Chapter 16
It’s been two weeks.
Two fucking weeks since she rocked my world and vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but the taste of her moans and scent of her skin.
She’s ignored every one of my texts, dodged every call like it didn’t mean a damn thing.
But she couldn’t hide forever. Not in this town. Not tonight, when we’re crammed into our local bowling alley, celebrating Ellie’s birthday.
It’s supposed to be a friendly game of guys versus girls, but with Harlow being on the other team, it may as well be a war.
I almost didn’t come, looked for every excuse not to, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that to Ellie.
Now I’m paying for it, because Harlow stands not even ten feet away, cheering on Hollis with Ellie and Penny, her laughter slicing through the crash of pins like a damn siren.
Tight jeans. Black crop top. That fucking smile…
She acts like I’m not even here, except for those rare moments. When every so often, her gaze skims past mine, too quick, as if it burns.
Yeah, she can pretend all she wants, but I see right through her.
“Yo, lover boy!” Gunnar’s voice barely cuts through the noise as he leans against the table next to me, wearing that shit-eating grin. “You gonna bowl, or keep eye-fucking her like some lovesick puppy?”
Dawson and Mike chuckle.
I do not.
He’s goddamn lucky it’s loud enough to cover his big mouth.
“I bowled the last two strikes, didn’t I?” I snap, glare locked on him.
Mike tips his beer toward the screen. “And now you’re up again, so how about you get your ass moving and bowl another one to keep us in the lead.”
Shit. I glance up at the screen and sure enough, my name’s flashing.
And so is Harlow’s…
Perfect.
I shove to my feet, ignoring the sound of my friends’ chuckles trailing behind me.
Assholes.
Harlow and I reach the ball return at the same time. She doesn’t look at me, her focus squarely on the rack, like if she concentrates hard enough, I might walk away.
Not a fucking chance.
I move in closer, so close that our arms nearly brush, that she has no choice but feel me.
The ball she has slips from her fingers, landing with a hard thud.
“Shit,” she mutters, her movements jerky.
“Everything okay, Goldilocks?” I ask, my tone smooth. “You seem a little flustered.”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes sharp enough to slice glass. “Cut the shit, Masters.”
I lift a brow, feigning innocence. “What shit?”
“You know exactly what,” she snaps, voice pitched low enough to stay beneath the noise. “The glares. The snide comments. The constant intimidation tactics. Just stop. You’re making this awkward for everyone.”
I don’t think so. She is not fucking pinning this on me.
My head dips, tone dropping. “The only thing awkward is you pretending I didn’t fuck the hell out of you just two weeks ago.”
For a second, the tough girl act slips. Her lips part, eyes flaring with the memory of that night.
Then she blinks, and it’s gone.
Her anger slams back into place, jaw tightening like she’s two seconds away from launching the ball in my face.
I wouldn’t blame her. I’m being an asshole, but I’m too pissed off to care right now.
“You got this, Harlow,” Hollis calls from behind us, misreading the situation. “Don’t let him bait you.”
She has no idea. None of them do. They can’t. Not when the woman in front of me refuses to admit it.
Harlow flashes a tight smile over her shoulder, perfecting that mask before picking up her ball again.
She straightens, only to find me still standing in her path. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” I drawl, making no move to step aside.
Eyes narrowing, she shoulders past me, the small touch hitting harder than it should.
I hang back, watching her line up her shot, shoulders squared like she has something to prove.
Her release is clean, just not clean enough. Pins scatter in every direction, all but one. It teeters, swaying just enough to stir hope, before settling upright, smug and mocking.
“Damn. So close,” I mock, the taunt slipping out too easy.
She turns on me, hip cocked. “Think you can do better?”
I scoff. “I could do better with my eyes closed.”
She smirks, daring me to prove it. “Let’s see it, hotshot.”
Grabbing a ball, I step up to my lane but face her instead of the pins.
She waits for me to turn toward my target.
I don’t.
Without looking, I send the ball flying. The sound of the smooth roll, crash of pins, and cheers behind me say everything.
Strike.
Her eyes flare with unrestrained fury.
Grinning, I lean closer, smug and satisfied. “You should know by now, Goldilocks. I always score.”
Her jaw clenches so tight I’m half-expecting it to snap.
“Don’t worry about it, Harlow,” Ellie yells. “Get a spare and we’re still in this.”
Harlow grabs her second ball and marches back to the line, her focus laser sharp.
Amused, I stay right where I am, hoping like hell it rattles her.
It doesn’t.
She nails the spare, the ball crashing into the remaining pin.
The girls erupt behind her, their squeals drowning out everything else.
I would never admit it out loud, but damn if I’m not a little proud too.
She saunters back toward me, hips swaying in a way that feels more like a challenge than a walk.
My hands clench at my sides, the urge to haul her against me burning hotter with every step.
She stops just inches away, that mouth I dream about curling into a smile as she lifts onto her toes, breath grazing my jaw. “You might’ve scored, Slimer, but don’t forget who runs the game, and I never play to lose.”
Then she’s gone, leaving nothing behind but the scent of her shampoo and the heat of her body.
It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to throw her over my shoulder and find the nearest room to fuck all that sass out of her.
Grinding my molars, I shove down the burn and stalk back to my team, dropping in my seat hard enough to rattle it.
Dawson clears his throat, eyeing me carefully. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I bite out.
Nobody buys it. Not that I blame them after that little spectacle.
Across the lane, the girls are huddled around Harlow, clearly asking the same question.
Gunnar drops into the seat across from me, arms braced on his knees. “You wanna tell us what the hell’s going on between you two, or should we just keep pretending you aren’t five seconds away from either throwing down or fucking on the nearest surface?”
My expression never waivers. “Nothing to tell.”
He lifts his hands, clocking the shutdown. “All right, I’ll leave it alone. Just don’t blow up the night for Elle, or I’ll be forced to kick your ass.”
I grunt, reaching for my beer.
It’d be a fair fight, and he damn well knows it, but I’d rather not have to embarrass one of my best friends tonight.
Mike claps me on the shoulder as he stands for his final frame. “That was a hell of a strike, man. Now let’s see if I can finish us off strong.”
He heads for his last shot, leaving me wallowing in my thoughts.
That’s when I catch Dawson grinning at me like a fool.
“You got something to say, or are you just trying to piss me off?”
He smirks, not the least bit fazed. “Just glad it’s not Penny and me making shit awkward for once.”
Can’t argue with that.
Harlow and I might be volatile at times, but Dawson and Penny are a fucking war zone compared to us.
Wasn’t always like that. Hell, there was a time we all thought they’d be the first ones married with kids, but whatever went down senior year blew it all to hell.
I’ve never seen Dawson that fucked up.
Didn’t take him long to skip town after that. Left to the States with a football in one hand and heartbreak in the other.
Three years and a couple thousand miles didn’t do a damn thing for either of them. Now it just simmers beneath the surface, turning nights like this one into a goddamn minefield.
It makes shit difficult, but with Gunnar and Ellie having a baby, and Mike and Hollis getting hitched, there’s no escaping it…
We’re just one big group of dysfunctional assholes who pretend everything is fine, but half of us aren’t over our exes, the other half are lying to ourselves, and I’m two fucking seconds from blowing the whole damn charade sky high.
Mike returns with a proud grin, landing a strike and a spare to close out his game. “Better luck next time, ladies.”
Ellie stands, reaching for a ball nearly the size of her baby bump. “Hey, don’t count us out just yet. We’ve still got one frame left, and thanks to Harlow’s spare, we’re still in this.”
“That’s right,” Hollis fires back, nudging Harlow playfully.
She hits me with that self-satisfied smile, like I haven’t been drowning in her silence for the past two fucking weeks. It’s the spark that sets everything ablaze.
“Unless she bails on you,” I blurt, bitterness lacing the words. “She’s good at that. Running when shit gets too real.” My gaze collides with hers. “Especially the morning after. Isn’t that right, baby?”
I regret the words as soon as I say them.
Her face shatters, hurt and betrayal in every fragment.
“You bastard.” The words are ragged, barely making it past her throat before she grabs her jacket and hauls ass toward the door.
“Harlow, wait—” Ellie calls after her, but she’s already gone.
Gunnar’s on me in seconds. “What the fuck did I just say, man?”
I push to my feet, moving past him, regret pounding through me with every step. My gaze catches Ellie’s on the way out, the disappointment in her eyes landing harder than anything Gunnar could say.
Still, I don’t slow, knowing time is already against me.
I shove through the doors into the night, cold air hitting like a slap—brisk, sobering.
She’s already halfway across the lot, the distance between us widening by the second.
“Harlow, wait up!”
Not even a pause. If anything, she moves faster.
Jaw locked, I break into a jog and catch up, my fingers curling around her arm. “Would you fucking wait?”
“Don’t touch me!” She whips around, eyes blazing, and shoves me hard. “How dare you humiliate me like that?”