Chapter 29

After popping home to shower and change, I return to Harlow's house and knock on the door. No answer. I try the doorknob, and sure enough, it's unlocked. I enter her home—a home that used to be mine— and look around. She's nowhere to be found.

"Harlow?" I call out.

"Up here."

I take the stairs two at a time and stop just outside her bedroom door. She's standing in front of her television, her back to me, and it's clear that she's just gotten out of the shower because she's using a towel to dry her hair. Steam flows from her bathroom to her bedroom, and the scent of it overwhelms my senses. She's changed into a T-shirt, one the perfect size to cover just enough to drive me crazy. It's not like I hadn't seen her legs before, usually beneath a pair of denim shorts, but it's different now—when I can't see what she's wearing underneath.

I let my imagination take over, just for a second, before I force myself to push it away. "You really shouldn't leave your door unlocked."

She turns now, eyes meeting mine. I do what I can to keep them there. "I knew you were coming back," she says.

Shrugging, I remain just outside her door. "You're alone, in the shower. Anyone could've come in and you wouldn't have known."

"True," she says. "It won't happen again." Then adds in that teasing way she does, "Please don't tell my dad."

I roll my eyes, heave out a sigh, but say nothing more. Earlier, she mentioned looking up the crime rate around here, and truthfully, she wouldn't find much.

Unless she went back ten years.

"Anyway," she says, throwing her towel into the bathroom. "The TV downstairs is new and isn't set up with all the streaming apps yet. Do you mind if we watch in here?" She motions to the floor beside her bed, where I had slept before. "I can make you a spot on the floor if you'd be more comfortable."

There's no mocking in her tone, at least that I can pick up on. And it's not about being uncomfortable.

It's the opposite.

I got swept up in the moment before and almost kissed her. I can't do that again. I just need to control myself with Harlow, both physically and emotionally. I do it every day on the court and at home. Surely, I can do it with her.

Maybe.

"It's cool," I say, shrugging and finally stepping through the threshold.

Harlow smiles, as if she's actually thrilled to be in my presence, and it's as reassuring as it is confusing. "Get comfortable," she tells me. "You have two hours of mind-numbing cinematics to get through."

"Can't wait," I mumble before sitting on the edge of her bed, right in front of the television.

She finds that Space Jam movie and hits play. Then she gets on the bed, and I stay exactly where I am. After a moment, she huffs, "I can't see with your Gigantor ass in the way."

I turn to her, sitting against her head board, cross-legged, a bunch of pillows behind her.

"I won't bite," she laughs out, and then she's tugging on the back of my shirt, pulling it until my back hits the mattress.

I slip off my shoes, then I sit down beside her. Not close enough that we touch, because touching her means sparks, and those sparks make me only want to touch her more.

Makes me want to taste her again.

Her lips. Her tongue. Her flesh.

Every fucking inch of her.

Even though Michael Jordan's in the movie, Harlow can't honestly expect me to sit through two hours of this. I must really suck at hiding my reaction, because it takes all of ten minutes for her to switch out Space Jam for Glory Road. "I have a feeling you'll like this one," she says. "I can't believe I didn't think of it first."

"We'll see."

Twenty minutes in, and my eyes are glued to the screen.

The movie is based on a true story about a coach of a girls' basketball team who gets hired at a Division I college in El Paso, Texas back in the 1960s. Coach Haskins recruits based on talent rather than race, and you can imagine how that went back then. The movie is raw and real, and I find myself sitting taller every time there's game play involved. At one point, one of the players clutches his heart, and next to me, Harlow gasps. It's the first time she's made a sound since the movie started, and when I turn to her, she's wiping at her eyes. "It's been so long since I've watched this, I forgot…"

I look from her to the screen, where the player reveals his heart condition, and then focus on Harlow again. She sniffs once, her breaths shaky as she wipes away her anguish, and I don't know what to do.

I struggle with dealing with my own emotions. How am I supposed to deal with hers?

I do the same thing I did that night down at the creek and again in the school parking lot. I put my arm around her and hope that it's enough. Harlow nuzzles into my chest, just like she did the other times, and I feel the warmth of her tears soak through my shirt. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "Do you want to stop watching?"

She shakes her head against me, holds a hand to my chest. "It's okay."

We watch the rest of the movie in silence, and I'm so drawn into it I don't even realize until it's over that we've both somehow shifted to a lying position. She's half on top of me, her head resting on the crook of my elbow, her arm over my torso, and she's snoring. This quiet little sound that I couldn't even hear while the movie was on.

"Harlow?" I whisper, and she doesn't move.

My hand's on the dip of her waist, and I don't know how it got there.

I lift my head, just enough to look down her body, and regret it right away. Her shirt's ridden up slightly, revealing her tiny sleep shorts that outline her perfect ass. My fingers twitch, begging to move those few inches lower.

I groan, drop my head back on the pillow.

I should leave.

Just wake her up and tell her I have to go.

I should leave.

Just slip out from beneath her and drive away.

I should do anything other than close my eyes, stay still, and savor the warmth of her body pressed against mine as it lulls me to sleep.