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“How long have you guys been together?” I ask.
Harlow says, “About a month” at the same time Conor says, “Twenty-four days.”
Then he whispers something to Harlow that has her blushing.
“I have extra earplugs, if you need them,” Aidan tells Hunter.
“Shut up, Phillips,” Conor says.
The bartender returns with our drinks, mine maroon and Aidan’s amber. He pays before I even have the chance to pull out my card.
Any other guy, and I’d sayThanks.
But that seems to be a harder word to tell Aidan.
I don’t know why. Something about feeling uneven in comparison to him. He throws me off-kilter effortlessly, and so I’m always struggling to keep the balance. Trying to prove I’m unaffected, so I overcompensate into aloofness.
And Aidan turns to talk to Hunter before I can say anything at all. Maybe buying my drink was his idea of an apology for ignoring me earlier.
“Do you, uh, do you know those guys over there?” I ask Harlow, nodding toward the pool table.
She follows my gaze, looking away so quickly she might as well have just been casually glancing around. Way more suave than I could have managed.
“A couple of them,” she tells me. “You interested?”
“I had a rough break-up, and I’m at a new school where I know about ten people. So…maybe.”
Harlow smiles, then steps closer and lowers her voice. “I had Gen Chem with the guy leaning against the wall. Ninety-fivepercent certain his name is Ryker.” She makes an apologetic face. “Sorry, I’m not always great with names. And then the one shooting right now is Finn…Ashford, I think? He’s on the soccer team.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, debating whether I have the nerve to go over there or not.
“You want a wingwoman?”
“You don’t have to…”
“I’dloveto. Hanging with the same hockey crowd gets old. Plus…” She leans closer. “It’ll piss Conor off, and I like to keep him on his toes.”
“Bring my drink over to the pool table, Hart,” she calls out, then links our arms together and pulls me in that direction.
There’s some commotion behind us as we walk away, but I don’t look back as Harlow leads the way. The guys notice our approach one by one, a combination of interest and apprehension obvious on their faces.
“Hey, Harlow.” The guy Harlow said she had a class with—Ryker—glances behind us. “Would you happen to know why half the hockey team is glaring at me right now, by chance?”
“They’re intense guys, Ryker. Just ignore them,” Harlow tells him.
He doesn’t correct her, so it seems like she was right about his name.
“Should I also ignore how Hart is walking this way, looking like he’d love to murder me?”
“Definitely,” she replies. “He’s just delivering my drink.”
“Oh-kay,” Ryker says, then glances at me. “Hey. You wanna play some pool?”
I nod. “But I have no clue how to.”
“That’s cool. We’re just fooling around. C’mere, I’ll show you.”
Harlow gives me an encouraging look, then holds out her hand. “I’ll watch your drink.”
