Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
NOW
“All in?” Maeve repeated, basically screeching the word. “What does that even mean? All in on what ?”
“The article!” I shot her a glare through the mirror, scrunching the rest of the mousse into my curls. “Obviously.”
“Is it?” She threw her red corset top at my head and missed only by a few inches. “And does Henry know that? All in could mean any number of things. It could mean everything , actually.”
“Of course he does.” I checked the time on my phone absentmindedly. With another fifteen minutes until he’d pick me up, I noticed the text notification below the time and groaned. Then turned the unlocked screen to Maeve so she could read it.
Her brown eyes flickered across the message before she faked a pout. “You need to put that boy out of his misery, babe.” Glancing back at Jack’s text, I felt a twinge of guilt.
JACK:
Already got plans later?
“I’m bad at that,” I confessed to her. “And he’s nice. I like him. Just not… like that.”
“Well.” She snorted in amusement, red hair bouncing when she shook her head. “It just so happens that you’re a gorgeous angel and he does like you like that. Let him down gently so he can move on!”
I stared at my phone, not even bothering to lift my gaze. “Now?”
“Obviously not,” she deadpanned.
Sometimes I wondered how she dealt with me. Other times I wondered how I’d deal without her, once we’d all graduate and go our separate ways. “Tell him you’re busy, which you are, and then get dressed. You have about ten minutes before the love of your life is standing on our doorstep.”
“He’s not the—” My head snapped in her direction, and I cut myself off when I caught her teasing expression. “You’re a child, Maeve Peterson.”
But I changed anyway.
When the doorbell rang through the house ten minutes later, I certainly wasn’t surprised by Henry’s punctuality anymore. I flew down the stairs to avoid another Maeve-Henry incident, and waved goodbye to Laila and Riley on the couch. Pip was sleeping slap bang in the middle of them, enjoying Laila’s belly scratches.
“Don’t do anything I would do!” Riley called after me, but I’d already slipped into my sneakers and was halfway out the door by then.
With my eagerness to keep the girls from interacting with Henry (because that had gone so terribly well this morning), came the fact I was about .2 seconds away from running into his chest. I screeched to a halt just in time, and my hands merely grazed his chest to steady myself before I rushed them back to my sides.
I didn’t want to dwell on how he’d felt under my touch, how the brief contact made me remember every time he’d been at my mercy, or I’d been at his.
“Eyes up, remember?” His smug voice called. I’d already slammed the door shut behind me, so I was essentially trapped.
Henry did not attempt to take a step back, and he was everywhere. In the soft gust that fanned against my nose when he huffed, the air that smelled like him: expensive, elegant. Like pinewood, citrus and bad ideas.
“What’s the rush?” he asked.
I looked up to find his green eyes gleaming with amusement. I narrowed my own, hoping the glare would be more prominent than the light blush of my cheeks.
“Usually.” I began despite our closeness. Despite the fact I should ask him to give me space, and despite the fact I did not really want him to. “Once someone rings, they take a few steps back to wait a safe distance away from the door. Have you ever heard of that?”
He finally did take that step back, and his lips spread into a wide grin. “Never,” he insisted, gesturing to his car before taking the lead. Throwing a glance across his shoulder, he arched a brow. “Are you sure they do that?”
With a smile, I got going. “Positive.”
Henry’s black polo was casually tugged into tailored pants in the same color, the belt around his waist and the watch around his wrist his only accessories. Walking after him, I gave myself a single second to marvel at how great his ass looked in them, then moved on to think about more mundane things.
Like how the year had finally moved along enough to make the light breeze feel like a warm hug. Or that I could still hear birds singing in the trees. That we’d both left our homes without jackets.
The simple things.
But I couldn’t help it. My eyes dipped lower again, really just for a second. Which didn’t matter much—it was still one too many, and when my gaze snapped back up, Henry was already waiting for me to get in the car. Our eyes connected. A knowing smile placed on his lips.
When I slipped past him to get into the passenger seat, what I really wanted to do was turn around and hide in my bedroom for the rest of the night. Die of mortification.
He closed the door behind me, strolled to the other side, and I was preparing for the comments I knew were coming. But he didn’t say anything when he got in, started the car and began driving.
It didn’t take long for him to break, though. “It is my best ass et,” he said, nodding in agreement with I-don’t-know-what.
“Wow,” I sighed theatrically, though there was no point in denying it. “You managed a whole two minutes without bringing that up.” I shook my head with a snicker, glancing at him. “And you look about five seconds away from bursting if you don’t let all of your terrible puns out.” My tone was matter-of-fact before I deadpanned, “ Great .”
“I have nothing else to add,” he quipped, one hand up in surrender, the other on the steering wheel. “Your attempt at subtlety just felt a bit half- ass ed.”
Throwing myself back into the passenger seat, I groaned so loudly, the music coming from the speakers became inaudible. “I’ve changed my mind,” I whined. “I want to go home.”
Henry huffed in amusement, eyes on me for a brief moment. “Too late, charm.”
I know, I know. I shouldn’t drink on the job.
But the more time I spent with the HBU soccer team in this dingy bar, the less I considered it a job.
Merely something that could enhance my work. Make it shine with meticulous details. Like the fact Henry’s drink of choice would’ve been a negroni but he’d opted for water tonight. Or that he knew the bartender so well, he’d been gone talking to him for twenty minutes now.
Dylan had practically thrown himself on the empty seat once Henry had gotten up, and not because he’d been so eager to talk to me. The wide grin on his face told me he was well aware of how Henry would feel about it.
You’d think once the guy you hated started dating your sister, you might reconsider your own feelings toward him. You’d think perhaps the two boys would make up for her sake, at least.
From what social media had told me in my endless hours of online research (falling down the rabbit hole of his sister’s profiles for clues about the past year I hadn’t been part of), Dylan treated Athalia the way any other brother might hope for his sister to be treated.
Not Henry, though. He seemed to still have Dylan written down as enemy number one.
And he was sitting right next to me. Michael, the team’s captain, on my other side.
“Paula!” Michael sighed, resting his head on my shoulder. “We’ve missed you terribly,” he whined, six beers into the evening. A drop of alcohol in his system, and Michael lived up to his dirty-blond hair and turned into a golden retriever.
I snorted in amusement, patting his head clumsily. “Yeah? Are you sure it’s me you missed, and not just my protein cookies?”
“Definitely the latter,” Dylan chimed in from my other side, most likely because he hadn’t missed out on me much.
After Henry and I broke up, Dylan and I could still see each other through our respective living-room windows, if we chose to. Besides Caden and Blake, who must’ve been around here somewhere, Dylan was the only one out of the soccer team I’d still regularly seen once HBU games became off-limits.
Because by our third semester, I’d asked for sugar or flour when ours had run out so often, he started getting them for us at the store. Because after Henry and I had broken up, there was no one better to shit-talk your ex-boyfriend with, than his apparent sworn enemy. And because, despite his bad jokes and the occasional arrogance, when I’d told him what had happened he’d given me an earnest hug and told me it would be okay. Not soon, but eventually.
Still, I whipped my hand across Dylan’s dark hair teasingly, meeting his brown eyes with a glare. “No one asked you, McCarthy.” Then, with a laugh, I turned back to Mike with big eyes and an exaggerated pout. “What is it you were saying? About missing me?” I bumped his shoulder with my own, sipped the beer in my hand.
“I did miss you,” he agreed, hesitated. “But those cookies—I’m sorry! They’re just so good.” He winced when I gasped in offense. We were both still laughing.
“Fuck you,” I deadpanned. “Both.” The two high-fived each other, and with an amused eyeroll, I got up.
“Are you getting another drink?” Mike asked, and the pleading look in his eyes combined with the half-empty beer on the table, told me he was about to ask if I’d bring him one, too.
“Food,” I corrected. Mike’s face fell in disappointment.
Already up, Dylan told me, “Athalia loves their nachos,” and sent me on my way with that piece of information.
As I pushed through to the bar at the other end of the room, I recognized a few faces in the crowd. Not just Henry’s teammates—whom I’d gotten to know plenty during our time together—but other HBU students that had nothing to do with the soccer team. Valentina Rhodes, from my academic research class. Steven, who worked at the library on weekends. And happened to be good friends with—
“Paula.”
I froze mid-step. There was a split second in which I’d seriously contemplated making a run for the exit. But I needed Henry if I wanted to leave, and Maeve had deleted his number after my second drunk call, nine months ago. I was ashamed to admit that it was the only reason I turned to face Jack.
I was met with all of his six-foot, blond hair messy as always.
“Jack!” I cheered.
He did not look pleased to see me. Not even surprised, for that matter. His eyes slid down my frame, back up like he was assessing a priced possession he hadn’t seen in a while. Drunk was another thing he definitely was.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice so loud I unintentionally flinched as he leaned closer. Which he had to do— lean closer and speak loudly . I wouldn’t have heard him otherwise.
I gestured for him to follow me the few missing steps to the bar and then leaned against it. Jack came to a halt by my side. “Do you know what this thing here is?” I asked instead of answering his question, hand sweeping across the crowd. I wasn’t sure if that was the best way to approach this, but I’d never been very good at making the right choices.
“You’re here. Shouldn’t you know?”
Alrighty, still grumpy. Noted .
“So are you,” I challenged. My head fell in his direction, and I leveled him with a playful glare. Which seemed to work, because something relaxed in his demeanor, and he sighed when he sagged against the bar himself. He ruffled a hand through his blond hair.
“All I know is that, about three hours ago, I asked if you wanted to go, and you blew me off.” Before I could argue that he’d never said this was where he’d wanted to take me, he asked, “How often have you done that? Lied about being busy?”
I swallowed thickly, not looking at him. My eyes were darting through the crowd so I wouldn’t have to see the disappointment settling over his features. I’d take watching the couple making out on the stairs, over having to see someone disappointed in me, any day.
“I didn’t lie,” I said.
I could see how it looked like I had. If the roles were reversed, I’d be just as suspicious. Only that he wasn’t my boyfriend—barely a friend—and not someone I owed anything to.
Take him out of his misery.
Maeve’s words echoed in my head when Jack laughed drily. “How so?” he asked, demanded, still shaking his head beside me. “You told me you’re working tonight. Didn’t you? I should’ve known when I didn’t see your name on Daisy’s schedule—”
“I am!” I finally found it within me to turn, look him in the eyes. “This.” I gestured to the soccer team. “Is work.”
Jack’s gaze trailed after my hand, and when it found mine again, his expression had shifted. His eyes twitched in confusion; his brows rose in what might’ve been regret.
I’d never get to know what he would’ve said next, if he’d demand an explanation or apologize. Because his eyes fell on something behind me before he’d said anything, and I had that awful inkling that I knew what— who it was, when every single emotion drained from his face.
The sweet boy I’d known for almost four years now—the one I’d shared opening and closing shifts with, whom I’d politely rejected after we’d kissed once, and who had stayed my friend regardless—was gone.
“Hey, I was looking for you.” It seemed Henry only noticed my company when he stood right behind me, hand gently placed on my shoulder to announce his presence.
A knowing look crossed Jack’s eyes, and we were back to square one. Disdain, annoyance.
I hadn’t dared look at Henry yet, but my entire body vibrated with the feeling of his hand on my bare shoulder, with the way the lingering scent of beer was taken over by him, his cologne. Pinewood, citrus and bad ideas.
Something in Jack’s gaze hardened, like he’d just made a decision and was about to set it in stone.
“Work,” he hummed, grimacing. “I didn’t know screwing your ex counted as work these days.”
Henry took a single step to stand beside me, and I could feel him tense up. His hand dropped from my shoulder. I knew he wanted to say something—many things, probably. But he didn’t.
Jack did. “Last time I checked, prostitution was illegal in all fifty states.”
Henry let go of a deep sound that felt like a threat all in itself. Still, he kept himself from butting in. Just lingered.
Honestly, it took me a moment to realize Jack had just called me a slut. Essentially because I hadn’t slept with him, and now I never would.
And to a man, what could’ve been sluttier than that?
The piece of guilt I’d been carrying around, felt every time he’d texted, I’d seen him, or he’d made a move that I had regretfully rejected, died.
Despite Maeve’s suggestion, I hadn’t been stringing him along—not really. After we’d kissed that one time a few months ago, I’d been clear that nothing more would happen between us. I’d communicated honestly and without room for misunderstanding. If he’d stayed around anyway, how was it my fault for trying to be his friend?
Clearly, there was nothing friendly between us. He’d just called me a slut.
“In all fifty states?” I clarified harshly. I wasn’t quite sure where the confidence came from—maybe the three beers?—but I’d roll with it. “And why’d you have to check that?”
Henry let go of an amused snicker. Jack was not amused by my insinuation. Obviously.
“Oh, fuck you, Paula.” His head shook as if he couldn’t believe I was talking back. Like he hadn’t expected it from the girl who’d always put his feelings before her own comfort. “Don’t start now! You’ve always been such a prude—”
“I’m not a nun, you know!” The loud music drowned out the fact that I snapped at him—basically yelled. The fierceness in my voice still took me by surprise.
“I do not know, actually.” He clarified, fuming. Because his eyes stayed on me, he couldn’t see the way Henry’s hand balled into a fist, twitched once. I felt it, because his knuckles brushed mine. “That’s the problem, Paula! One day you kiss me, the next you’re like fucking Mother Theresa or someth—”
I exploded. “Just because I didn’t want to sleep with you doesn’t mean I don’t want to sleep with h—anyone else!”
And I could tell it stung by the way he didn’t immediately fire a comeback. Meanwhile, I tried to unnotice that Henry was looking at me now.
Jack snorted in faked amusement, eyes flickering between me and the pissed-off man beside me. They settled on Henry.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other. “You know what you’re getting yourself into.” Jack said before his angry gaze flicked to me, just to make a point. “Good luck, man.”
He pushed himself off the bar to brush past us. I’m sure the way his shoulder bumped Henry’s wasn’t a coincidence. Then again, neither was the way Henry grabbed him just before he was out of reach. His green eyes shot to Jack’s. I thought he might still punch him.
All he said was, “Watch your mouth.” There was an eerie calm in Henry’s tone. He held his gaze for another moment, then pushed the blond along and spat his last name as an unkindly goodbye. “ Griffin .”
In less than a second, Henry’s attention was on me. The silence between us stretched, though didn’t feel quite deafening with the loud music blaring. I wasn’t sure what to say, but even less sure of what he might say.
He could latch onto all kinds of things from that conversation. You kissed him? or maybe Did you just almost say you wanted to sleep with me? I think I was holding my breath until he finally spoke.
“Has no one ever punched that guy in the face?” His words were so vastly different from what I’d imagined, the whiplash made me laugh. Genuinely burst out laughing. Cackle .
“You didn’t,” I remarked, failing to swallow the rest of my amusement.
He matched my smile. “But I really wanted to.”
And yet. “Why didn’t you?”
Henry shrugged. “You can handle yourself.” His tone had dropped, and despite the noise—the commotion of a blowout party around us—I could pick up the softness in it. The fact I could hear him at all was a miracle. But it was like my ears filtered the pitch of his voice and drowned out everything else.
Like his voice was in my head, not coming out of his mouth.
“Next time you need me to beat someone up for you, give me a call, Paula,” Henry added playfully. He wasn’t joking. “But I know you can handle yourself just fine. Point in question.” His hand waved to the exit, which Jack was approaching now. Taking the last step, there wasn’t a lingering look back before he slipped through the door. “Are you okay, though?”
My eyes slid back to Henry. “Of course,” I said, even if I wasn’t quite sure. “Turns out he’s an asshole! Not surprised, few men aren’t.”
If Henry hadn’t broken up with me when I’d needed him most, I’d probably have gone as far as saying he was one of those few.