Chapter 18 #2
I lowered my face to hers. “Fuck it,” I whispered against her lips as my mouth captured hers. Not gently or with any of the careful, calculated restraint I had been choking on for months.
I kissed her deeply and desperately, my lips claiming hers like I was starving and she was the first meal I’d had in years.
She tasted like cheap vodka and cherry lip gloss, and I wanted to drown in it.
My tongue swept against hers, and she moaned into my mouth, the sound going straight to my cock like a lightning strike.
My hands dropped to her ass, gripping her, and I lifted. She responded like she’d been waiting for it. Her legs wrapped around my waist, ankles crossing behind my back, her body pressed so tight against mine I could feel her heartbeat pounding.
She ground herself against me. Rolling her hips in tight circles like she was riding me. I swallowed her next moan greedily, drinking it down.
My abs tightened, heat coiling at the base of my spine. I was painfully hard, straining against my jeans; every movement of her hips dragged her core across me in a way that was rapidly obliterating my self-control.
I was about to explode completely clothed, in the middle of a frat party. Surrounded by people. With Jax’s little sister wrapped around me.
Reality crashed back in like a bucket of ice water.
I tore my mouth from hers, gasping, and pried her off me with shaking hands. I dropped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed.
My gaze swept the room frantically.
The strobe lights were still flashing, and the music was still pounding. Couples were still grinding on every available surface, and those who weren’t were consumed with other things. No one was looking at us.
When I looked back at Harlow, her lips were swollen, her eyes glazed, and she looked absolutely wrecked. She reached for me, fingers brushing my chest, and I stepped back.
She rolled her eyes as her hand dropped to her side.
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.”
“Nope.”
I turned on my heels and started pushing through the crowd toward the exit with one arm locked firmly around the backs of her thighs. She squirmed against my shoulder, but it was half-hearted at best, more performance than actual resistance.
“This is kidnapping,” she announced loudly.
“This is saving your ass.”
“My ass was doing fine.”
“Your ass was about to end up on the internet.”
The crowd parted as I shouldered through, not caring about the laughs, the confused looks, or the dirty glances from guys. My only focus was getting her out of there before she did something stupid.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Harlow muttered against my back.
“Never said I was.”
“You’re acting like you’re the boss of me.”
“I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you make a decision you’ll regret.”
“Maybe I wanted to make bad decisions.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Maybe I’m tired of being the good girl who does everything right.”
I kept walking, pushing through the kitchen, past the front door, and out onto the lawn, where the air was cool, and the music was muffled.
I didn’t put her down until we reached my car, parked halfway down the block under a broken streetlight. Only then did I ease her off my shoulder and set her on her feet.
She swayed immediately, and I grabbed her arms to steady her.
“You…” She jabbed a finger at my chest, eyes unfocused. “...are so annoying.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
“I was having fun.”
“You were putting on a show for drunk assholes who were filming you.”
“So?” She threw her arms wide, nearly losing her balance. “Maybe I wanted to be filmed. Maybe I wanted someone to look at me like I’m worth looking at.”
“Harlow…”
“You don’t get to do this.” She shoved at me, and I let her push me back even though there was barely any force behind it.
“You don’t get to ignore me for weeks and then show up here and kiss me like…
” She pointed back at the house. “Like that and then push me away again. You don’t get to swoop in like some kind of…
of…” She struggled for the word. “...knight in shining whatever.”
“Armor,” I supplied.
“That.” She pointed at me triumphantly, then frowned. “Wait, what?”
“Knight in shining armor. That’s the expression.”
“I know what the expression is.” She crossed her arms, which made her sway. I reached out to steady her again, and she glared at my hand like it had personally offended her. “Stop touching me.”
“Stop almost falling over.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not.”
“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.