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“Space Jam?”
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head.
“You know, a bunch of cartoon aliens playing ball in outer space?”
He drops his arms. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay,” I say, pulling him by his arm and leading him out of the kitchen. “We’ll start withSpace Jam. The Michael Jordan version, because LeBron James is overrated.”
He gasps, out loud, and digs his heels into the floor, refusing to move. “You wash your mouth out with soap right now, young lady!”
I laugh.
Free and unrestrained.
There’s no denying that IlikeJace Rivera.
But Jace with jokes is my favorite combination.
29
Jace
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’tseewhat 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.