The burning smell is concerning me.
“Eve…”
“Almost done,” she assures me. “Just two more sections.”
“This has to be worse for my hair than chlorine. I can literally hear it frying.”
“I put protective spray in. Just stay still or else I’m going to burn your neck.”
I sigh but stay motionless. When I told Eve Conor invited me to go to his sports banquet—as his date—the first thing she asked was if she could do my hair.
She’s amazing at it, thanks to all the tips and tricks she’s learned from her mom. It’s just always been a lengthy process the few other times she’s styled it for me, and tonight is no exception. It feels like I’ve been sitting here for an hour.
And it gives me too much time to think. To focus on the nerves mixing with excitement.
“Conor is going to lose it when he sees you.”
Eve’s voice is giddy with excitement.
For her, this is my happy ending. She thinks Conor finally decided he wants more from our no-strings arrangement and is thrilled for me. She doesn’t know any of the other, more complicated details, like how I haven’t spoken to my best friend for a week.
Landon and I didn’t exchange a single word, between arriving back at the Garrisons’ on Friday night and leaving on Sunday. And I haven’t heard from him since.
Allison has texted me every day this week, checking in and asking how I’m doing. My response has always been Fine. It’s one thing to discuss Conor with her, but I’m not sure how I can ask for her opinion—her advice—when it comes to Landon’s behavior. Part of me is hoping he’ll magically get over his issues. The rest of me knows that it won’t happen, and that me having a relationship with Conor will cause permanent damage to my friendship with my oldest and closest friend.
I miss my mom. Wish she were here to share her opinion on all this.
“Okay. All done.”
Eve unclips the pile of curls on top of my head, runs a brush through them, sprays something that smells fruity, and then nudges my arm.
“Go look.”
I walk over to the mirror. My normally wavy hair has been transformed into perfect ringlets that fall effortlessly. It’s a style I never would have had the patience or skill to pull off myself. I’m scared to touch it and mess something up.
“Oh my God, Eve. It’s amazing.”
She smiles at me, satisfied. Then the doorbell rings.
“Crap.”
My hair is done and I finished my makeup before Eve pulled out her curling iron, but I’m still in sweatpants.
“I’ll get the door,” Eve tells me. “Just put on your dress.”
“Okay, thanks.”
My only insight to the dress code was Conor’s comment that the guys “dressed up.” Eve and I spent several hours searching for the dress I’m stepping into now. It’s silky, long, and dark green. It dips low in the front and even lower in the back, straps criss-crossing my shoulders.
Even if I’m overdressed, I feel confident in it. The nude heels I’ve worn for every fancy occasion over the past four years make the dress the perfect length, keeping the hem from dragging on the ground. I grab my dress coat, phone, and keys, then head into the hallway that leads to the living room.
Conor’s leaning against the opening that separates the entryway from the living room, talking with Eve.
He straightens as soon as he sees me, rubbing a hand along his clean-shaven jawline.
“Holy fuck, Harlow.”
I smirk. “You clean up well too.”
Conor’s wearing a navy suit with a white button-down, and it’s the most dressed up I’ve ever seen him. It fits him perfectly, showing off the muscular frame I’m intimately familiar with.
As soon as I reach him, Conor wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me straight into him. “Hey, Hayes.”
“Hi, Hart.”
He kisses me before I can say anything else, tasting like mint and smelling like pine. It’s just a peck, probably so we don’t scandalize Eve, but it’s still enough to get my heart racing. Or maybe that was seeing him in this suit.
“How long did this take?”
“Longer than twenty minutes.”
He chuckles. “You ready?”
“Uh-huh.” I pull on my coat, now that he’s gotten the full effect, sliding my phone into my pocket and then glancing at Eve. She’s beaming at us like a proud mother sending her daughter off to prom. “Bye, Eve.”
“Bye. Have fun, guys.”
Conor steps outside first. I’ve barely closed the door behind us when he spins me around, presses me against the siding, and kisses me again. Deeper and longer and harder, with an urgency that seems unfair considering we’ll be at a public event for the next few hours.
“This fucking dress, Hayes.” He groans the words like they’re physically painful to say. “How the hell am I supposed to focus on anything else when you’re wearing this fucking dress?”
I smirk at him. “If you like the dress, wait till you see what I’m wearing under it.”
I slip out of his grip and keep walking, headed toward his car. Smiling when I hear a low curse before his footsteps follow me.
The sports banquet is being held inside the basketball gym, which is not exactly the most glamorous venue. At least the smells of old popcorn, sweat, and chemical cleaner are mostly covered by the aroma coming from the buffet table set up along one wall. A local Italian restaurant is catering tonight, oregano and garlic the strongest scents.
Like Conor mentioned, there’s no alcohol being served, since at least half the students in attendance are underage. But there’s a station set up that has an assortment of coffee, tea, soda, and water.
It’s already crowded when we arrive, chatter echoing off the high ceilings and cinderblock walls.
“Look for Morgan,” Conor tells me. “He’s supposed to be saving us a table.”
I scan the round tables that have been set up around the center of the court, in front of a stage with a microphone, finally spotting Hunter seated at one close to the bleachers. There’s a middle-aged man next to him, and they look so much alike I’m certain they must be related.
“Back left,” I say. “By the bleachers.”
Conor sees him too, and we head in that direction.
“That’s Hunter’s dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Is his mom here too?” I ask.
“No, I don’t think she’s around.”
“What about Aidan? Is his family here?”
“Not that he mentioned. I don’t think he’s that close to his folks.”
We reach the table and introductions get made all around. Robby Sampson is seated at the same table, with his parents, and then Aidan strolls over a few minutes later.
He smirks when he sees me sitting next to Conor.
The guys start talking hockey, while I glance around at the other students here. I recognize Clayton Thomas and a few other guys on the basketball team, but that’s pretty much it.
A middle-aged man with an impressive mustache approaches our table a few seconds later.
“A word, Hart?” he barks.
I’d know this was the hockey coach based on how all the players at the table immediately sit straighter, even if I didn’t recognize him from the game I went to.
“Sure,” Conor says.
His coach is already walking off.
Hunter snorts. “Wish Coach would take his job a little more seriously.”
“Have we recorded a smile yet, Sampson?” Aidan asks.
I’m distracted by their conversation by Conor leaning over and kissing me. “I’ll be right back,” he tells me.
“I—okay.”
My brain is surprised mush at the moment. We’ve kissed before, obviously. But never this publicly, this openly. In front of his best friends and teammates and everyone else packed in here.
Conor smirks, then stands and follows his coach.
“Hard launch,” Aidan coughs.
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
When Conor still hasn’t returned after ten minutes, I stand and head toward the drink table. I’m filling a glass with sparkling water when I hear “Hey, Harlow.”
I turn to see Jack has appeared beside me. He grabs a teabag from the display of them and drops it in a mug, then pours hot water over it.
“Hi, Jack. How are you?”
We’ve run into each other a handful of times over the past couple of years, but this feels different. And I know it’s because of Conor. Because I didn’t use to understand why I couldn’t reciprocate the way Jack—a nice, good-looking guy—felt about me. On paper, everything worked. But now, I’ve experienced those feelings. I know exactly what I was missing, and it pales the past.
“Not bad,” he tells me. “Season is going well, so that’s great.”
“Yeah. I heard something about that.”
“You made it to a game yet?” The question is teasing, not annoyed.
“I did,” I admit.
Back when we dated, I told him hockey wasn’t my thing. And Jack easily accepted that, because hockey never held the starring role it does in Conor’s life.
“That’s great.”
“Are you still planning to move back to LA after graduation?”
“Yep, that’s still the plan. My dad can’t wait for me to graduate. Has more work than he can handle.”
Jack’s family owns an accounting firm that’s very high-profile. They handle taxes and other money matters for a bunch of A-list celebrities.
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, it is.” He picks up his mug. “Take care, Harlow.”
“You too, Jack.”
“I’m happy for you, by the way. Hart’s a lucky guy.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
By the time I finish my water, there’s still no sign of Conor. People are starting to line up for the buffet to grab dinner.
I walk out of the gym and glance left, then right. Realize this is the same door I left the basketball game from. The same hallway I deliberated direction in then. I go right again, my heels tapping softly against the linoleum as I round the corner.
He’s standing in the center of the weight room, staring off into space.
I step in the open doorway. “Hey.”
Conor turns, hands in his pockets. “Hey.”
“I got worried you were ditching me when you didn’t come back to the table. Everything okay?”
“Yeah…” Conor exhales, glancing at the ground and then back to me. “I’m getting an award tonight.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Coach told me about it yesterday.” His smile is wry. “Wanted to give me time to prepare my speech.”
“Do you want to practice it on me or something?”
He snorts, then shakes his head. “I didn’t write anything. I’m just gonna wing it.”
“Bold.”
“I try.”
“Is that what he had to talk to you about tonight?”
“No, that was about the game tomorrow.”
I walk closer toward him, Conor’s eyes tracking each step. It’s much dimmer in here than the fluorescent lights of the gymnasium, most of the hazy illumination from the moonlight spilling in from the high windows. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust before I can make out anything more than his basic silhouette. He’s standing next to the same weight bench he was using to work out when I stumbled on him during the basketball game.
“What were you thinking?” I ask, nodding toward it. “When you saw me in the doorway.”
“Probably how hot you were.”
I know he’s attracted to me. It’s still fantastic for my ego, hearing him say it. There’s something extra special about knowing the way you feel about someone is reciprocated, like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.
“I was checking you out,” I admit.
He laughs. “I know.” Then something shifts in his expression. Turns serious. “You want to know what I was really thinking?”
I swallow, reacting to his intensity. “I don’t know. Do I?”
Does it have to do with the Garrisons? is what I’m asking. If it’s some version of the animosity that used to exist between us, I’d rather not know. At least for tonight, I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. That we’re just a guy and a girl who started as casual sex and ended up becoming more. Tale as old as time.
“I thought, I have absolutely no game when this girl is involved. Because you were standing there, just looking at me, and I couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say. And it had nothing to do with anything except you, Harlow.”
I smile, then close the remaining distance between our bodies.
Conor groans when I kiss him, his hands finding the exposed skin of my back. It’s not like there’s a shortage of it. I suck on his tongue, and he growls.
“Hayes, it’s gonna be really awkward for me to give a speech with a hard-on.”
“I can fix that.”
“Actually, you’re making it worse…fuck.”
His eyes flash with understanding as I get down on my knees and unbuckle his belt. The zipper parts easily, like it’s relieved to no longer be straining to hold in his huge cock. Conor’s dick bobs up straight toward his stomach as soon as I tug his pants and boxer briefs down.
“Someone could come in,” he tells me, his voice hoarse.
“Then come fast.” I lean forward, licking the raised vein that runs the length of his shaft before sucking the fat tip of his penis into my mouth. Conor grunts, his expression slack with pleasure as he watches me take more of him.
I’ve never liked giving blowjobs.
I love sucking Conor.
Love his taste, the way the thick shape of him feels in my mouth. Love teasing him with the tells I’ve learned, like how he groans extra loud every time my tongue swipes the leaking slit at the end. Love how his thighs tense and his abs tighten, trying to keep from thrusting so I can control the pace. Love knowing I have this power, that the awed, overwhelmed look on his face is all for me.
I reach up and massage his balls. There’s one spot behind them he always reacts to. His hips jerk, and I know I found it.
Usually, his hands would be in my hair. But they’re fisted at his sides, and I know it’s because he’s trying to preserve my appearance. When we walk back into the banquet, he doesn’t want everyone here to know I was just on my knees for him. And that consideration, while not the traditional definition of a gentleman, drives my own arousal even higher. Makes me want to please him even more.
I hollow my cheeks, fighting the urge to gag as the tip brushes the back of my throat, and grip the inches I know there’s no chance I’ll be able to take with my hand.
“I’m close,” he chokes out.
Another attractive thing about Conor—he’s warned me every time. He’s never acted like I had to swallow or he expected it of me. And it has the same arousing effect as him not touching my hair.
This time, the throb is harder to ignore. I slide my left hand between my thighs, moaning with relief when I reach my aching clit.
Conor realizes exactly what I’m doing underneath my dress, his cock thickening in my mouth. And then he’s swearing and praising me, filling my mouth with warm, salty cum. I swallow as fast as I can, and some still spills out of my mouth. I lick it away with my tongue, and Conor shakes his head like he’s in some sort of daze.
I haven’t come yet, but I’m close. I can feel the tingling beneath my skin and the tightening low in my pelvis. And Conor’s cock is still out, directly at eye level. It’s so easy to imagine it sliding into me, stretching me, making me see stars. He’s already hardening again, watching me get myself off to the sight of him. I don’t know if it’s an elite athlete thing or a Conor thing, but his stamina is insane.
And I decide I’d rather have his dick than my fingers.
“Sit on the bench,” I tell him.
Conor raises an eyebrow but complies, taking a seat on the weight bench where he was working out shirtless the last time I was here. He’s still fully dressed except for his unbuckled pants, his cock fully erect as he watches me approach.
I tug my dress up to my knees and straddle his lap, the same way I did on the porch swing in Claremont. Unlike then, the only barrier between our bodies is my tiniest thong, the one I wear when I’m worried about panty lines.
“Fuck, Harlow.” My fingers already pulled the crotch to the side, so I’m basically rubbing against him bare. I can feel the scratch of his pubic hair. The hot skin of his erection, still wet from my mouth. “Fuck,” Conor says again, except this time, it’s frustrated. “I don’t have a condom.”
I pull in a deep breath, then ask him the question I promised myself I’d never voice. The question you don’t ask the guy who’s just sex. “Are you sleeping with other girls?”
Rather than a simple—useful—yes or no, his response is, “Are you serious?”
Hesitantly, I nod.
“This whole time, you think I’ve been fucking other girls?”
He sounds incredulous. Mad.
“I don’t know, Conor,” I hiss. “That’s why I asked!”
“Have you been with other guys?” he demands.
“I asked you first. We’re not in a relationship. We’ve never been in a relationship. Or been exclusive. It’s a valid question.”
And of the many times I’ve considered bringing this up and asking for answers, this situation—straddling his bare erection on a weight bench with a couple hundred people a short hallway away—was definitely the least ideal.
There’s a long pause, and I only catch a few of the emotions that flash across Conor’s face in the dim light. Anger, annoyance, indecision, uncertainty.
“Is that something you want?” he finally says, his voice low. “Do you want this to be a relationship?”
“You said you don’t do girlfriends.”
Was I hoping he’d changed his mind, that tonight was a step in that direction? Absolutely. But he’s never explicitly said so, and I know it’s not because he has an issue being blunt. He’s never suggested I should rely upon him for anything except regular sex.
“I know what I said.”
I rock my hips against his, reminding him of the position we’re in. That this isn’t the time or place for a lengthy conversation. “I only asked because you said you don’t have a condom. I haven’t been with anyone else. And I’m on birth control, if you want to…”
His thumb runs along my jawline as he tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
“I haven’t been with anyone else, Hayes.”
A different answer would have surprised me. But it’s still a relief to hear.
I reach between our bodies to find his cock, gripping it and then guiding the tip to where I want it. We both groan as he slips inside, deeper and deeper until I’m taking all of him.
Everything about this moment—our fancy clothes and the shadowed room and the lingering tension in the air and the distant chatter that’s a reminder someone could walk in here at any time—imprints itself in my memory.
Conor’s hands find my hips beneath my dress, his hot skin a contrast to the cool silk. His grip is tight and restrained as he guides my movements. There’s nothing sweet or tender about it. It’s like he’s using himself to pleasure me, and his cock is just a toy to get me off.
If it didn’t feel so incredible, I’d hate it. He’s fucking me like he owes it to me, like this is repayment for sucking him off. Like this is a mutually beneficial arrangement instead of a relationship.
I slide my hands under his suit jacket and spread them across his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath the warm fabric. Maybe he’s mad I didn’t answer his relationship question. Maybe he’s as uncertain and confused about us as I am.
It’s something we need to discuss.
But right now, all I want is for him to acknowledge what’s happening here. I’ve never let a guy inside me bare, and I’m incredibly aware of it as he moves inside of me.
“Does it feel different for you?” I whisper.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Yeah.”
“I’m going to walk around for the rest of the night with your cum dripping out of me.”
“Hayes.” His voice is hoarse, on the edge of restraint.
I lean close so our faces are only a couple of inches apart. “I’m really glad you haven’t fucked anyone else.”
“I don’t want anyone else, Harlow.” One of his hands glides up my side, finding the swell of my breast and rubbing it softly. Knowing it’ll make me arch against him and press me tighter against his pelvis. I’m not the only one who’s learned tells, I guess. “You know what’s going to happen now, right?”
“Uh, you’ll make a mess?”
He grins. “No. Well, yeah. But this is going on my list.”
“What list?”
“Of pregame rituals. If I play well tomorrow, I’m going to have to fuck you like this the night before every game.”
He hits that perfect spot, and my eyes flutter closed. “I’m totally on board with that.”
“Good.” His lips move to my neck, pressing a kiss right to my pulse. “You’re getting tighter, Hayes. I can feel you clenching my cock. Do you want me to fill this tight pussy, the same way I filled your mouth?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
He thrusts up and I grind down, trying to take him deeper than I ever have before. And then there’s relief, my entire body contracting the same way I’m squeezing his cock as vicious waves of heat wash through me. I’m still trembling when I feel him swell inside of me, then the unfamiliar warmth as he comes without wearing a condom.
We’re both breathing heavily, enjoying the euphoria, when a door slams down the hall.
I climb off his lap hurriedly, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser off the wall and wiping away the white liquid that’s dripped down the inside of my thigh. Conor watches me do it as he fixes his pants, his gaze so intense and possessive it sends a shiver through me. I toss the paper towel, then readjust my underwear and dress.
“Do I look okay?” Not like I just had sex in a weight room?
“You look beautiful, Hayes.”
Conor leans forward and kisses me, not seeming to care my mouth tastes like him. When he pulls back, he searches my expression. “Will you go out with me, tomorrow night after the game? We can talk.”
I nod, smiling. “Okay.”
Tomorrow’s my birthday, but I don’t mention that. It’s been a weird occasion for me, ever since my parents died. I don’t want him to do anything special for it, and being around him is how I want to spend it, anyway.
He grabs my hand, squeezes it, and then we head back into the gym.
