Chapter 12
HARLOW
Everything was perfect.
Standing at the edge of the dance floor with a champagne flute in hand, I watched Kaia twirl in Jax’s arms.
For once, nothing had gone wrong.
My chest tightened with the kind of happiness that made you want to ugly cry, so I took a large sip of champagne to drown the feelings. I already touched up my mascara twice tonight.
My bridesmaid dress swished against my knees as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. My feet were killing me.
A prickling awareness crept up my spine, and I knew he was close. I lifted my gaze, scanning the room until my eyes snagged on Owen.
He was leaning against one of the marble columns near the bar, watching me. The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch, and my stomach flutter. A whiskey glass dangled loosely from his fingers, and even from across the room, I could tell it wasn’t his first or even his third.
He was gorgeous.
He’d abandoned his tux jacket, his tie had disappeared, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing the hollow of his throat. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing dark ink that covered his forearms and the corded muscles that flexed when he lifted his drink to his lips.
I looked away, realizing I was staring. Shit. I looked back. He was still watching me, and now he was smiling, that lazy, crooked smile that I always loved.
My heart did an annoying little flutter-kick thing that I really wanted to stop.
Owen pushed off the column and started walking toward me, his walk slightly looser than usual, telling me he was drunk. Not sloppy or stumbling drunk, but definitely drunk.
I had been avoiding Owen since I left him on the pier to figure his shit out.
I was angry when I walked away, but since then, it had mostly subsided into mild irritation with the situation.
What was most annoying about it all was how, after everything, my body still responded to him.
He’d made it perfectly clear that we could never be more than friends, and yet still a small part of me hoped we could be more, and it only made it worse when he looked at me like that.
I considered running to the bathroom, but that would require coordination, and my legs had suddenly forgotten how to function, and the heels weren’t helping. Neither was the way his gaze held mine as he closed the distance between us.
So I did what any mature, emotionally stable twenty-year-old woman would do: I pretended to be very interested in the floral centerpiece on the nearest table.
“Wow, these peonies are... peony-ish,” I muttered, leaning down to smell them like they held the secrets of the universe. The petals tickled my nose. I sneezed.
Smooth, Harlow. Very smooth.
“Pretty sure those are Lilie’s.”
I jumped, nearly sending champagne sloshing over the rim of my glass. Owen stood beside me now, closer than necessary.
“I knew that,” I said, straightening up and trying to look dignified. “I was testing you. You passed. Congratulations.”
“Did I win a prize?” His voice was lower than usual as his eyes moved over my face.
Yes, my sanity. Here, take it. I’m not using it anyway.
“The prize is the satisfaction of being correct,” I smirked.
“Hmm.” He tilted his head, studying me. “I can think of better prizes.”
My eyes narrowed to slits. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Enough to stop overthinking.” He flashed that crooked smile again. “Not enough to forget any of this tomorrow.”
Something in my chest twisted.
We stood there for a moment, the awkwardness from the past few days hovering between us. His gaze dropped to my dress, traveling slowly down and back up so seductively that heat pooled low in my stomach. “You look really good tonight, Har.”
“You’re drunk,” I said flatly.
“Tipsy,” he corrected. “There’s a difference. Drunk Owen would be way more embarrassing right now. Tipsy Owen is a lot more fun but still has some filter left.”
I crossed my arms and cocked my hip. “This is you with a filter?”
“You have no idea.” He winked. “Dance with me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been drinking, and the last time you were drinking around me, we...” I gestured vaguely, unable to finish the sentence.
“We what?” He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. “Tell me, Harlow. Since I can’t remember.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.” He held his hand out. “Dance with me. Please. I need to talk to you.”
The DJ had switched to a slower track.
“If I say yes,” I said slowly, knowing I was going to regret this, “it’s only because my feet hurt and I need someone to lean on. Structural support. That’s it.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
I kicked off my heels, and his grin widened as I placed my hand in his. I let him lead me onto the dance floor.
Owen pulled me close. One hand settled at the small of my back, fingers splaying wide, and the other kept hold of mine. The heat of him radiated through the thin silk of my dress, the solid wall of his chest inches from mine.
“This is very friendly,” I said dryly.
“I’m a friendly guy.”
“You’re a drunk guy.”
“Tipsy,” he corrected again, his breath warm against my temple. “And getting more sober by the minute. Sadly.”
We started swaying, and I focused on a point past his shoulder.
“You’re avoiding eye contact,” he observed.
“I’m admiring the venue.”
“Harlow.” His hand tightened at my back. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. Looking at him was dangerous. It made me forget all the reasons I was supposed to be angry with him, or at least annoyed.
But I looked anyway.
“I talked to Cam,” he said quietly. “Yesterday. We’re good.”
“That’s... good.”
“She forgave me. I don’t know why, but she did.
” He paused. “I’ve been an asshole. I owe you more than some half-assed excuse.
” His thumb traced a pattern on my lower back, and I tried not to shiver.
“I’m sorry, Harlow. For all of it. For telling you that Cam and I were over when I hadn’t officially ended it.
For making you carry guilt that should’ve been mine. ”
“Owen…”
“I’m sorry for everything.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“You know what I’ve noticed?” My voice came out harsh. “You only seem to want me when you’ve been drinking.”
He went still. The swaying stopped.
“At the bar, the night of Jax’s bachelor party. You were drunk. On the beach, when you told me we could only be friends… sober. And now tonight, you’ve got whiskey on your breath, and suddenly you’re looking at me like...” I couldn’t finish.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m worth looking at.”
“That’s not…” Owen’s hand left my back and came up to my face, his palm warm against my cheek. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“Then what is?”
“The drinking doesn’t make me feel things for you.” He slurred his words a little. “Sober, I can talk myself out of it. I can tell myself all the reasons we are a bad idea. But when I drink...” His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “I stop caring about the reasons.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He shook his head. “No, but I’m trying to be honest.”
My hand flattened against him, feeling his heartbeat beneath my fingers.
The music shifted again, and Owen’s hand dropped from my face to my waist, tugging me closer, and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I let him. My head rested on his shoulder.
“Stay with me tonight.” He murmured it against my hair, so soft I thought I imagined it.
“What?” My head lifted from his shoulder, my gaze meeting his.
“After the reception.” His hand tightened at my waist. “Come back to my room. No one would have to know.”
I went rigid.
Was he freaking serious?
“No one would have to know,” I repeated slowly.
“I meant…”
“I know what you meant.” I pulled back, putting distance between us. His hands fell away. After everything we had been through, how could he ask me that? “You want me to sneak into your room like some dirty little secret. Like something you’re ashamed of.”
“Harlow, that’s not…”
“Isn’t it?” A mixture of anger and hurt wrapped around me, squeezing so hard I could barely breathe. “You want me to… what? Be your booty call? Slip out before breakfast so no one asks questions?”
“That’s not what I…” He reached for me, but I stepped back. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?” The tears were threatening now, hot and angry behind my eyes. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you want all the benefits without actually having a girlfriend. You want me when it’s convenient for you. When you’re drunk, and no one is watching.”
“Harlow…”
“I’m not going to be your secret.” My entire body vibrated with anger. “I’m not going to be the thing you’re ashamed of in the morning.”
His face went pale. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“I know you didn’t think.” I was already stepping back, putting more distance between us. “That’s the problem.”
“That’s not…I’m not…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking lost. “Can we... can we start over? I’m an idiot. I did not mean…”
“Goodnight, Owen.”
I turned and walked away before I punched him in the face and caused a scene at my sister’s wedding.
I could feel his gaze on my back, but I didn’t turn around. “Harlow.” His voice followed me. “Harlow, wait. Please.”
I kept walking as the room blurred around me, everything running together through the tears I refused to let fall.
I made it to the hallway before the first one escaped.
Years of waiting. Years of hoping, and this was what I got: a drunken proposition and a request for secrecy.
I was done waiting.
I was done hoping.
And I was definitely done with Owen.