly trip over my feet and tip sideways. Bowen steadies me with hands on my sides.
“I’m a unicorn, you dick. And also, don’t talk to me.” I stomp away, stopping only long enough to grab another bottle of the hard lemonade from the cooler. I make it to the side of the house—it belongs to some Andrew guy who’s on the football team or something—and pop the top, about to take a drink when the bottle is snatched from my hand.
“Don’t talk to you? What are you, twelve?”
I glare, or I try to glare. “No. I liked you when I was twelve. Give that back.” I try to grab it, but Bowen holds it high above his head.
“And you don’t like me now?”
“Right now? No.” I try uselessly, holding a fistful of his t-shirt for balance and going up on tiptoes. So close, yet so far.
“Why?”
I bark a laugh, such a harsh sound after his softly spoken question, and glance from my drink he’s holding up in air jail to his eyes that are…right there.
So, so close.
“Why?” he asks again. My body, our surroundings. Everything crashes back into me right then. Chest to chest, face to face. I can feel his warmth against my knuckles. His eyes look back and forth between mine, and I realize this is the first time I’ve voluntarily touched Bowen in... a long time.
Feels like years.
I’ve avoided contact, cringed away from his touches enough that he eventually stopped reaching for me at all.
But he’s holding me now.
No.
No, that can’t be right.
His hand is on my side, probably to stop me from drunkenly climbing him like a tree.
Jesus.
I scramble away, heart in my throat.
Bowen looks pissed. But what else is new?
“I’ll just get another one,” I snap, twirling back towards the party. But I don’t make it more than a couple of steps before a warm hand grabs onto mine and stops me.
“Why don’t you like me, Kit? Stop being a little baby and answer me.”
My mouth falls open, and I spin right back around to the big bastard. “Fuck off, Bowen.”
“I’ve tried,” he grits out. Then he snorts and takes a swig frommydrink. He cringes and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Oh, please. You haven’t given a shit about me in a while. Don’t pretend like it’s hard now.”
Bowen tosses the bottle in the grass and stalks towards me. “It’s what you fucking wanted, Kit.”
“Is it? Is that what I wanted? Weird. I don’t remember ever telling you to ignore me.” My heart races in my chest, in my head. I hear the wild thump in my ears as he follows me. I step back towards the house. “You never even checked on me this week. The Bowen that cared about me would have been sleeping on my bedroom floor every night, just so I knew I wasn’t alone.”
I may as well have waved a red flag at a bull; he narrows his eyes and snatches me up by the front of my stupid costume.
“We both know I wouldn’t have been on your floor, kitten. I would have crawled into bed with you every single fucking night. But you said last weekend we can’t go back. So, what do you want?”
He pulls me so close our noses practically touch. I’ve been in fightandflight mode for so long, I don’t know how to shut it off.
“Put me down.” The alcohol must be fucking with my mind. Must be. Because in no world would Bowen be looking at me the way he is right now.
